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'Why, soldiers! why Should we be melancholy, boys?
Why soldiers ! why: · Whose business 'tis to die.
What! sighing! fie; Kill fear, drink on, be jolly boys!
'Tis he, you, or 1,--
Cold, hot, wet, or dry;
And scorn to fly!
'Tis but in vain
Should next campaign
We're free from pain;
But if we remain,
Cure all again.
• THE WOODMAN.
What mischief dire he brews;
But sings, and hacks, and hews. Perhaps, now fell'd by this bold man, That tree shall form the spruce sedan, Or wheel-barrow where oyster Nan
So runs her vulgar rig: The stage, where boxers croud in flocks,
Or else a quack's, perhaps the stocks,
Where smiles the parson's wig.
The throne, the cobler's stall;
And coffins for us all.
Confess the woodman's stroke;
To crack the mirthful joke.
THE OLD CLOATHS MAN. SHOES, hats, and old cloaths, hare skin, rabbit
skin, Come my pretty maid, old cloaths, old cloaths,
About the squares,
I cry my vares,
So den I vait".
At the airy gait,
Spoken.] Vat you got for me diss time, mine dear? Ah, vat is tiss! Ah, tiss de coat, de plack coat, de plack coat is ferry koot coat; but, ven he ket Shabby, he ket ferry shabby. Beside, nobody vear de black coat but de parson, and de master parson pye de new coat, and the churneyman parson cant afford to pye any coat at all. I kiff you tree shillings for te plack coat. Nonsense, ket away, I vant to talk to diss laty bout the kishen stuff: vell, vell, I kiff you fife, but den you mosse kiff me that shoe, that handkerchief, dat stocking. Ah, dat is for pretty girl, good morning my lofe, I fish you great luck vid de kishen stofe. So I trick all de flat again and again, Till by dat time I come to Rosemary-Lane, Like a snow-ball, still bigger and bigger I crows, While loudly I cry, shoes, hats, and old cloaths.
So I tink no sin
To take 'em in;
As I trick de Aat,
One, two, three hat,
Spoken. ] Ah Monsieur le Valet! vat you got tiss morning! Ah, vat is de breeches, de small cloaths, de inexpressible? Ah, tis de breeches de fine dashing fellow stare de laty de face, knock down de fatchmen, get his nose pull a little some time, ferry bad stain in the front; ah nothing coot put de pocket; ferry coot pocket, coot as new. Never ket no money to put in um, and so never fare um ore. Stay, let me look de faiscoat. Vat it tiss? oh, it is de tayler bill; damme so long my arm; tiss is te fay: te youn chentlemen alfay sell his cloaths afore he pay for um. Vel, I give you tree sixpence. Oh, Moses, you must stand my friend, i fant a guinea. A kinny! yes, I got my master fatch, I take to te fatch-maker, I kift you for little pawn, I kot an appointinent this evening ; tam fine girl, Moses. Fell, fell, I take de fatch. Dam fool! vortey, fifty pone, I ket all his kuts out before he come home again; but, pon my soul you ferry great rogue, pawn your master fatch! you must not keep company with man of my character. So I tricks all de flats again, and again, Till, by dat time I kets to Rosemary-Lane,
Like a snow-ball, still bigger and bigger I crows,
For de last ting of all
On the dasher I call.
He take in a fright,
I soon set him right,
Spoken.] Fell, you kot goot booty? O fine booty Ah vat is tiss? Áh, fill you have a sup, Moses? I rop an old maid. I ax her for te watch, she kif me te pocket pistol; tam good brandy, Moses, haf a sup? Ahan is tiss all ? All? Oh no, I make mistake, and ko into nudder chentilman hose stid my own; make free with a few spoon, waiter, candles stick, all tiss. is ferry cuot; te silvers he fill melt done,make into ferry fine vite soup. Vat you ax for altogether? fife kinny, Moses, fife kinny! I kiff dirty shilling. Tam your dirty shilling, I font have it. Ferry fell, ferry fell, stay, be sone fone out; ket hang. Oh te tam shew dog, he fill peach. Vat you say dare, I say, Moses? I belief you niosse have it, tam shoe villain. Ah, dat is right, go on. and prosper. So I tricks all de flats, again and again, Till by dat time I kits to Rosemary - Lane, Like a snow-ball still bigger and bigger I crows, As loudly I cries, shoes, hats, and old cloaths.
ALBION, THE PRIDE OF THE SEA. MY boys, would you know how our ship got her
name, You speedily shall know that from me, When ready to launch, she was christen'd by
A dread lion in battle,
wave, She sprang.with a heart full of glee, And cry'd, let none man but the true British
brave--The Albion---the Pride of the Sea.
All her crew, &c.
This, this is my throne, exclaim'd she :
All her crew, &c.
To history go, and you'll see,
All her crew, &c.
HEAVING OF THE LEAD. FOR England when, with fav’ring gale,
Our gallant ship up Channel steer'd, And, scudding under easy sail,
The high blue western land appear'd; To heave the lead, the seaman sprung, And to the pilut cheerly sung,
" By the deep---nine!" And bearing up to gain the port, Some well-known object kept in view;