The ton extravaganza,
The song affetuoso,
The dance true eleganza,
The palace si pomposo.
Let Nature sway, &c.

ANON.

I'VE OFTEN SEEN, ETC.

-GOULDING, LONDON.

Sung by Mrs Bland.

I'VE often seen a new-made pair—
The swain all rapture, sighs, and love:
Yet soon the wife droop'd in despair;
For beauty tempts, and youth will rove.
Talk not of hearts,

Of flames and darts;
Oft flatt'ry turns to snarling!

To pass my life

A happy wife,

Make me an old man's darling!

With a fal lal lal lal lal lal lal lal lal lal la.

For then no rivals buz around,

Nor, absent, spent in sighs and tears:

He's at your elbow always found;
His words made up of loves and dears.
Talk not of hearts, &c.

HOOK.

ANON.

THE PRIMROSE, ETC.

GOULDING, LONDON.

Sung by Mrs Mountain.

THE primrose, wet with morning dew,
An emblem proves of Cupid's power;
Its sweetness lost in tears we view,

O'erwhelm'd we see the beauteous How'r.
So lovers' hopes bloom for a day,
And so their promis'd pleasures fly;
A blight their blushing sweets decay,
And drown'd in Sorrow's tears they die.
The primrose, wet, &c.

•HOCK.

POOR ROSE.

MISS SYMMONS.

-GOULDING, LOND.

T. B. ADAMS.

A favourite Song.

COME, buy my wood-harebells-my cowslips, come, buy;

O take my carnations and jesamine sweet;

Lest their beauties should wither, their perfume should die;

Ah! snatch'd, like myself, from their native retreat.

O ye who in pleasure and luxury live,

Whose bosoms would sink beneath half of my woes, Ah! deign to my cry a kind answer to give,

And shed a soft tear for the fate of poor Rose.

Yet once were my days happy, sweet, and serene,-
And once have I tasted the balm of repose;
But now on my cheek meagre famine is seen,
And anguish prevails in the bosom of Rose.

Then buy my wood-harebells-my cowslips, come, buy;

O take my carnations and jesamine sweet;

Lest their beauties should wither, their perfume should

die;

Ah! snatch'd, like myself, from their native retreat.

ANON.

AH! WHERE CAN I TURN, ETC.

KELLY, LONDON.

Sung by Mrs Bland.

AH! where can I turn for relief,
Since my sorrows a sister disdains?
I have no one to soften my grief;
My heart, in sad silence, complains!
How oft have I wept at the woes
Describ'd in the poet's sad tale!
How oft did they break my repose,
When no sorrow of mine could avail !

Compassion's soft tear I have shed,

When Misery stood at my door,

KELLY.

When who could have thought, or have said,
I must soon my own sorrow deplore!

By friends thus deserted around,

New woe can my sister impart ?

Yes-her scorn gives a still sharper wound,
By ingratitude barbing the dart!

ANON.

MEDLEY SONG.

KELLY, LONDON.

Sung by Miss De Camp.

-KELLY.

IN Spain I have been, where, as travellers tell us, The ladies are kind, and the gentlemen jealous; Where time is still pass'd, by the haughty Hidalgoz, In sleeping siestas, and dancing fandangoes.

(Spanish Air, sung after this Verse.)

In Italy's climes, the signors and signoras
Exist on bravissimos, caros, encoras;

And there little Cupid, with harmony blending,
Breathes out his soft sighs in a song never ending.

(Italian Air, sung after this Verse.)

In England, where beef, trade, and pudding, the rage is,

And commerce with idleness war ever wages, John's Bull's whole delight is to help a poor neigh

bour,

And sings while dividing the fruits of his labour.

Tink tink a tink a tink, the sweet guittar shall cheer

me;

Clink clink a clink a clink, so gaily let us sing.

ANON.

MY HENRY, ALAS! IS NO MORE.

GOULDING, LONDON.

Sung by Mrs Mountain.

HOOK.

THE gardens' sweet songsters now pour forth their strains,

And the gale of the morn is enrich'd from each

spray;

The shepherds' soft reed cheers the hills and the

plains;

Yet I sigh, yet I droop, for my Henry's away,

For my Henry, alas! is no more.

In the spring of the year, like the spring-time of youth, Each object surrounding seems chearful and gay; Their fragrance and beauties this bosom would sooth; Yet I sigh, yet I droop, for my Henry's away,

For my Henry, alas! is no more.

CHERRY.

DUETT.

CORRI, LONDON.

Sung by Mrs Mountain and Mr Braham.

THIS breast 'gainst female arts I lock'd;
But love will find the key!

Now crowding Cupids round it flock'd;

Its trembling tenant see!

They smile, exult, and bend each bow;

Each fix a poison'd dart!

-CORRI.