Like a snow-ball, still bigger and bigger I crows, As loudly I cries, shoes, hats, and old cloaths. For de last ting of all

On the dasher I call.

Dat take genteel airing on the highway,
He take in a fright,

I soon set him right,

So of de business secretly we talk afay.

Spoken.] Fell, you kot goot booty? O fine booty Ah vat is tiss? Ah, 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, candlestick, all tiss is ferry coot; 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 mosse 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 Fame--

The Albion---the Pride of the Sea.

CHORUS.

All her crew lads of mettle,
'Midst the cannon's loud rattle,
A dread lion in battle,

Is Albion---the Pride of the Sea.

As she dash'd from the dock to embrace her own

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.

When, glorious to view, as she swam on the main,.
This, this is my throne, exclaim'd she :
And the sceptre, my boys, we e'er will sustain
Of Albion---the Pride of the Sea.

All her crew, &c.

What honour to her fame and vict'ry have paid, To history go, and you'll see,

That the world has been sway'd and shall ever be sway'd

By Albion---the Pride of the Sea.

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 pilot cheerly sung,

"By the deep---nine!"

And bearing up to gain the port,

Some well-known object kept in view;

An abbey-tow'r, an harbour-fort,
Or beacon to the vessel true;
While oft the lead the seamen flung,
And to the pilot cheerly sung,

"By the mark---seven!"

And as the much-lov'd shore we near,
With transport we beheld the roof
Where dwelt a friend or partner dear,
Of faith and love a matchless proof.
The lead once more the seaman flung!
And to the watchful pilot sung,

"Quarter less---five!

Now to her birth the ship draws nigh; We shorten sail---she feels the tide... "Stand clear the cable is the cry--

The anchor's gone; we safely ride. The watch is set, and through the night, We hear the seamen with delight,

Proclaim, "All's well!"

THE CHRISTIAN SAILOR.

COME, never seem to mind it,
Nor count your fate a curse,
However sad you find it,

Yet, somebody is worse:

In danger some may come off short,
Yet why should we despair,

For though bold tars are fortune's sport,
They still are fortune's care.

Why when our vessel blew up,
A fighting that there Don,

Like squibs and crackers flew up

The crew, each mother's son;

They sunk some rigging stop'd me short,

While twirling in the air,

And thus, if tars, &c.

Young Peg, of Portsmouth Common,
Had like t'have been my wife;
Longside of such a woman
I'd led a pretty life :

A landsman, one Sam Davenport,
She convoy'd to Horn Fair,
And thus, if tars, &c.

A splinter knock'd my nose off;
My bowsprit's gone, 1 cries:
Yet well it kept their blaws off,
Thank God, 'twas not my eyes;
Chance if again it sends that sort,
Let's hope I've had my share,
Though thus bold tars, &c.

Soarce with these words I'd outed,
Glad for my eyes and limbs,
When a cartrige burst, and douted
Both my two precious glims;

Well, then they're gone! I cry'd, in short,
Yet fate my life did spare,

And thus, though tars, &c.

I'm blind, and I'm a cripple,

Yet cheerfully would sing, Were my disasters triple,

'Cause why?---'Twas for my king:

Besides each christian's exhort,

Pleas'd, will some pity spare;

And thus, though tars are fortune's sport,
They still are fortune's eare.

BIBO.

WHEN Bibo went down to the regions below,
Where Lethe and Styx round eternity flow,
He wak'd in the boat, and would be row'd back,
For his soul it was thirsty, and wanted some sack;

But Charon replied, "You were drunk when you

dy'd,

"For you ne'er felt the pain that to death is ally'd,” “Take me back,” cried old Bibo, "I mind not the pain,

"For if I was drunk, let me die once again."

"Forget," reply'd Charon, "these regions of strife, Drink of Lethe divine, 'tis the fountain of life: Where the soul is new born, and all past is a dream, E'en the gods themselves sip of the care drowning stream,"

"The gods!" reply'd Bibo, "drink water who will,
For the maxims of mortals I'll ever fulfill;
So prate not to me of your Lethe divine,
Our Lethe on earth is a bumper of wine.”

At length grim old Cerberus began his loud roar,
When the old crazy bark struck the Stygian shore;
Then Bibo awoke, and he stagger'd to land,
And he jostled the ghosts as they stood on the
strand.

Says Charon, "I tell you, 'tis vain to rebel,

For you are banish'd from earth, and now are in

hell;"

That's a truth," cry'd old Bibo, "I know by this sign,

'Tis a hell upon earth to be wanting of wine."

BEGONE, DULL CARE.

BEGONE, dull care, I pr'ythee begone from me, « Begone, dull care, thou and I shall never agree; Long time thou hast been tarrying here,

And fain thou wouldst me kill,

But I'faith, dull care,

Thou never shall have thy will.

Too much care will make a young man look grey, And too much care will turn an old man to clay;