NO mair ye bonny lasses gay,
Your blithesome sonnets now display,

For Jem of Aberdeen,
But join your voices now with me,
And, as we gang along the Lee,

Sing Jockey of the Green.
His locks like ony sun-beams play,
When Phæbus gilds the first of may,

His face is ruddy scen,
And then he trips with sic a grace,
All other lads to him give place,

Sweet Jockey of the Green.
At kirk he says he'll take my hand,
Who can his bonny suit withstand,

He smiles so sweet I ween,
I vow my heart cannot deny,
Wi' his kind wish I shall comply,
My Jockey of the Green

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AS on yon village lawn I stray'd,

One morning in the spring,
Around the lanibs all sportive play'd,

The birds did blithesome sing.
Upon a bank where willows grew,

1 tun'd my oaten reed, How much I'm chang'd since first I knew Sweet Molly of the Mead.

Sweet Molly, &e. No Shepherd was so blythe as I,

No youth was e'er so blest,
In rapture sweet the time did fly,.

For love then warm'd my breast.
To please her was my sole employ,

To ber I tun'd my reedy

And morn and eve my only joy
Was Molly of the Mead.

Sweet Molly, &c. Soon as the sun resplendant rose,

One morn I took my way,
And eager sought some fragrant Aow'r,

To make her look more gay.
Right well she saw my tender pain,

And soon my fate decreed,
And now I live the happiest swain,
With Molly of the Mead.

Sweet Molly, &c.

* * * * * * * * *

NOW while above that range of hills
The morn a bright’ning gleam distils,
I seize the gun, and call around
To eager pointers - just unbound-
Swift for a time, they dash away,
Too wild, too high of spirit, to obey.

At length the whistle's note they hear,
Look round, and turn from their career;
The stubble quarter nicely o’er,
And ev'ry shelt'ring nook explore.

See Carlo-sudden-checks his speed |
Tulo! there lie the birds!-PERO, take heed!

How well they back, how fine they point.

The head turn'd short, and fix'd cach joint,
l'll take the birds upon this side-
The covey rises--scatt’ring wide! .

DEAD! -See the feathers to the right!
Marķ-Mark--Mark--Among the beans three brace


CARLO, watch, charge . Keep in, old Don.
When loaded----Ho-good dogs-hey on !
Thus range we, till the sun gets high.
And on the ground no scent will lie;

Then take through woods our homeward way, . And o'er good cheer boast how we pass'd tlre day.

* * * * * * * * *

. A NEW SONG. TIGHT lads have I sail'd with, but none e'er sa

sightly As honest Bill BOBSTAY, so kind and so true: He'd sing like a mermaid, and foot it so ligholy,

The forecastle's pride, the delight of the crew. But poor as a beggar, and often in tatters

He went, tho’his fortune was kind without end; For money, cried bill, and them there sort of mat

ters, What's the good on’t, d'ye see, but to succour a

friend! There's NIPCHEESF, the purser, by grinding and

squeezing, First plund'ring, then leaving the ship like a rat; The eddy of fortune stands on a stiff breeze in,

And mounts, fierce as fire, a dog vane in his hat. My bark, tho' hard storms on Life's ocean should

rock her, Tho' she roll in misfortune, and pitch end forend, No, never shall Bill keep a shot in the locker, • When, by handing it out, he can succour a friend. Let them throw out their wipes, and ery, spite of

their crosses, And, forgetful of toil that so hardly they bore, That sailors at sea earn their money like horses,

" To squanderit illy like asses ashore.Soch lubbers their jaw would coil up, could they


By their feelings, the gen'rous delight without

end, That gives birth in us tars to that truest of pleasure,

The handling our rhino to succour a friend ! Why, what's all this nonsense they talk of and . pother, All about Rights of Man, what a plague are

they at; If they mean that each man to his messmate's a

brother, Why, the lubberly swabs, ev'ry fool can tell that. The rights of us Britons we know to be loyal,

In our country's defence our last moments to spend To fight up to the ears to protect the Blood Royal,

To be true to our wives, and to succour a friend.

* * * * * * * *

THE BARBER'S NUPTIALS. In Liquorpond street, as is well known to many, An artist resided who shav'd for a penny, Cut hair for three halfpence, for threepence he bled, And would draw for a groat all the teeth in your

head. What annoy'd other folks never spoil'd his répose, 'Twas the same thing to him whether stocks fell or

rose, For blast and for mildew he car'd not a pin, His crops never fail'd, for they grew on the chin. Unvex'd by the cares that ambition and state has, Contented he din'd on his daily potatoes; And the pence that he earn'd by excision of bristle Were nightly devoted to whetting his whistle. When copper ran low he made light of the matter, Drank his purl upon tick, at the Old Pewter Plattet, Read the News, and as deep in the secret appear'd, As if he had lather'd the minister's beard.

But Capid, who trims men of every station,
And 'twixt barbers and beauxs make no discrimina.

tion; .
Would not let this superlative Shaver alone,
Till he tried if his heart was as hard as his home.
The fair one, whose charms did the Barber enthral,
At the end of Fleet Market of Fish, kept a stall;
As red as her cheek no boil'd lobster was seen,
Not an eel that she sold was so soft as her skin.

JUSTICE. AS he that's unaw'd by the sound of a name,

Nor harbours no hate in his breast;
What his betters may do he presumes not to blame,

As he hopes they do all for the best.
To his king he is just, to his country true,

He is true to his friend and a glass ;
A sportsman who always with spirit comes through,

'And he ne'er baulks a leap or a lass. No office hę flatters, compounds with no cheat,

But ever takes honesty's part;
Here mercy awaits on his justice's seat,

And charity tenants his heart..
Wou'd a love-laden lass, with contrition appear,

(For girls are ensnar'd like the game,) His tendernes turns not away from her tear; . His pity preserves her from shame. To game-acts he fancies our liberty yields,

To set their inflictions aside ; Protection allows not to vermin in fields, · That is to the free-born deny'd. Suppose a young idler at birds should take aim,

Or puss catch perhaps in a snare; Shall Englishmen's birth-rights be forfeit for

game? Or man made a slave for a hare?

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