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The trial prov'd Joe possess'd vigour to govern : And now 't was resolvid by the plodding French : Sovereign; To trepan the unfortunate Monarch of Spain, Seize his kingdom by stealth-and send Joe there

to reign. At Bayonne this plot of deception unmatch'd Was play'd off as craftily as it was hatch'dFrench armies meantime with Murat at their liead, Were sent to keep malcontent Spaniards in dread. Poor Charles and his son there completely outwitted And one 'gainst the other alternately pitted, Soon found themselves fast in the Corsican's snare, And yielded their persons and crown in despair ! Of Spain and the Indies now Joe was dubb'd King, 'Midst a Junta of traitors and rogues in a ring ; Having sworn to perform what his brother should

bid, He set off to ascend his new throne at Madrid. But when he came there, his arrival to greet, Nought but hisses and growns met his ear in each

street; Ev'ry face he beheld was envelop'd in gloom, Like a grim malefactor's when meeting his doom. Scarce a week on his throne the usurper was seated, When word came that Marshal Dupont was de

feated Thinks he, 'T is full time, if the tidings be true, For me to determine what's now best to do. Resolving at once, in his terror on flight, The palace of every thing costly and bright He previously plunder'd- and then, like a thief, Sneak'd back to his brother-the robber-in-chief

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THE OLD MAID. Adown a green valley there liv'd an old maid, * Who being past sixty, her charms began to fade,

She of waiting for husbands was weary; She was monstrously rich, that for me was enough, And sadly I wanted to finger the stuff, So says I, “ will you marry me, deary?" .

Pretty deary!

0, la, fal, &c. Says she, “ you embarrass me coming to woo," And she try'd how to blush, but she blush'd

rather blue,

For her cheeks of the roses were weary; Says she, “ I am told you're a sad little man, And cheat all the dear pretty girls that you can! Says I'" don't believe it my deary !"

Pretty deary!

O, la, fal, &c.' She consented that I for the licence should go, When across her, mean time, came a tall Irish beau,

Who, like me, in pocket was peery;
Out of his calf's head, such a sheep's eye threw he,
That a queer little hop o' my thumb she call'd me,
And he diddl'd me out of my deary!

Pretty deary!
O, la, fal, &c.

* * * * * * * * *

A BULL IN A CHINA SHOP. You've heard of a frog in a opera-hat, 'Tis a very old tale of a mouse and a rat. I could sing you another, as pleasant, mayhap, Of a kitten that wore a fine high-caul'd cap : , But my muse on a far nobler subject shall drop, A bull who got into a China-shop.

With his right leg, left leg, upper leg under leg, Patrick's day in the morning.

He popp'd in by chance at the China-shop door,
Where they very soon found that the bull was a bore
The shopman to drive him out try'd with much care,
The floor being cover'd with crockery ware,
And among it resenting the shopman's taunt,
The Buil began dancing the Cow's Carrant,

With his right leg, &c.
Whate'er with his feet he couldn't assail,
He made ducks and drakes with his horns and tail;
So frisky he was with his downs and his ups,
Each tea service prov'd he was quite in his cups;
He play'd niag's diversion among all the crates,
He plinicr'd the dishes, and disli'd all the plaies.

with his right leg, &c. The China shop master, a little fat inan, Popp'd in, and the Bull at him furiously ran, Caught him up by the waistband without more ado, And toss'd hiin completely the shop window thru'; The poor little fat man flew up like a dart, And down he came plumpin a scavenger's cart,

Wiib his right leg, &c. The poor Chiria-seller retriev'd this affray, But his neighbours laugh at him to this very day; He has a nick-name, tor derision a mark, Por they, one and all, call him the little Mud-lark; While the joke he enjoys, grateful for the relief, But from that day to this he can't stomach Bull beef.

With his right leg, &c.

OLD TOM. OLD Tom was a toper of no little credit, And his mother, Peg Juniper, fam'd for her spirit; And both, as we're told, sirs, the berry came from, So what d'ye think now of Juniper Tom?

Jolly Old Tom, big-bellied Toin, Success to Old England and jolly Old Tum..

One whitsuntide Monday he gave up his breatii,
And this was the legacy left at his death:
“ To the gay lads and lasses, where'er they come

from,
I will them a bumper af Juniper Tom.”

Jolly, &c.
His coffin then mark, was a barrel or butt,
And he left in his will that it ne'er should be shut;
Since the dropsy," cried Tom, I was never free

from,
They must draw off the water from Juniper Tom.”

Jolly, &c. I'n a barrel so round then a cock was put in, And some have since call'd the contents of it gin ; But this we know, the liquid therefrom Is that cure for the cholic, the juice of Old Tom!

Jolly, &c.

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THE GRAND JOKE, OR, GREAT BRITAIN

BLOCKADED.
SAYS Jack to his messmate, I'll tell you a tale,

That Bony, the Bouncer, set forth t'other day, And if to divert you that story should fail,

Not one spark of mirth, Pat, enlivens your clay. You must know, having got near “ the length of

his tether," Robb’d Hamburgh- kill'd Lubeck-torn Prussia

to bitts, Bony vows that Great Britain and Ireland together, He'll next turn his thumb on, and crack them

like- nits. So he issues a terrible fierce proclamation(Here the cream of the jest comes-Pat, don't be

afraid,) Wherein he declares that the whole British Nation

Aré," Prisoners of War in a state of Blockade ! !?"

That is, Pat, without any fighting at all, .

He will shut up our ports-- no more vessels must

sail

Or if they attempt it, his fleet will them maul,

Sink or send the poor creus to go starve in a jail. Now this is a bounce, sure! that ne'er was surpass'd

In the annals of French Gasconading before ! 'Tis a jump o'er the moon- an Imperial blast!

A Royal Republican-Corsican bore ! For ev'ry one knows- but a French slave, or fool,

Not a ship dare move out of the harbours of France But snug under battries they all lie as cool As cockle-shells, when the winds pipe and waves

dance.

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THE IRISHMAN'S COMICAL STORY.

COME, listen my honies, au hile you shall hear!

Soon a conical story l'll tell ye, How Europe's got humbugg'd; how France is

enslavid, And the Dutchmen are ground to a jelly, · By St. Patrick, its true; they all richly deserve

To be gibbetted first, and hung after,
For lending a hand to enslave their own land,

And for making this cut-throat their master.
Brother Joey the essence of rascals has got

Of Italia a precious good slice : , While the poor King of Naples was soon sent to pot,

And his capital robb'd in a trice. And the Viceroy Beauharnois, Madame Jose

phine's brát, Has got a fine country to plunder; But to to give hiin a crown, Sirs, instead of a

halter, : Oh, what a tremendous great blunder!

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