The billows 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, And 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. Then clackaty-clack went her tongue like a mill, Not in bed e'en at night would her clapper lie still, Though the devil should ask, What's the matter? Then at church she was always a saint most demure, And seem'd for her sins all contrition; But Psalmist, the clerk, did't think so, be sure, For some how or other he told her a tale, This I've cause to remember, and long shall be wail, 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, CHORUS. Then let us be joyous, Since Nature her usual kindness out-tops; Come-see-rural festivity, No words to the ear of a Peasant are sweeter, home; The banquet of mirth is an English Champetre, Where all drink success to the plough and the loom. 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 pound. CHORUS. Then let us be joyous, &c. The jorum push round, hearty cheer is before us, --CHORUS. Then let us be joyous, For what can annoy us, Since Nature her usual kindness out-tops; Peasants rejoicing o'er plentiful crops. THE FLITCH OF BACON. SINCE Dick and Nell were man and wife, They lov'd each other dearly; Their days had all been free from strife, They thought of all the wedded throng, Now on the road, says Dick to Nell, My dear, says Nell, to sell the Flitch, So say no more, but let the prize Now each persisting, tit for tat, They fong ht at last like dog and cat, Like Dick and Nell, oft spoil their dish ** POOR DICK MEADOWS. POOR Dick Meadows, young and blooming, Poor Dick Meadows nobly scorning, Poor Dick Meadows, rashly daring ; Chance soon brought her to the spot; THE HUNTING OF THE HARE. SONGS of Shepherds, in rustical roundelays, Form'd in fancy and whistl'd on reeds, Sung to solace young nymphs upon holidays, Are too unworthy for wonderful deeds, Sottish Silenus To Phoebus the genius Was sent by dame Venus, a song to prepare, In phrase nicely coin'd, And verse quite refin'd, How the states divine hunted the hare, Stars quite tir'd with pastimes Olympical, Lucina they swarmed, And her informed how minded they were, To take human bodies, As Lords and Ladies, to follow the hare. While pale Proserpina sat in her place, Their father to trample, The earth old and ample, they soon leave the air; Neptune the water, And wine Liber Pater, And Mars the slaughter, to follow the hare. Light God Cupid was mounted on Pagasus, Mounts a centaur, which proudly him bears; Made his courser fly, fleet as the air; The kennel did follow, And hoop and holoo, boys, after the hare.. And Pan promoted on Corydon's mare; Loud olus shouted, And Momus flouted, yet followed the hare. |