"Tis the hour of strife,
When venturing life,

Where the spirits of Prudence might fail her;

In battle he'll sing

For country and king,

And shews the heart of a sailor.

'Tis n't his merriment, kindled ashore,
By the cash much too quickly expended;
"Tis n't his going to sea for more,

When the store in the locker is ended:
'Tis the hour of distress,

When misfortunes oppress,

And Virtue finds Sorrow assail her; 'Tis the bosom of Grief,

Made glad by relief,

That pictures the heart of a sailor.

ANON

THE SEA-FIGHT.

GOULDING, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Incledon,

STAND to your guns, my hearts of oak;
Let not a word on board be spoke;

Victory soon will crown the joke;

Be silent, and be ready:

CARTER

Ram home your guns, and sponge them well;

Let us be sure the balls will tell;

The cannon's roar shall sound the knell;

Be steady, boys, be steady.

Nor yet, nor yet; reserve your fire,
I do desire:-Fire!

Now the elements do rattle;

The gods, amaz'd, behold the battle:
A broadside, my boys!

See the blood, in purple tide,
Trickle down her batter'd side:
Wing'd with fate the bullets fly:
Conquer, boys, or bravely die!
Hurl destruction on your foes
She sinks-Huzza!

:

I journey thro' the world's wide waste;
Remember me at early day,

Or when the evening shadows haste:
When high the pensive moon appears,

And Night, with all her starry train,
Gives rest to human hopes and fears,
Remember I alone complain.

Remember me whene'er you sigh,

Be it at midnight's silent hour;

Remember me, and think that I

Return thy sigh, and feel its pow'r:

Whene'er you think on those away,
Or when you bend the pious knee,
Or when your thoughts to pleasure stray,
O then, dear maid, remember me.

G. WALKER.

ART THOU AWAKE.

-WALKER, LONDON,

Sung at the Public Concerts.

ART thou awake, or art thou sleeping?
Love may attack thee, lady fair:
Where is the heart so safe in keeping
As to elude the secret snare ?
Cupid, a wanton, slily enters,

WHITAKER.

Sometimes the eye, sometimes the ear; Boldly to gilded domes he ventures, Wrapt in the garb of bashful fear.

Rise thee, and hear me, lady fair.

Thou dearest maid, be not disdaining;

That pow'r the proudest once must feel:
List to an heart, whose fond complaining
Love's brightest passion would reveal.
Then again close thine eyes in slumbers:
Should love perchance invade thy breast,
Music, attun'd to softest numbers,

Shall soothe thy mind to sweetest rest.

Rise thee, and hear me, lady fair.

THE BUD OF THE ROSE.

MRS BROOKE.PRESTON, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Incledon.

HER mouth, which a smile,

Devoid of all guile,

Half open'd to view,

Is the bud of the rose,
In the morning that blows,
Impearl'd with the dew.

More fragrant her breath
Than the flower-scented heath,
At the dawning of day;

The hawthorn in bloom,

The lily's perfume,

Or the blossoms of May.

SHIELD.

MY HEART WITH LOVE IS BEATING.

RANNIE.

(Arranged to the Air of the Maid of Lodi.)

-PRESTON, LONDON.

Sung by Mr Braham.

MY heart with love is beating,-
Fond trembler-feel it move
To thee each vow repeating,
Who taught it first to love.
To thee, my life's best treasure,
I'll breathe them o'er and o'er,

ANON.

With ardent love and pleasure,
Till time shall be no more.

My heart with love is beating,
Its fond emotions prove;
To thee its vows repeating,

My life, my soul, my love.
The sun shall lose each motion,
The heav'ns each fix'd decree,
And cease to roll the ocean,
Ere I prove false to thee.

A. H. ESQ.

SWEET GIRL, THY CHARMS.

-DALE, LONDON.HON. M. DE C.

Sung at the Public Concerts.

SWEET girl, thy charms my soul delight;

For thee my bosom sighs;
Each solemn vow to thee I plight;

My heart disdains disguise.

Thy fascinating seraph smiles

Celestial joys inspire;

Thy beauteous form and witching wiles
My breast with passion fire.

Of thee, by night, I restless dream;
To thee, in thought, I rove:
O how my bliss would be supreme,
Could I possess thy love!

Come, then, my charmer, haste to me,
Transfix'd by Cupid's dart;

G