I DIE ON A BED OF ROSES. My father's flocks adorn'd the plain, Retirement's joys possessing; He flourish'd in the sun's mild reign, His home and children blessing: When round us rag'd destructive war, And fire and slaughter spread afar, Defeated, shamed, Our sire exclaimed,

My sons, high heaven disposes ;-
On thorns we tread,

Yet those we dread
Ne'er sleep on a bed of roses."

We wander'd long on mountains wild,
As hardy hunters living;
In humble cot, at grandeur smiled,
Our father's hopes reviving;
When battle once more rag'd below,
He fought till captur'd by the foe !
Chain'd by harsh law,

On bed of straw,

Still heaven, he cried, disposes;

My sons, behold,

In honour bold,

I die on a bed of roses.'

WHEN LEILA TOUCHED THE LUTE. (T. Moore.)

WHEN Leila touch'd the lute,

Not then alone 'twas felt;
But when the sounds were mute,
In mem'ry still they dwelt :
Sweet lute, in nightly slumbers,
Still we heard thy morning numbers.
Ah! how could she, who stole
Such breath from simple wire,
Be led in pride of soul,

To string with gold her lyre?
Sweet lute! thy chord she breaketh;
Golden now, the strings she waketh.
But where are all the tales
Her lute so sweetly told?
In lofty themes she fails,

And soft ones suit not gold,
Rich lute! we see thee glisten,
But, alas! no more we listen.

THE SKITTLE CLUB.

AIR-" Mail Coach."
Now for mirth and recreation
Each quits his occupation,

And leaves the shop at home,
Gets a hasty snap of victuals,
Then to join the club at skittles
From ev'ry part they come;
Butcher, barber, and baker,
All to the Jamaica,

For pleasure bowl along;
Free thinkers, and free drinkers,
Captains, cobblers, clerks, and tinkers,
All join the merry throng.

SPOKEN, in different voices.] "Ay, here they are, pair'd off like the wild beasts in the ark." "Yes, and their voices are almost as various." "Choose in, choose in, gentlemen." "Clear away the dead wood." "Three gone?" "Well, here's more a coming, for here's brother Twist will give us a Bermondsey-screw." 66 Why, yes, sir, I feel a bias that way.' "Flimsy of the Bank, 'tis your turn to go.' "What's the state of the game?" "Why, two ties, but three loses." " That's what I call 3 per Cents reduced." "Sink the shop." ." "With all my heart, and then we should wipe off the National Debt." "That may be wit, but we must not meddle with politics, eh, Mr. Secretary?" No, but we allow chaffing, for one of our articles expressly says, we meet here to Hear a little bother,

And laugh at one another,

And to pass the time away."

Thus begins the noise and fun, sir,
The joke and the pun, sir,

And the wit it flies about;
But then to mend the matter,
In the midst of all the chatter,

The porter's all drank out:
Then their bets upon the boozers,
The winners and the losers,

And quizzing's all the go;
So they banish care and trouble,
And they try to tip the double
Ev'ry time they throw.

SPOKEN.] "Clear a passage for the mud pilot, and he'll carry the middle pin like a spare topmast." "Did you hear any thing knock?" "Yes, that was a heavy fall of timber." " Why so hard gemmen? he's got among the straits." "Och! dirty water upon you seamen, how fond you are of rigging." "Now let's give the tinker a turn, for I think he carries too much metal for us." "Score 'em, score 'em, Mr. Secretary, and let's have no more chaffing." "Why sir, that's always allowed in this here society, for one of our articles expressly says, that we meet here to

Hear a little bother, &c
But when 'tis getting late, sir,
They crowd round the slate, sir,
Each pushing up to pay :

Take three pints here and a Roman,
Because I want to go man,

I can no longer stay ;-
Well, d -me, now that's pretty,
I'm one of the Committee,

So take my money first :Then pray let me be second, For a gallon man I'm reckon'd, And my belly sure will burst. SPOKEN.]" Aye, you've shipp'd a rare cargo of heavy wet, and without any drawback." "That's because he belongs to Pulling's gang." "There's three-pence for that 'are gemmem to pay as a nonsubscriber." 66 Why, that must be a mistake, for

I'm no subscriber at all." "Lord, how larned, he does not know nothing of the negative." "Call back the tinker, for he's push'd off a bad sixpence." "That looks as if he was not out of brass.' My wig, how the Romans have put the Taffy out of temper. I'm afraid he'll not give us a Welsh air." "Well, never mind, perhaps he'll give us a Welsh rabbit." "Go it, my lads, go it, lots of chaffing; but one of our articles expressly says, we meet here to

Hear a little bother, &c.

CAPTAIN MULLIGAN.

Air-"Morgiana in Ireland."

LOVE's a plague by night and by day,
When that post you run your skull again,
Love it was, or Kitty O'Shea,

That bother'd the heart of the brave Captain
Mulligan.

Brisk and merrily, light and gay,
Stout and steadily, smart and readily,
Soft and funnily, blythe and bonnily,

Quite an Adonis was Captain Mulligan;
He was willing, she was killing,
Soft she cried to brave O'Mulligan :
O, you jewel!

Cruel, jewel, willing, killing, Captain Mulligan.
Shoulders rising over his ears,

Face just like the moon in full again, Legs in shape like a tailor's shears,

You ne'er saw the fellow of Captain Mulligan, Limping, twaddling, Miss O'Shea;

Glances pitching him, quite bewitching him, Ogling bonnily, squinting funnily, She was a Venus to Captain Mulligan.

"O, sweet Kitty, you're so pretty!" Soft she cried, the brave O'Mulligan; "O sweet Kitty!

Pretty, witty, Kitty, pity Captain Mulligan.
Married, how they alter'd their tune;

Love, once fierce, faith! soon grew cool again,
When they'd pass'd the sweet honeymoon
She blacken'd the eye of brave Captain Mulligan.
Whisky tippling, night and day,

Scolding, fighting him, horns affrighting him, "Och! be aisy now, troth, you're crazy now, The devil go with you, then, Mr. Mulligan, Faith, I knew it, I should rue it. Sad he cried, poor Captain Mulligan, "You're my gruel!

Cruel, jewel, killing, milling, Mistress Mulligan."

WHEN Arthur first at court began
To wear long hanging sleeves
He entertained three serving men,
And all of them were thieves.
The first he was an Irishman,
The second he was a Scot,
The third he was a Welshman,
And all were knaves, good wot.
The Irishman loved usquebaugh,

The Scot loved ale called blue-tap,
The Welshman he loved toasted cheese,
And made his mouth like a mouse-trap.

Usquebaugh burnt the Irishman s throat,
The Scot was drowned in ale,

The Welshman had like to be choked by a mouse,
But he pulled it out by the tail.

All for to go along with him,

Fol de riddle lol, &c. "Come, come," said he, "'ere morning's beam."

"I vont," said she, and she screamed a scream, Then she woke, and found she dreamed a dream. Fol de riddle lol, &c.

THE BEAUTIFUL BOY.
Air-" Ballinamorioro"

IT was one winter's day, about six in the morn,
When I, little innocent creature, was born;
There was doctor, and nurse, and a great many

more,

But none of them saw such a baby before :
They all swore I was like my papa;
Yes, and see there's the nose of mamma,
With a few alterations, oh, la!

We'll make him a beautiful boy.

To make him a beauty, cried out Mrs. Sneer, We'll be troubled, without the child has a sweet

leer:

Then to give me this leer, Mrs. Glazier arose,
And a piece of red putty stuck bang on my nose.
This made me wink and blink so,

The ladies know'd not what to think, oh;
At last it turn'd into a squint so,

All to make me a beautiful boy.

To make me accomplish'd I wanted one thing,
My mouth was too small for the dear child to sing:
Then to lug it, and tug it, they all of them tried,
Till they stretch'd my sweet mouth near half a yard
wide,

Crying, pull away now, Mrs. Ryder,
It must be a little bit wider,

My dear mouth they split pretty nigh, sir,
All to make me a beautiful boy.

Now being complete, I was next sent to school, And to show off my make was stuck on a high stool: When the children went home they eried with

surprise,

We've a new boy at school with such beautifu! eyes,

He can look any way so handy,

Such a mouth he has got to suck candy,
And his legs are so preciously bandy,
And they call him a beautiful boy.'

T'other day I was ask'd in the city to dine,
The ladies in raptures all thought me divine,
And all, when observing my elegant grace,
Neglected their dinners to gaze on my face:
They cried, I shall faint with surprise,
No gas-lights can equal his eyes,

And such a sweet mouth for mince pies,
Oh, dear, what a beautiful boy!

Now, ladies, beware of love's powerful darts,
For fearful I am I shall steal all your hearts;
And then, your dear sweet little creatures, you'll
sigh,

And doat on my charms, till you languish and die;
For you know I can't marry you all,

Yet, believe me, whenever you call, My endeavours will be to please all, Although such a beautiful boy.

THIS life's a day's journey, we rise in the morn,
The sun, trees, and flowers our prospects adorn;
When perhaps we've been scarcely set out an hour,
But slap we're o'ertaken and sous'd in a shower.
To shelter then quickly, and see now 'tis o'er,
And in pretty good spirits we set out once more;
Now up hill, now down, now even, and now
We are cover'd with dust, and now popp'd in a
slough.

Thus we jog on till dinner, now wet and now dry,
And now we've a low'ring, and now a clear sky,
With the fire, the good landlord, the wine, and
the cheer,

Now refresh'd, we set forward to end our career: But the roads are uneven, we trip, are bemir'd, And jolted, and jostled, and tumbled, and tired; Yet we keep a good heart and our spirits are light, In hopes we shall meet with a good inn at night.

THE WANTON WIDOW;

OR, DISTRACTED MRS. WIGGINS.
Air-" Miss Bailey."

A WANTON widow, old and sour,
Would fain be a Signora;
She practis'd all was in her pow'r

To wear her weeds no more-a :-
But all she did, and all she strove,
Could not entice her charmer;
So cold her heart, the flame of love
Could never rightly warm her!
Oh! Mistress Wiggins,
Despairing Mistress Wiggins!
She took to drinking peppermint,
And mourn'd her faithless lover.

She sigh'd, she panted, rolled her eyes,
And used these efforts often;
The youth but view'd her with surprise,
His heart could never soften.-
At length, a brisk young maid he view'd
Handsome, tall, and clever;

She lik'd him, though he came so rude,
And vowed she'd love for ever.

Oh! Mistress Wiggins, &c. This damsel's name was Sally Prim, Her daddy was a brazier; The youth was nick-nam'd Billy Slim, And was by trade a glazier; Their hands they join'd in wedlock's tie, And told their joy in kisses. Let this a warning word imply, To widows and old misses!

IN vain, dear friends, each art you try :
To neither lover's suit inclin'd,
On outward charms I'll ne'er rely,
But prize the graces of the mind.

The empty coxcomb which you chose,
Just like the flower of day,
Shook by each wind that folly blows,
Seems born to flutter and decay.
Your choice an honest aspect wears,
To give him pain I oft have griev'd;
But it proceeded from my fears:

Than me, much wiser are deceived. I thank you both, then, for your love, Wait for my choice a little while; And he who most shall worthy prove, My hand I'll offer with a smile.

THE FEMALE VOLUNTEER. Air" The White Cockade."—(C. Dibdin.) IN danger's hour, when our haughty foes Our British standard dare oppose, When our gallant lads are obliged to roam, Why should women idly stay at home? I'm volunteer turn'd, and, indeed, what's more, A smart drill serjeant of the corps; And whenever our Old England's claims require, Can soon "make ready, present, and fire!" I'm a merry little wag in a scarlet frock, And my heart's as stout as my musket-stock. The rat-tat-too I love to hear,

Like a merry little British volunteer. With Britain's foes what can't we do? When, sirs, you must own we can conquer you. See us marshall'd out, and the fight begun, The words " charge bayonet!" away they run, While we pink the cowards as they fly, Till loudly all for quarter cry;

And as mercy's the pride of the British throne,
The word's ground arms!" and the day's our own.
I'm a merry little wag, &c.

Their arms all grounded to our view,
To "take up arms" is, of course, our due,
And having boldly gain'd the day,

"Tis "shoulder arms!" and we march away.
Then, soldier-like, each jovial soul
Crowds gaily round the flowing bowl,

And toasts, with voice and heart, with three,
Britannia! George! and Liberty!

I'm a merry little wag, &c.

"TWAS one morning in May, the weather but queer, Rather hazy, a sort of a mizzle,

When with a love song I was shot through the ear
By a maid, and her name it was Grizzle:
The Graces might dance to the tune of her song,
All warbling and running her rigs,
With a bucket of wash as she tript it along,
Just going to feed the pigs, tig, tig, tig,
Then to hear the old sow ask the little pig,
My love, have you got enough?
And the little pig crying out, oui, oui, oui,
Speaking French, to show her breeding, d'ye see;

leave,

To lie down in these deserts to die.

Then, come to me, &c.

The muses in vain would describe her in song,
'Stead of nine had they seventy pens,
As graceful the barley she scatter'd along,
All feeding the cocks and the hens.
Coop biddy, coop biddy, cup!

Then to see all the chickens come tumbling up, While chanticleer cried to his hens, clook, clook, clook, clook, clook, clook,

Took, took, took, took, took, took, took, took, took. Not the hens and the cocks, not the cocks and the hens,

Though their tails and their wings were all made into pens,

Could e'er describe Grizzle while feeding the hens.
To Grizzle I'm married, so blest ne'er was man,
We have children the best part of twenty;
So we try to maintain 'em as well as we can,
While content turns our pittance to plenty.
If the great their dependents and parasites own,
So do we, for the dogs and the cats
Come flattering round for a scrap or a bone,
While we're feeding our sweet little brats.
Diddle, liddle, diddle, come then in lap,

Then I awkwardly burn the child's mouth with the

ON THIS COLD FLINTY ROCK.

On this cold flinty rock I will lay down my head,
And happy will sing through the night,
The moon shall smile sweetly upon my cold bed,
And the stars crowd to give me a light.

Then, come to me, my gentle dear,
Oh, turn those sweet eyes unto me;
Το

my bosom now creep, I will sing thee
to sleep,

And kiss from thy lid the sad tear. This innocent flower, which those rude cliffs unfold, Is thou, love, the joy of this earth, But the rock that it springs from, so flinty and cold, Is thy father that gave thee thy birth. Then, come to me, &c. The dews that now hang on the cheek of the eve, And the winds that do mournfully cry,

........

WHO'S TO BLAME BUT OUR MASTERS. THE life of a valet for me,

he

So airy, so gay, and so free,
No drudgery e'er to employ us,
No care in the world to annoy us,
But the frowns of my lord,
Or my lady's fine airs,

But no pain they afford,
For our motto's-Who cares?
We can dress fine,-Drink wine,
In plots league,-Game, intrigue,
Swear, strut,-Quiz, put,
Talk high,-Palm a lie,
Fire away,-D---n a play,
Losing places our only disasters.
So we dress,-Mess,
Drink,-Think,
Game,-Flame,
League,-Intrigue,
Plot,-Sot,
Stare,-Swear,
Strut,-Cut,
Fly,-Lie,

And, by the by,

If such is our plan,

Like master like man,

Who's to blame but our masters?

SPOKEN.] My first master was the tippy of the ton,

gave concertos and desertos; Frippero, says he, invite signors and signoras Squallo, Naturallo, Flatto, Sharpo, and Jew's Harp O! Crotcheteni, Quaverini, Fiddledini, Flautini, Rosinini, Clarinetti, Castagnetti, Bassooni, Tromboni, Double Drummi, and flat hummi.

For the thing for me

Is a life of glee,

fashion's all fiddle de dee.

Some servants I own are quite nice,

And talk about virtue and vice;
Who flatly refuses to play booty,
And tell you of honour and duty,
Talk of conscience, a rule
That might do heretofore,

But now from our school

Is expelled as a bore:

They ne'er dress fine,-Drink wine, In plots league,-Game, intrigue, Swear, strut,-Quiz, put, Talk high,-Palm a lie, Fire away,-D-n a play, To them faults are only disasters. They won't dress,-Mess, Drink,-Think, Game,-Flame, League,-Intrigue, Plot,-Sot, Stare,-Swear, Strut,-Cut, Fly,--Lie,

And, by the by,

If such is their plan,
Like master like man,

Who's to blame but their masters?

SPOKEN.] All decency and decorum, not habit like fashion, that's all delightful hurry, scurry, flurry, worry, tattle, prattle, rattle, bustle, rustle, merry muscle, gaming, flaming, dashing, splashing, crashing, gallanting, chanting, spattering, flattering, chattering, prancing, dancing, riddleing, and fiddleing.

For the thing for me, &c.