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And I'm a pretty young girl,
But the money comes slowly in.

And it's oh dear, &c, They say I'm beauteous and fair,

They say I'm scornful and proud;
Alas! I must now despair,
For, ah, I am growing very old.

And it's oh dear, &e. And now I must die an old maid;

Oh, dear, how shocking the thought !
And all my beauty must fade,
But I'm sure it is not my fault.

And it's oh dear, &c.

**********

SONG.
TUNE.." The Heroes of the British Fleet."
STILL Europe hears, from Gallia's shore,

The lawless Tyrant's threatening strain;
Sees o'er her plains his myriads pour;

Her Nations bend to Slavery's chain :
While Britain guards her Monarch's throne,
And laws and freedom calls her own!
While Britain guards her Monarch's throne,
And laws and freedom calls her own!
And laws and freedom calls her own!

Still Europe sees Imperial Crowns

Bow to the haughty Despot's sway : His fiat bleeding Austria owns,

O'er realms where rapine mark'd his way; While Britain's sons her rights maintain ; Her charter'd empire o'er the main !

While Britain's sons, &c. The fell Usurper's ruffian boast,

Invasion's threat! old Albion hears !

Her gallant sons defend her coast,

Her Britains all are volunteers ! Her native Heroes, brave as free, Defy their foes by land and seal

Her native Heroes, &c.

Still o'er the mighty world of waves

Britains all conquering Navy rides;
The foe, the storm, the tempest braves,

Triumphant o'er the foamy tides;
Her Aag in every port unfurlid;
Her Nelson's spirit awes the world!

Her flag, &c.

Still may it awe old England's foe!

Still o'er her guardian fleets preside, And long as Ocean's billows How,

Thy genius, Pitt! her Senate guide! So shall her power and fame resound, Wide as the Earth's and Ocean's bound. *

So shall her power, &c.

Still George the British sceptre sways,

Victorious mid' the strife of war; While round his throne new glories blaze,

New glories won from Trafalgar
And o'er the world the trump of Fame,
Proclaims each british Heroe's name.

And o'er the world, &c.

Now shall united Britain sing

The strains each British heart reveres; Britannia's Cause--- her State.--her King;

Her Fleets---her Armies---Volunteers! Her cause, each patriot breast shall fire, Till earth, and seas, and suns expire.

Her cause, each patriot's breast, &t.

**********

THE WISE IRISHMAN

And his Sallad Oil. ONE Patrick O'Blunder just caine from Kilkepny's Who e'er he reach'd England had spent his last

penny ; Was hir'd as a servant to one Sir James Trueland, (I believe no relation to Abraham Newland ;) Who the very next week set off post for town, With the whole of his family and his new Irish

clown; When to London they got, the good honest Knight, Thought a dinner would please them, altho''twas

near night, So the servants prepared a fine piece of roast beef, And those that were hungry had speedy relief; A Sallad was also a part of their cheer, Which the Knight said he'd dress, but no oil was

there, And the servants being busy, he says. to his many “ Here, Patrick, run off now as fast as you can, “ And the first shop you come to enquire for some

oil, • And make great haste back or the dinner will

spoil.” So full drive Pat set off, and soon knock'd down a

Quaker, The first shop he came to was kept by a baker ; « Sir, I want two quarts of your best eating oil, " And make haste, my dear honey, or the sallad

will spoil.” " Why man, cries the Baker, we sell it not here,” « Arrah, then, cries Pat, you can tell me my dear " Where it is to be got, I hope 'tis not far." « Oh! no, answered he, do you see yonder jar ? “ A jar! what's a jar pas then cries Pat with sur

prize, "Tis the brown thing on the post ;--why you've

surely no eyes." Off Pat, quickly sets, to the Oilman's he came, " Pray sir, I've been told Mr. Jar is your name."

" Jar! jar! cries the man, why you joking are

sure, " My name is not jar--there's a jar at the door; “ But what do you want--why you're quite in a

broil.” " An't please you, cries Patrick, I want some good

oil, " Oh, pray now make haste, or my Master will

caper." " But what will you put it in?"----" Why put it

in paper." « In paper! why man it's a liquid you see, " And thus to be carried it never can be.” “ Well then, crys O'Blunder, put it into my hat, " I will crush down the crown, what think you of

that? The Oilman the joke was unwilling to lose, So to do as Pat bid him he did not refuse; And pour'd in as much as the crown would contain, And yet some small share of the oil did remain. " Where is this to be put?"--Pat a cavity found, In the side of his hat, and soon turn'd it half round; Then pour'd the rest in, and set off in great haste, His hat under his arm, but made terrible waste; For the oil ran all down him, even into his shoes, Which did many passengers greatly amuse; When he came to the door, at the window there

stood, Sir James, who, through wrath, had a face red as

blood : “ You rascal, says he, what a pickle you're in ; " Who the deuce has bedaub'd you, and where

have you been ? " What's that in your hat?"..." The oil, sir, Pat,

cries, "Why there's not a quart here," the master replies; « Oh, no, but you see, sir, I've more on this side.” " I see none,” the master directly replied ; 57 'Tis here, sir,” cries Pat, and to end the disaster, He spilt all the oil that was left on his master ;

The ladies amus'd with this unlucky hit,
With laughing seem'd ready to fall in a fit;
Sir James was at first in a terrible passion,
For his cloaths lookid as if they had many a splash

on;
He had call'd his new footman a great Irish Calf,
But before it was long joind the rest in the laugh;
Poor Pat look'd quite sheepish, had nothing to say,
For he fear'd that his master would turn him away;
But in this was deceiv'd, for he lives with him, still,
But ne'er fetches him oil, so no more can he spill,

**********

GL E E.

For 'Three Voices. I'LL live no more single, but get me a wife, For a change, says poor Dick, is the comfort of life : A wife he then got, and no mortal could be, A few weeks after marriage, more happy than he. But when children and squalling began to increase, And a loud scolding doxy molested his peace; I wish in my heart I was quit of my wife, For a change, says poor Dick, is the comfort oflife.

THE FLOWER OF AFFECTION,

THE lilies were blowing,

While Edward, all glowing With purest delight, to his Flora did say,

Tho' short-lived each flower

I plant round this bower,
Yet the rose of affection shall ne'er die away.

Then Flora 'soft sighing,
T. Edward replying,

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