At his death there were present the lads that I've

sung,

Save Laury, who, riding a garron, was flung,
Thus ended at length a most delicate chace,
That held us five hours and ten minute's space.

We return'd to Kilruddery's plentiful board, Where dwells hospitality, Mirth, and my Lord; We talk'd o'er the chace, and we toasted the health, Of the man who ne'er varied for places or wealth. Owen Bray balk'd a leap, says Hal Preston, 'twas odd;

'Twas shameful, cries Jack, by the great living God: Says Preston, I halloo'd get on, though you fall, Or I'll leap over you, your blind gelding and all.

Each glass was adapted to Freedom and sport,
For party affairs we consign'd to the court:
Thus we finish'd the rest of the day, and the night,
In gay flowing bumpers and social delight :

Then, till the next morning, bid farewell each brother,

For some they went one way, and some went ane

ther:

As Phoebus befriended our earlier roam,

So Luna took care in conducting us home.

THE LASS OF THE MILL.

ON the brow of a hill a young Shepherdess dwelt, Who no pangs of ambition or love had e'er felt : For a few sober maxims still ran in her head,

That 'twas better to earn, ere she eat her brown

bread;

That to rise with the lark was

health,

conducive to

And, to folks in a cottage, contentment was wealth,

Now young Roger, who liv'd in the valley below, Who at church and market was reckon'd a beau, Had many times tried o'er her heart to prevail, And would rest on his pitch-fork to tell her his tal With his winning behaviour he melted her heart; But, quite artless herself, she suspected no art.

He had sigh'd and protested, had kneel'd and implor'd,

And could lie with the grandeur and air of a lord: Then her eyes he commended in language well drest,

And enlarg'd on the torments that troubled his breast;

Till his sighs and his tears had so wrought on her mind,

That in downright compassion to love she inclin'd.

But as soon as he'd melted the ice of her breast, All the flames of his love in a moment decreas'd; And at noon he goes flaunting all over the vale, Where he boasts of his conquest to Susan and Nell: Tho' he sees her but seldom, he's always in haste, And if ever he mentions her, makes her his jest..

All the day she goes sighing, and hanging her head, And her thoughts are so pester'd, she scarce earns her bread;

The whole village cried shame when a milking she

goes,

That so little affection is shew'd to the cows:
But she heeds not their railing, e'en let them rail on
And a fig for the cows, now her sweetheart is gone.

Now beware ye young virgins of Britain's gay isle,
How ye yield up your hearts to a look or a smile:
For Cupid is artful, and virgins are frail,
And you'll find a false Roger in every vale.

Who to court you and tempt you will try all his skill,

But remember the lass on the brow of the hill.

LOVELY NAN.

SWEET is the ship that under sail,
Spreads her white bosom to the gale;
Sweet, oh! sweet's the flowing can:
Sweet to poise the lab'ring oar,
That tugs us to our native shore,

When the Boatswain pipes- the barge to man
Sweet sailing with a fav'ring breeze;
But oh! much sweeter than all these,
Is Jack's delight-his lovely Nan!

The needle, faithful to the north,
To shew of constancy the worth,
A curious lesson teaches man :
The needle time may rub, a squall
Capsize the binnacle and all,

Let seamanship do all it can;
My love, in worth, shall higher rise,
Nor time shall rust, nor squalls capsize,
My faith and truth to lovely Nan.

When in the bilboes I was penn'd,
For serving of a worthless friend,
And every creature from me ran:
No ship performing quarantine;
Was ever so deserted seen;

None hail'd me, woman,child, nor man:
But though false friendship's sails were furl
Though cut adrift by all the world,

I'd all the world in lovely Nan.

I love my duty, love my friend,
Love truth and merit to defend,

To moan their loss who hazard ran;
I love to take an honest part,
Love beauty, and a spotless heart,

By manners love to shew the man:
To sail through life, by honour's breeze,
'Twas all along of loving these,

First made me doat on lovely Nan.

THE TINKER.

MY Daddy was a Tinker's son,
And I'm his boy, 'tis ten to one,
Here's pots to mend! was still his cry,
Here's pots to mend! aloud bawl I.
Have ye tin pots, kettles, or cans,
Coppers to solder, or brass pans.
Of wives my dad had near a score,
And I have twice as many more:
And what's as wonderful as true,

My daddy was the Lord (upon my soul he was) the Lord knows who?

Tan ran tan, tan ran tan tan,
For pot or can, oh! I'm your man.

Once I in budget snug had got
A barn-door capon and what not.
Here's pots to mend! I cried along,
Here's pots to mend! was still my song.
At village wake-oh! curse his throat,
The cock crow'd out so loud a note,
The folk in clusters flock'd around,
They seiz'd my budget, in it found
The cock, a gammon, pease and beans,

Besides a jolly Tinker (yes by the Lord) a tinker's ways and means.

Tan ran tan, &c.

Like dad, when I to quarters come,
For want of cash; the folks I hum.

Here's kettles to mend: bring me some beer,
The landlord cries, "you'll get none here!
You tink'ring dog, your tricks I know,
More beer, indeed! pay what you owe."
In rage I squeeze him 'gainst the door,
And with his back rub of the score.
At his expence we drown all strife,

For which I praise the landlord (could do no less than praise) the landlord's wife.

Tan ran tan, &c.,

THE WELSH HARPER.

OVER the sunny hills I stray,
Tuning many a rustic lay,

And sometimes in the shadowy vales
I sing of love and battle tales;
Merrily thus I spend my life,

Though poor, my breast is free from strife;
The blithe old harper call'd am I,

In the Welsh vales mid mountains high.

Sometimes before a castle gate
In song of battle I relate,

Or how a Lord in Shepherd's 'guise,
Sought favour in a Virgin's eye's,
With rich and poor a welcome guest,
No cares intrude upon my breast;

The blithe old harper, &e.

When Sol illumes the western sky,
And evening zephyrs softly sigh,
Oft' times on village green I play,
While round me dance the rustics gay;
And oft', when veil'd by sable night,
The wandering Shepherds I delight;

The blithe old harper, &c.

**

YOUNG WILLIAM.

YOUNG William was a seaman true,
The darling of the bonny crew,
For blithe he was, and kind;

And though no lagging lubber he,
Right loth he was to go to sea,
For Jane he left behind..

And Jenny lov'd, but all by stealth,
Her father had much store o wealth,
Of Will he would not hear;