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FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY.

A PATHETIC BALLAD.

BEN BATTLE was a soldier bold,

And used to war's alarms;
But a cannon-ball took off his legs,

So he laid down his arms !

Now as they bore him off the field,

Said he, “ Let others shoot, For here I leave my second leg,

And the Forty-second Foot !”

The army-surgeons made him limbs :

Said he, “ They're only pegs : But there's as wooden members quite,

As represent my legs!”

Now Ben he loved a pretty maid,

Her name was Nelly Gray;
So he went to pay her his devours,

When he devoured his pay!

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But when he called on Nelly Gray,

She made him quite a scoff ; And when she saw his wooden legs, · Began to take them off !

“Oh, Nelly Gray! Oh, Nelly Gray!

Is this your love so warm?
The love that loves a scarlet coat

Should be more uniform !”

Said she, “ I loved a soldier once,

For he was blithe and brave; But I will never have a man

With both legs in the grave!

“Before you had those timber toes,

Your love I did allow,
But then, you know, you stand upon

Another footing now !”

“Oh, Nelly Gray! Oh, Nelly Gray!

For all your jeering speeches, At duty's call, I left my legs,

In Badajos's breaches !

“ Why then,” said she, “ you 've lost the feet

Of legs in war's alarms,
And now you cannot wear your shoes

Upon your feats of arms ! ”

“Oh, false and fickle Nelly Gray !

I know why you refuse :-
Though I've no feet-some other man

Is standing in my shoes !

“I wish I ne'er had seen your face ;

But, now, a long farewell !
For you will be my death ;--alas !

You will not be my Nell !

Now when he went from Nelly Gray,

His heart so heavy got-
And life was such a burthen grown,

It made him take a knot !

So round his melancholy neck,

A rope he did entwine,
And, for his second time in life,

Enlisted in the Line !

One end he tied around a beam,

And then removed his pegs,
And, as his legs were off,—of course,

He soon was off his legs !

And there he hung, till he was dead

As any nail in town,-
For, though distress had cut him up,

It could not cut him down!
VOL. II.

12

A dozen men sat on his corpse,

To find out why he diedAnd they buried Ben in four cross-roads,

With a stake in his inside!

BIANCA'S DREAM. .

A VENETIAN STORY.

BIANCA !—fair Bianca !—who could dwell

With safety on her dark and hazel gaze, Nor find there lurk’d in it a witching spell,

Fatal to balmy nights and blessed days? The peaceful breath that made the bosom swell,

She turn’d to gas, and set it in a blaze; Each eye of hers had Love's Eupyrion in it, That he could light his link at in a minute.

II.

So that, wherever in her charms she shone,

A thousand breasts were kindled into flame ; Maidens who cursed her looks forgot their own, And beaux were turn’d to flambeaux where

she came; All hearts indeed were conquer'd but her own,

Which none could ever temper down or tame: In short, to take our haberdasher's hints, She might have written over it,—“From

Flints.”

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