But when he vow'd he wou'd make her his bride,

Though his flocks and herd were not few, She gave him lier hand, and a kiss beside, And vow'd she'd 'tor ever be true!

Bonny jockey blitie and free,

Won her heart right merrily,
At church she no more frowning cry'd,

En No, 110, it will not do,
I cannot, cannot, wonnot, wonnot,,

Munnot buckle to.

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BRITANNIA musing o'er the deeds

By her brave sons achieved,
In battle, where the valiant bleeds,

And death stalks forth unheeded,
Within her cave the Goddess sat,

And view'd the foaming ocean,
Whose surges high began to beat,

In furious commotion:
Whea lo! a Triton, from afar,
Came floating in his wat'ry car,
“ Haste," he cry'd, “ Britannia, rise,

" Succour bring, or NELSON dies !” . Rous'd at the name of her favourite she flew . To the scene, where the hero, exposid to her view,

Alus! was no more!
Frantic with grief, her locks she tore,

And thro' the fieet, engaging,
The direful tale to all she bore,

Amidst the battle's raging :
« Revenge! Revenge os aloud she cryid,

" To stimulate your fur", .
“ See yonder deck, how richly dy'd!

"Tis Nelson's blood !" conjure ye,
" By his dear manes, his parting breath,
"I charge ye to avenge his death!

ie Let British thunder go,

“ Hurl destruction on the foe! ri Let not his fall, without something as great, “ Be recorded, to mark the lamentable fate

" Of a Hero so great 1*
She ceas'd, and now great Nelson's name

From ship to ship resounded,
While France and Spain, enwrapt in fiame,

Astonishid and confounded, nr),
Feeble oppose the vengeful irenti

In British hearts excited;
In vain to glory they aspire,

His death must be requited !
Unequal to the conflict's heat,
Tho' greater pumbers fill their feet,
See! they strike, vengeance sweep,

Rushing down th' unfathom'd deep,
Sinks the confed rates of proud France and Spain,
While the Genius of Albion exulting exclaims

“VICTORY! Victory the

De inst


'Itaal 2. 1 VELL, vat d'ye vant now to buy, 10:33:23

My razors, my vax or my knives? 1 tas, Then my rings oh such rings! and for why! | 01

To make pretty maids become vives. :)
Then buckles and strings for the knees

I deal in, so various my trade is;
And vat I am certain vill please,
Is my bodkins, d'ye see, for the ladies,

La ral lal, &c.
I hen vat d'ye think I have here?

Some diamond pins, none can sırpass, -
And that you can't match 'em is clear,

And vhy? vhy, because they are glass.

Then pencils vill write in the dark,

All made by the devil knows who;
For if you can get them to mark,
'Tis more than the maker cou'd do.

La ral lal, &c.
Then my vatches are all finish'd so,

And I haven't above half a score,
That it you can make them to go,

'Tis more than they e'er did before. Yet pray do not call me a cheat,

Tho' my goods may not prove vạt you vish,
For if I vant bread to my meat,
Vhy I mustn't cry my stinking fish.

La ral lal, &c.

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THE POOR MARINER. THE winds whistld shrilly, chill rain down was

streaming, When from a dark cell where the sun ne'er had

beam'd in, Worn out with great age, press'd with hunger

and grief, A sad son of Neptune call'd forth for relief : Give reliei 10,--ch, give relief to the poor Mariner. He trembling begg’d, as the affluent pass’d him, The poor mite benevolent charity would cast him, Whilst from bis dim eyes, hid by darkness, thick veil The big tear gush'd forth while he told his sad tale!

Give relief to, &c. These eyes oft have seen the proud sink before me. Have sparkled with Joy at the signal of glory; Have seen Britain's flag oft to conquest aspire, Tho' now lost in darkness for want I expire !

Give relief to, &c. My life's been expos'd in defence of our laws, I've bléd at dach vein to support freedom's cause

The billou's of danger have stemm'd without dread, Now faintly I struggle, now beg for my bread!

Give relief to, &c. Assist me, he said ;-the words tremblingly hung In accents most piteous on the vet'ran's tongue; When the grim King of Terrors his sufferings re

garded, Ard snatch'd him from hence, to where virtue's

rewarded !
Death gave relief to, &c.

# ********

WHAT'S THE MATTER? FAIR and plump was the maiden I took for a wife,

And her look it was loving and smugly: To be sure, and she led me a queer kind of life, * And her face it was cursedly ugly. Then clackaty-clack went her tongue like a mill,

Pretty Sue was so given to chatter, Not in bed e'en at night would her clapper lie still,

Though the devil should ask, What's the matter Then at thârch she was always a saint most de.

mure, And seem'd for her sins all contrition; But Psalmist, the clerk, did't think so, be sure,

When he threw out a winking petition ; ' For some how or other he told her a tale,

Pretty Sue cou'dn't ward off or parry,
This live cause to remember, and long shall ben

What a fool was poor Esop to marry!

HARVEST HOME. COME lay by the sickle till next Summer season, Our hopes are completed, our harvest is

crown'd; To recompence labour, 'tis nothing but reason, With heart giving cheer let the pitcher go round,

Then let us be joyous,

For what should annoy us
Since Nature her usual kindness out-tops;

Come--see-rural festivity, Peasants rejoicing o'er plentiful crops. No words to the ear of a Peasant are sweeter, More pleasing no sound than to hear harvest

home; The banquet of mirth is an English Champetre, Where all driik success to the plough and the


CHORUS.-Then let us be joyous, &c. To comfort the hearts of the Poor--why are many,

If justice prevails, very soon will be found Twelve ounces of good household bread for one

penny, And beef, the prime prices, at four-pence per


CHORUS.—Then let us be joyous, &c. The jorum push round, hearty cheer is before us,

So kind, and so glorious a harvest to view! We dance, drink and sing-ajoining all in the chorus, “That peace to crown plenty may quickly ensue,

Then let us be joyous,

For what can annoy lis,
Since Nature her usual kindness ont-tops;

Come--sec-- rural festivity,
Peasants rejoicing o'er plentiful crops.

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