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JOCKEY OF THE GREEN :-
For Jem of Aberdeen,
Sing Jockey of the Green.
His face is ruddy scen,
Sweet Jockey of the Green.
He smiles so sweet I ween,
MOLLY OF THE MEAD.
One morning in the spring,
The birds did blithesome sing.
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,
For love then warm'd my breast.
To ber I tun'd my reedy
And morn and eve my only joy
Sweet Molly, &c. Soon as the sun resplendant rose,
One morn I took my way,
To make her look more gay.
And soon my fate decreed,
Sweet Molly, &c.
* * * * * * * * *
At length the whistle's note they hear,
See Carlo-sudden-checks his speed |
How well they back, how fine they point.
The head turn'd short, and fix'd cach joint,
DEAD! -See the feathers to the right!
CARLO, watch, charge . Keep in, old Don.
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,
JUSTICE. AS he that's unaw'd by the sound of a name,
Nor harbours no hate in his breast;
As he hopes they do all for the best.
He is true to his friend and a glass ;
'And he ne'er baulks a leap or a lass. No office hę flatters, compounds with no cheat,
But ever takes honesty's part;
And charity tenants his heart..
(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?