"The transports that charm'd us, whilst deaf to

"the roar

"Of the bagpipe's loud clamorous scream;
"Alas! were the fictions of fancy no more
"Than the shadowy sports of a dream."
The lovers desiring to make the dream true,
United in Hearts and in Hands;

Betimes the next morning to Gretna they flew,
And were joined in wedlock's strong bands.
This Couple enjoying much conjugal love,
Glide gently down Life's transient stream;
While their prat❜lers the tide of contentment improve
And reminded them oft of the Dream.

TOWN AMUSEMENT.

WHILE the day-star of Europe extinguish'd should

seem,

And England alone can defy Buonaparte,
Like others, I'd feel all the zeal of the theme,
But, alas! I've no time, I'm engag'd to a party.
Not one where political war is the plan,

By speeches and mutual reproaches made hot, I've no time for such things, I'm a visiting man, One made for sweet cakes, lemonade, and orgeat. Spoken. Were you at my Lady Double-drum's last night? What a delightful thing it was! Three hundred people more than the rooms would hold.Miss Dumpling, poor dear little thing, was nearly trod. den to death. Lord Fig pick'd up her invisible: what, would the coroner have brought it in, had she been extinguish'd? How shock'd I should have been. Ah! Sir Harry, how do?-what a love of a waistcoat you've got! Dear Miss, don't push so... Sung....Well, now that's hearty, well now that's hearty,

Then O for the toil and the squeeze of a

party.

Then after contending two hours in the street, Lamps, ladies, lords, constables mix'd in the fight.

With your glasses all broke, and your coachman well beat,

At length up you come to the scene of delight: Then up the steep steps, while with pain you are crawling,

Where you and the staircase so little agree, Lord Spindle, Lord Spindle, the servants are bawling And souse on your head comes a hot dish of tea.

Spoken....My dear Lord, a thousand pardons. Any thing from you, my sweet miss. Oh! heavens, what a squeeze this is! I shall expire; dear Sir Harry, how you crowd one. 'Pon honor, its not my fault, Miss Tittup, if I incommode the muslins; touching scenes for a man of sensibility, tho! Oh, that I could get out, cries Lady Bab. Oh! that I could get in, cries Captain Crop, well push'd Lady Rigadoon there she goes..

Sung...Well, now that's hearty, well now that's hearty,

Then O! for the toil, and the squeeze of a party.

LADY GO-NIMBLE'S GHOST; or, HONEY
AND MUSTARD.

SIR JERRY GO-NIMBLE was lame of a leg,
Hey diddle, ho diddle dee;

And Lady Go-Nimble had barely one peg,
For a very old lady was she.

Sir Jerry when married was but twenty-two,
My lady fourscore when sir J. came to woo;
As ugly as a Polę, but as rich as a Jew,

With a hey diddle, ho diddle, hey diddle dee,
Sing hey diddle, ho diddle dée,

At the wedding, my Lady was call'd for a song, Hey diddle, ho diddle dee!

Says she, to oblige, I'll not hesitate long,

Tho' I own I'm not quite in the key;'

Then she made a fine mug 'twixt a squint and a grin,

And screw'd up her snuff-colour'd lips to begin, While like two bellows handles she mov'd nose and

chin.

(Spoken.)...When she sung.... (Sings.) What's life without passion, sweet passion of love.

With a hey diddle, ho diddle, hey diddle dee,
Sing hey diddle, ho diddle dee.

These pair of true lovers they liv'd upon love,
Hey diddle, ho diddle dee.

While the honey-moon lasted a week and above,
And then 'twas all mustard for she,
For wicked Sir Jerry was fond of tit bits,
And my lady she fell in historical fits,

Then for jealousy drank herself out of her wits.
(Spoken.)..Then she strutted about like Mad
Bess, with a whisp of straw in one hand, and a drop
of comfort in the other...(Struts about like a mad old
Woman.)

(Sings.). He prov'd false and I undone.

With a hey diddle, ho diddle, hey diddle dee,
Sing hey diddle, ho diddle dee.

At last of this sad hydrofogy she dy'd—

Hey diddle, ho diddle dee,

And her grim ghost it came to Sir Jerry's bed-side, Saying, List! oh, list!-for I'm come for thee.' Sir Jerry he hid himself under the clothes,

But the ghost out of bed pull'd him soon by the

nose,

Toss'd him out of the window, and cried, There

he goes!'

(Spoken.) And away he went sure enough, With his hey diddle, ho diddle, hey diddle dee, Sing hey diddle, ho diddle dee.

TOASTS

AND

SENTIMENTS.

The King!...Long may he live and reign,
While Britons ever rule the main.

May we always get the whip-hand of our enemies.
The rose of pleasure without the thorn.

Our dear Companions, and our absent Friends.
May every Mail-Coachman stick by his Fare.
Industry and Comfort, to all who try for it.
The seven P's... Peace, Plenty, Patience, Prospe
rity, Prudence, and Punch in Perfection.

Success to Commerce.

All we wish and all we want.

A halter to them that deserve it.

A generous heart and a miser's fortune.
Death to the abettors of secret villany.

May the wealth of rogues devolve on honest mens
May the hinges of hospitality never grow rusty.
May he that made the devil take us all.

Palsy to the hand of the assassin.

Plenty to a generous mind.

Riches without pride.

Success to our hopes, and enjoyment to our

wishes.

Sense to win a heart, and merit to keep it.

The tars of Old England.

May poverty always be a day's march behind us.

May genius and merit never want a friend.

May the friends we love be sincere, and the country we live in be free.

Increase of trade and reduction of taxes.

May the clouds of war be soon dispersed by the sunshine of peace.

Gratitude to friends, and generosity to enemies.

INDEX.

A Welsh Sermon

At a Batchelor's Feast Tom Monk was presiding

A Methodist Sermon

A Sail on our lee-bow appears

Page.

*
13

17

A Man of Wales, betwixt St. David's day & Easter
Aid a sailor, kind Sirs who once felt it his glory
A Watchman I am, I know all the rounds
A Sensible Madman

31

32

39

71, 72, 73, 74,

Alone to the banks of the dark rolling Danube
A Caledonian tar am I

A Jolly fat friar lov'd liquor good store
A Priest of Kajaaga as blind as a stone
A Corsican Frog, Sirs, was born near a pool
Ah Delia; dear maid of my heart

A point was discuss'd Twixt a husband and wife
As on yon village lawn I stray'd

As he that's unaw'd by the sound of a name
A Traveller full forty years I have been
A Vessel at sea was expected to sink

A down a green valley there liv'd an old Maid
A Frog he would a wooing go
A little old Woman was taken ill

-

As Strephon and Anna one evening were roving
Behold an Old Widow before you appear
Begone, dull care, I pr'ythee begone from me
Bright chanticleer proclaims the dawn

Bright Phabus has mounted the chariot of Day
Britannia's Defenders

Bowls and Rubbers; or, The Holiday Cobler