The Echo: or Federal songster. Being a large collection of the most celebrated, modern poetical writings, of different authors.

THE ECHO.

SONG I. A FEDERAL ODE.

YE Sons of Columbia, unite in the cause Of Liberty, Justice, Religion and Laws, Should foes then invade us, to battle we'll hie, For the God of our fathers will be our Ally. Should Frenchmen advance, tho' Europe join France, Designing our conquest and plunder, United and free, we ever will be, And our cannon shall tell them in thunder, That foes to our freedom we'll ever defy, Till the Continent sinks, and the ocean is dry.

When Britain assail'd us, undaunted we stood, Defended the land we had purchas'd with blood, Our liberty won, and it shall be our boast, If the old world united should menace our coast, Should millions invade, in terror array'd, And b•• us our freedom surrender, Our country they'd find with bayonets lin'd, And WASHINGTON here to defend her, For foes to our freedom, &c.

We are anxious that peace may continue her reign; We cherish the virtues which sport in her train. Our hearts ever melt when the fatherless sigh, And we shiver at Horror's funeral cry; But st••ll tho' we prize that child of the skies, We'll never like slaves be accosted, In a war of defence, our means are immense, And we'll fight till our all is exhausted, For foes to our freedom, &c.

The Eagle of freedom with rapture behold O'er shadow our land with his plumage of gold; The flood-gates of glory are open'd on hign, And Warren and Mercer descend from the sky, They came from above with a message of love, They bid us be firm and decided, At liberty's call, unite one and all. For you conquer unless you've divided. UNITE, and the foes of your freedom, &c.

Americans, seek no occasion for war! The rude deeds of rapine still ever abhor, But, if in defence of your rights you should arm. Let no to••ls discourage, nor danger alarm; For foes to your peace will ever increase, If freedom and fame you should barter, Let those rights be yours, while Creation en|dures. For OMNIPOTENCE gave you the CHAR|TER. Then foes to our freedom, &c.

SONG. II. THE BOSTON PATRIOTIC SONG.

Written by THOMAS PAINE, A. M.

YE sons of Columbia who bravely have fought, For those rights, which unstain'd from your Sires had descended, May you long taste the blessings your valor has bought, And your s••ns reap the soil, which their fathers defended. Mid the reign of mild peace, May your nation increase, With the glory of Rome, and the wisdom of Greece: And ne'er may the sons of Columbia be slaves, Whil•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 earth bears a plant, ••r the sea ro••ls its waves.

In a cl••me, whose rich vales feed the marts of the world, Whose shores are unshaken by Europe's commotion. The Trident of Commerce should never be hurl'd, To incence the legitimate power of the ocean. But should Pirates invade, Though in thunder array'd. Let your cannon declare the free charter of TRADE. For ne'er shall, &c.

The fame of our arms, of our laws the mild sway, And justly ennoble our nation in story, Till the dark clouds of Faction obscure our young day, And envellop'd the sun of American glory. But let Traitors be told. Who their Country have sold, And ba••ter'd their God, for his image in gold— That ne'er shall, &c.

While France her huge limbs bathes recumbent in blood, And society's base threats with wide disso|lution; May PEACE like the Dove, who return'd from the flood Find an Ark of abode in our mild CONSTI|TUTION! But though PEACE is our aim, Yet the boon we disclaim, If bought by our Sov'reignty, Justice, or Fame. For ne'er shall, &c.

'Tis the fire of the flint, each American warms; Let Rome's haughty victors beware of col|lision! Let them bring all the vassals of Europe in arm••, WE'RE A WORLD BY OURSELVES, and d••sdain a division! While, with patriot pride, To our laws we're ally'd, No foe can subdue us—no faction divide. For ne'er shall, &c.

Our mountains are crown'd with imperial Oak. Whose roots, like our Liberty, ages have nourish'd; But long ere our nation submits to the yoke, Not a ••••ee shall be le••t on the field where it ••••ourish'd. Should invasion impend, Every grove would descend, From the hill-tops, they shaded, our shores to defend. For ne'er shall, &c.

Let our patriots destroy Anarch's pestilent worm, Lest our Liberty's growth should be check'd by corrosion: Then let clouds thicken round us, we heed not the storm; Our realm fears no shock, but the earth's own explosion. Foes assail us in vain, Though their ••leets bridge the main, For our altars and laws with our lives we'll maintain; And ne'er shall, &c.

Should the tempest of war over shadow our land, Its bolts could ne'er rend Freedom's temple asunder; For, unm••v'd, at its portal would WASHING|TON stand, And repu••s•• with his Breast, the assault of the Thunder! His sword from the sleep Of its scabbard would leap,

And conduct with its point, every flash to the deep. For ne'er shall, &c.

Let Fame to the world sound America's voice; No intrigue can her sons from their govern|ment sever; Her pride is her ADAMS—his laws are her choice, And shall flourish, till liberty slumber forever. Then unite heart and hand, Like Leonidas' band And swear by the GOD of the ocean and land. That ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves, While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.

SONG III.

HAIL COLUMBIA! happy land; Hail ye Heroes! Heaven-born band, Who fought and bled in freedom's cause, Who fought and bled in freedom's cause, And when the storm of war was gone, Enjoy'd the peace your valor won. Let INDEPENDENCE be our boast, Ever m••ndful what it cost; Ever grateful for the pr••ze. Let its altar reach the skies, Firm—united—let us be, Rallying round our liberty; As a band of brothers join'd, Peace and safety we shall find.

IMMORTAL PATRIOTS! rise once more, Defend your rights, defend your shore:

Let no rude foe with impious hand, Let no rude foe with impious hand, Invade the shrine where sacred lies Of toil and blood the well-earn'd prize. While offering peace sincere and just, In Heaven we place a manly trust, That truth and justice will prevail, And every scheme of bondage fail. Firm—united, &c.

Sound, sound the trump of fame. Let WASHINGTON's great name, Ring thro' the world with loud applause, Ring thro' the world with loud applause, Let every clime to Freedom, dear, Listen with a joyful ear. With equal skill and God-like power, He governs in the fearful hour Of horrid war, or guides with ease The happier times of honest peace. Firm—united, &c.

Behold the CHIEF who now commands, Once more to serve his country frands— The Rock on which the storm will beat, The Rock on which the storm will beat, But arm'd with virtue, firm and true, His hopes are fix'd on Heaven and You. When hope was sinking in dismay, And glooms obscur'd Columbia's day, His steady mind from changes free, Resolv'd on Death or Liberty. Firm—united—let us be, Ralying round our liberty: As a band of brothers join'd. Peace and safety we shall find.

SONG IV.

COME, hail the day, ye sons of mirth, Which gave your native country birth, All hail th' mportant hour: Let admiration mark the day, When Fathers to their sons did say, Be free, till time's no more!

Columbia's sons have ••ear'd a tree, The ••oot, the branch, are Liberty, Expanding far and wide: Refulgent years, have roll'd away, Since Freedom blest America— ••••ke those, two thousand glide.

When ••ime releas'd GEORGE WASHINGTON, Not from affections he had won, But from the height of ca••e: He left the reins of government, To his successor's management, Quite tir'd with ••oi••e and war.

O guide, ye gods, this rev'rend sage, Until he's down the steep of age, Then sooth his cares to rest: Yet, may his virtues live again, To vind••cate the Rights of Man, Of which we are possess'd.

JOHN ADAMS, with a finish'd mind▪ Columbia's chosen son, inclin'd To take th' impo••tant chair; The hero takes the 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and guides America, 'gainst winds and tides, To shun degrading war.

But, if to war's terriffic sound, We must devote fair freedom's ground, To stain with blood its soil: Then ROUSE, AMERICANS, and show, That you can wealth, or life bestow, Ere FREEDOM meets a foil.

Should Europe's factions once attempt, T' annihilate our government, Or tread upon our shore: Burgoyn'd, Cornwall••••'d, they would be, Or Arno••d like, this country flee, Or fall, to rise no more.

Then hail the day, ye sons of mirth, Which gave your native country birth, All nail th' important hour: Let admiration mark the day, When fathers to their sons did say, Be free, till time's no more!

SONG V.

GOD save the United States, Free from the worst of fates, Vile Gallic sway. May they forever be, Just, Independent, free, Liberty's nursery, Without dismay.

O God, great ADAMS save, The firm, the good, the brave, Who now commands. May every enemy, Far from his presence flee,

And be dire anarchy, Crush'd by his hands.

Save too great WASHINGTON, Columbia's dearest son, To be our shield. When war's renew'd alarms, Shall call again to arms, And threat'ning danger warns Us to the field.

"O Lord, our God arise, "Scatter our enemies, "And make them fall. "Confound their politics, "Frustrate their knavish tricks, "On the our hopes are fix'd, "O save us all."

Let all with one consent, Unite with Government, Our rights to guard. May jarring discord cease, Our social joys increase, And smiling Heaven-born peace Be our Reward.

SONG VI.

SING Yankee Doodle, that fine tune, Americans delight in; It suits for peace, it suits for fun, It suits as well for fighting. Yankee doodle (mind the tune) Yankee doodle dandy, If Frenchmen come with naked bum, We'll spank 'em hard and handy.

To Ca Ira and Carmagnole, Direct'ry dance like Neroes;* 1.1 But Frenchmen's songs, so full of wrongs Are scorn'd by Yankee heroes. Yankee doodle, &c.

The President, with good intent, Three Envoys sent to Paris, But cinq Tetes,† 1.2 would not with 'em treat, Of honor France so bare is. Yankee doodle, &c.

Thro' X. and Y. and madame Sly, They made demand of money; For as we're told, the French love gold, As stinging bees love honey. Yankee doodle, &c.

Nebuchadnezzar long ago, Set up a golden image,

Shadrach, Meshach, Abednigo, Would not fall down in homage. Yankee doodle, &c.

Just so cinq Tetes, with pride elate, Of Marshall, Pinckney, Gerry, Demand that they adore and pay, The piper to make merry. Yankee doodle, &c.

That Talleyrand might us tra••pan, And o'er the country sound it; He sent his pill, t' Aurora's mill, And Benny Faction ground it. Yankee doodle, &c.

But Marshall came, with trump of fame, And brought the noble answer; Without a joke he had in soak, A rod for Talleyrand, Sir. Yankee doodle, &c.

With fraud do the Directory, Deal in conceit and evil; Who Venice sold, for pow'er and gold, Would sell us to the Devil. Yankee doodle, &c.

Their 'fernal hugs, may squeeze Dutch bugs, But we will have no master; And wh••le the Swiss, Sans† 1.3 Culottes kiss, We'll spread a blister plaster. Yankee doodle, &c.

Americans, then sly to arms, And learn the way to use 'em;

If each man fights to 'fend his rights, The French can't long abu••e 'em•• Yankee doodle, &c.

Bold ADAMS did, in seventy-six, Our Independence sign, Sir; And he will not, give up a jot, Tho' all the world combine Sir. Yankee doodle, &c.

Let every man, adopt his plan, Like brothers stick together; Then all the threats, of vile cinq Tetes, Will never weigh a feather. Yankee doodle. &c.

If we are firm, peace will return, Sweet peace, the very dandy; May they that flinch, a single inch, Ne'er taste the sugar candy. Yankee doodle (mind the tune) Yankee doodle dandy, If Frenchmen come, with naked bu••, We'll spank 'em hard and handy.

SONG VII. THE FARMER's PATRIOTIC ODE.

Tune—Vicar of Bray.

FROM th' soil our fathers dearly bo't, No foe their sons shall sever; The laws, for which our heroes fought, Shall guard their rights forever. When foes invade, with heart and hand, We'll crowd the field of action:

From Gallic weeds▪ we'll purge our land, And crush the reptile faction.

Ere Jacobins shall lord it here, Or we for Frenchmen labor, The pruning hook shall dart, a spear, The ploughshare glow, a sabre! When foes, &c.

Let Gallic's pirates cross the waves, To ask a contribution; On land, we'll point them to their graves, By Sea, the CONSTITUTION. When foes, &c.

Our swains shall quit their lover's arms, And WASHINGTON shall lead 'em; The husband leave domestic charms, And know no friend, but Freedom. When foes, &c.

The free-born child, the tender wife, Shal•• brave each sad disaster; The wol••'s dread yell, the savage knife; But, spurn a Gallic master. When foes invade, Columbia's friend: Shall crowd the field of action, Back to the waves repel the fiends, That sow the seeds of faction.

SONG VIII.

TO the standard repair, Each jolly bold Tar, Our Country calls loudly to arms▪ Teach the bullies of France,

The fam'd Yankee-dance, 'Tis Freedom our bosoms that warms.

Let the beau TALIEY RAND, With his snuff box in hand, Ask again a doceur for admission; Come here Monsieur Frog, Take a tiff of our grog, And we'll shew you a Yankee commission.

Do you think Gallic Crows, Can catch us adoze, While storms are thick gath'ring aloft; Pardonnez Monsieur, Our Liberty's dear, You'll not find us with sculls quite so soft.

Each day a new ship, With her anchor atrip, Is arm'd, and the Eagle full spread; If America stoops, And her sons become dupes, It must be when her Tars are all dead.

Come each honest soul, Pass around the full bowl, To ADAMS our glorious head; Thank the good Gods above, Who America love,— Great WASHINGTON too is not dead!

Mother Cary's foul brood, Can do you no good, While such Worthies America lead; Our Captains are bold, And despise secret gold, Our coin, boys, is Iron and Lead.

SONG IX.

Tune—Lass of Richmond Hill.

HAIL, victorious FREEDOM, hail! Thy flame illumes the world: The cause shall evermore prevail— While DESPOTS down are hurl'd. F••ll high the glass, And let it pass, Let FREEDOM'S health go round: From pole to pole Her thunders ••oll, And god-••ike voice resounds.

Cheer up COLUMBIA, ne'er dismay— Bright QUEEN OF GLORY rise; Rude pirates on the commerce prey— To arms, thy HERO cries. He again commands Thy patriot bands, With ••erior ne'er dismay'd; But with delight Defends their right— Can FREEMEN be afraid?

Sound, sound the trump—the Chief appears— Great WASHINGTON commands; He's come to ••ooth COLUMBIA's fear••, And lead her patriot bands, Now with huzzas And loud applause Sound, sound aloud his fame; At his command

We ready stand To take the field again. Now let bold FREEDOM raise her voice, By Tyrants undismay'd; May all the world, with us rejoice To see her Flag display'd. Independent we Will ever be; Let haughty EUROPE see, That while with gore They drench each shore, AMERICA IS FREE.

SONG X.

COME all Grenadiers let us join hand in hand, And swear by our country most truly to stand; Round the banners of liberty manfully range, Resolv'd to preserve it unblemish'd by change. And should our proud foes in their insuits persist, Their arts as their arms we will firmly resist; For our glorious freedom we drew with our breath And with it we'll keep it unsully'd till death.

Our cause truly noble, and honor our guide, The defence of our country shall e'er be our pride, Determin'd her dear Independence to guard, In her happiness only we'll seek our reward. For her ev'ry labor endur'd will be sweet, For her ev'ry danger we'll cheerfully meet, For our glorious, &c.

From our father who gain'd it, our freedom we hold, And it ne'er by t••eir sons shall be cowardly sold. To g••ard it our fortunes shall freely be spent; But to buy it. COLUMBIA will ne'er give a cent; T••en let ••t by Frenchmen be well understood, That if we must purchase, our price is, our BLOOD. For our glorious, &c.

SONG XI.

ON the green sedgy banks of the sweet wind|ing Tay, As blithe as the woodlark that carols in May— I past the gay moments with joy and delight, For peace cheer'd the morn and content crown'd the night: Till love taught young hope, my youth to de|ceive, What we wish to be true, love bids us believe.—

Wherever I wander o'er hill, dale, or grove, Young Sandy will follow with sweet tales of love; Enraptur'd he vow'd with a kiss and a sigh, If Jemmy proves cruel, Alas! I must die! A youth so engaging, with ease might deceive, What we wish to be true, love bids us believe.

He stole my fond heart, then he left me to mourn, For peace and contentment which ne'er can return; From the clown to the beau, the sex are all art,

They complain of the wound but we feel not the smart; We join in the fraud, and ourselves we deceive, What we wish to be true, love bids us believe.

SONG XII.

SHEPHERDS I have lost my love, Have you seen my Anna? Pride of every shady grove, Upon the banks of Banna.

I for her my home forsook, Near you misty mountain, Left my flock, my pipe, my crook, Green wood, shade and fountain.

Never shall I see them more, Until her returning; All the joys of life are o'er, From gladness chang'd to mourning.

Whither is my charmer flown! Shepherds tell me whither! Ah! woe me, perhaps she's gone Forever and forever.

SONG XIII. DESCRIPTION OF A WOMAN.

Written by a Man.

A WOMAN is like to—but stay— What a Woman is like who can say▪ There's no living with or without one—

Love bites like a fly, Now an ear, now an eye— Buz, buz, always buzzing about one. When she's tender and kind, She is like to my mind, (And Fanny was so, I remember.) She's like to—Oh dear! She's as good very near As a ripe melting peach in September, If she laugh and she chat, Play, joke, and all that, And with smiles and good humour she meets me, She's like a rich dish, Of ven'lon and fish, That cries from the table "come eat me." But she'll plague you, and vex you, Distract and perplex you, False hearted and ranging, Unsettled and changing, What then do you think she is like? Like a sand? like a rock? Like a wheel? like a clock? Aye, like a clock that is always at strike, Her head's like the island folks tell on, Which nothing but monkies can dwell on, Her heart's like a lemon—so nice, She carves for each lover a slice: In truth she's to me, Like to wind, like the sea, Whose raging will hearken to no man; Like a mill, Like a pill, Like a fla••l, Like a whale,

Like an ass, Like a glass, Whose image is constant to no man: Like a flow'r, Like a show'r, Like a fly, Like a pye, Like a pea, Like a flea, Like a thief, Like—in brief, She's like nothing on earth, but a woman.

SONG XIV. DESCRIPTION OF A MAN.

Written by a Woman.

A MAN, he is like to—but stay, To what he's unlike, who can say? And yet we can scarce do without him; Love sets in his breast Like a hen on her nest, And his chickens are scratching about him.

When he's pleas'd I am squeez'd, When he's not I am teaz'd, And I never can tell where to find him; He is like an old horse, Worth but little and cross, And a woman is foolish to mind him.

If he chance to but smile, And look pleasant a while, And come chattering round like a chicken—

He is like a gay lark, But a false hearted spark, And his feathers are scarcely worth picking.

But when he is vext, Confus'd and perplext, Deceitful and vicious, ••a••e, false, and malicious, He is like—hard to speak it myself— He is like to—alas! L••ke a snake in the grass, He is then, only then, like himself.

His head's like a butcher's full shop, Beef, mutton and pork, or what not: His heart's like a pail of old swill, Which the offal contributes to fill:

In short, to a wife, He is like a case knife, To cut up my cake or my cheese; Like a saint when he's civil, But if not, like the devil; But will turn to whatever he please:

To a hog, to a dog, To a hare, to a bear, Whose cruelty yieldeth to no man; Like a mouse, like a goose, Like a mule, like a fool, Like a lane, like a vane, Like a leaf, like—in brief, He's like every thing else, but a WOMAN.

SONG XV.

Tune—Rule Britania.

WHEN Britain with despotic sway, Would at her feet our freedom lay, Would at, &c. We rais'd the Standard—to arms, to arms, we cry'd, Our patriots fought—they bled, they di'd. Independent Columbians, they would be, Resolv'd to perish, or be free.

Great WASHINGTON did then command; He led the bold heroic band, He led, &c. They fought and conquer'd—Columbia's Sons were free, Resolv'd on death or liberty. Independent Columbians they would be, Resolv'd to perish, or be free.

When France her struggle first began For liberty, the rights of man, For liberty, &c. Glowing with ardor—with ardor in her cause, We scorn'd that Kings should give her laws. Independent—may Gallia still be free, They fought at first for liberty.

But France, you now forget your friend, Our amity is at an end, Our amity, &c. You rob our commerce, insultus on our coast,

Divide and conquer, is your boast. Know proud Frenchmen, united we will be, Resolv'd to perish or be free.

Shall we to France a tribute pay, Or at her feet our freedom lay, Or at, &c. Forbid it Heav'n Columbia's freemen cry, We will be free or nobly die. Know proud Frenchmen, united we will be, Resolv'd on death or liberty.

United then with heart and hand, Our constitution firm shall stand, Our constitution, &c. Then raise the standard, let this your motto be; Our father's fought, and so will we. Hail Columbians, united we will be, Like them we'll conquer and be free.

SONG XVI.

AT the sound of the horn, We rise in the morn, And waken the woods as we thunder along; Yoix, yoix, tally-o, After Reynard we go. While echo on echo redoubles the song.

Not the steeds of the sun Our brave coursers out-run, O'er the mound, horse and hound, see us bound in full cry: Like Phoebus we rise To the height of the skies,

And, careless of danger, five bars we defy. We w••k••n the woods, &c.

At eve, Sir, we rush, And are close at his brush; Already he dies—see him panting for breath. Each feat and defeat We renew and repeat, Regardless of life, so we're in at the death. We waken the woods, &c.

With a bottle at night, We prolong the delight, Much Trimbush we praise, and the deeds that were done: And yoix, tally-o, The next morning we go, With Phoebus to end, as we mount with the sun.

SONG XVII.

FAIR liberty! whom heaven gave But where peculiarly it loves; And put off all it meant for slave With orange bo••'rs and citron groves! The children of the frozen north, Where nature half her gifts retains, Are doom'd to tame the churl••sh earth, For tasteless fruits, and tardy grains;

Yet while their weary task they ply, By thee their fainting souls are cheer'd! No stern unfeeling Lord is nigh, No rods are seen, no chains are heard!

Still as they guide the delving plough, Or bind pale Autumn's scanty store; To thee, their manly lives they vow, To thee, their grateful strains they pour▪

SONG XVIII.

THE rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a show'r, That Mary to Anna convey'd; A plentiful moisture encumber'd the flow'r, And weigh'd down its beautiful head.

The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet, And seem'd at a fanciful view, To weep with regret for the buds it had left, On the flourishing bush where it grew.

I hastily seiz'd it, unfit as it was, For a nose-gay, so dripping and drown'd, And shaking it rudely—too rudely, alas! I snapt it—it fell to the ground.

"And such" I exclaim'd "is the pitiless part, Some act by the delicate mind, Regardless of wringing and breaking the heart, Already to sorrow resign'd,

This beautiful rose, had I shaken it less, Might have bloom'd w••th the owner a while, And the tear that is wip'd with a little address, May be follow'd, perhaps, with a smile."

SONG XIX.

HARK, hark, from the woodlands the loud swelling horn Invites to the sports of the chase, How ruddy, how bright, and how cheerful the morn, How healthy and blooming each face. To the grove with Diana, I'll hasten away, Nor lose the delights of the morn, The hounds are all out hark, hark forward, away, While echo replies to the horn.

Gay health still attends thro' the sports of the field, O'er mountain and valley we go; The joy of the chase, health and pleasure ca•• yield, No wishes beyond it we know. To the grove, &c.

Our innocent pastimes each virgin may share, And the censure of envy defy, While Cupid soon follow'd by grief and des|pair, The blessing of youth would destroy. To the grove, &c.

SONG XX.

AWAKE from delusion, ye sons of the brave; "Cries the Genius, that watches our Free|dom and Fame;"

Thy virtue no longer from rapine can save, Since Ga••lia's ••••ght up of discension the flame. Then to arms ••et's repair, While ••ur wrongs fill the air. That France and the wor••d may behold, That our freedom, our fame, And our virtuous name, We prize above friendship and gold.

Away with the veil, which thy charity spread O'er the deeds of a nation, where tyrants preside; No glory of thine can its influence shed, On the friends of deception, destruction and pride. Then, &c.

Arise from thy bowers of contentment and ease, And gird on the sword of thy vengeance anew, For in vain would thy wisdom their madness appease, In vain will thy caution their plottings pursue. Then, &c.

Deep dy'd with the blood of the valiant and good, And c••oth'd with deformity, guilt and despair, In the portal of peace, like demons, they've stood, And poison'd with venom sweet liberty's air. Then, &c.

To freedom, to virtue and bliss they pretend, And vauntingly offer redemption to slaves;

While abroad thro' the world their assassins they send, And prove by each law that they glory in knaves. Then, &c.

Rise, scornful, my sons, from a friendship so base, And again be the banner of freedom unfurl'd; While time on his records Columbia shall place— The PRIDE, the DELIGHT, and the BOAST of the WORLD. Then, &c.

SONG XXI.

HOW bright are the joys of the table, I mean when the cloth is remov'd? Our hearts are fast held by a cable, While round the decanter is shov'd. The ladies all rise to retire, We stand up and look very grave: A bumper then draw round the fire, Determin'd like souls to behave.

My servant, he knows I'm a toper, "Clean glasses, of wine a recruit!" He brings in a six bottle cooper, And places it close at my foot. I gingerly take up a bottle. The saw-dust I puff from his coat; The cork out, he sings in the throttle, But sweeter than Mira his note!

"What gentleman coffee now chooses?" The compliment comes from the fair; No gentleman coffee refuses. But not a man st••rs from his chair. Tho' Frenchmen may do so, I bar it, With British politeness I think; While Monsieur we thank for his claret, He never shall teach us to drink.

Gay H••be no•• shews in Apollo, A struggle '••wixt claret and wit; For Bacchus insists he shall swallow, S••x bumpers before he may sit. Ye fair, why so ill should we treat you, To part ere the bottle is won? At supper Apollo sha••l meet you, And shew you what Bacchus has done.

SONG XXII.

DEAR Kathleen, you no doubt, Find sl••ep how very swee•• 'tis; Dogs bark, and cocks have crow'd out, You never dream how late 'tis. This morning gay, I post away, To have w••th you a bit of play, On two legs r••d Along to ••id Good-morrow to your night-cap.

Last night a little ••o••sy, With whisky, ale, and c••der, I ask'd young Betty Blowzy, To let me sit beside her,

Her anger rose, And, sour as fl••es, The little gipsey cock'd her nose; Yet here I've rid Along, to bid Good m••••row to your night-cap.

"Beneath the honey suckle, T••e daisy and the v••••et Compose so sweet a trackle, They'd tempt you sure to spoil it, Sweet Sall and Bell I've pleas'd you well— But h••ld, I must'nt k••ss and tell, So here I've rid Along, to bid Good-morrow to your night-cap."

SONG XXIII.

SIMPLICITY! thou fav'rite child Of heav'nly Nature, chaste and mild; Sweet gua••d of playful youth: Thy nakedness ••s thy defence, Thy silent gest••re eloq••ence; Thy eloquence is truth.

Ah! say then, who could injure thee, Nature's lov'd babe—S••mplicity? S•• sweet, so chast••, so mild: The worst of wretches, who has not Thy parent's traces long forgot, Could never hurt it's child.

SONG XXIV.

THE wealthy fool with gold in store, Will still desire to grow richer, Give me but these, I ask no more, My charming girl, my friend and pitcher. My friend, so rare, my girl, so fair, With such what mortal can be richer, Give me but these—a fig for care, With my sweet girl, my friend and pitcher.

From morning sun I'd never grieve, To toil a hedger or a ditcher, If that when I come home at eve, I might enjoy my friend and pitcher, My friend so rare, &c.

Tho' fortune ever shuns my door, I know not what can so bewitch her; With all my heart—can I be poor, With my sweet girl, my friend, and pitcher? My friend so rare, &c.

SONG XXV.

DISTRESS me with those tears no more, One kiss, my love, and then adieu; The last boat destin'd for the shore Waits, dearest girl, alone for you. Soon, soon, before the light winds borne, Shall I be sever'd from your fight; You, left the lonely hours to mourn, And weep through many a stormy night.

When far along the restless deep, In trim array the ship shall steer; Your form remembrance st••ll shall keep, Your worth, affection still revere: And with the distance from your eyes, My love for you shall be increas'd, As to the pole the needle lies, And, farthest off, still varies least.

While round the bowl the cheerful crew Shall sing of triumphs on the main, My thought shall fondly turn to you, Of you alone shall be my strain: And when we've bow'd the leaguing foe, Revengeful of my country's wrong, Returning home my heart shall shew, No fiction grac'd my artless song.

SONG XXVI.

THO' prudence may press me, And duty distress me, Against inclination, ah! what can they do? No longer a rover, His follies are over, My heart, my fond heart says, my Henry is true,

The bee thus as changing, From sweet to sweet ranging, A rose should he light on, ne'er wishes to stray▪ With raptures possessing, In one ev'ry blessing, Till torn from her bosom he flies far away.

SONG XXVII.

HOW happy the woman, whose charms Gain sweet-hearts stuck all in a row! That if one should desert from her arms, She still has two strings to her bow.

Should Thomas prove false—could he rob My heart of its quiet? Oh no— For if Thomas is gone there is Bob: I still have two strings to my bow.

Then 'tis not so common a thing Can vex me, I'd have you to know▪ Since I have two beaux to my string, As well as two strings to my bow.

SONG XXVIII.

LORD, what care I for mam, or dad? Why let them scold and bellow! For while I live I'd love my lad, He's such a charming fellow.

The last fair day, on yonder green, The youth he danc'd so well-o So spruce a lad was never seen, As my sweet charming fellow.

The fair was over, night was come, The lad was some what mellow, Says he, my dear, I'll see you home, I thank'd the charming fellow.

We trudg'd along, the moon shone bright, Says he, my sweetest Nell-o, I'll kiss you here by this good light, Lord, what a charming fellow.

You rogue, says I, you've stopp'd my breath! Ye bells ring out my knell-o; Again I'd die so sweet a death With such a charming fellow.

SONG XXIX.

SIR Solomon Simons, when he did wed, Blush'd black as a crow;—his fair lady did blush light: The clock struck twelve, they were both tuck'd in bed; In the chimney—a rush light, A little farthing rush light.

Sir Solomon gave his lady a nudge— Cries he, "Lady S••mons, there's vastly too much light;" "Then, Sir Solomon," says she, "to get up you cannot grudge, And blow out the rush light, The little farthing rush light, Fal, lal, lal, lal, la. And blow out the rush right."

Sir Solomon then, out of bed pops his toes, And vastly he swore, and very much did curse light; And then, to the chimney, Sir Solomon he goes,

And he puff'd at the rush light, The little farthing rush light; But poor Sir Solomon Cou'd'nt blow out the rush light.

Lady Simons got out, in her night cap, so neat, And over the carpet she did brush light; And there she found Sir Solomon, in a heat, Puffing at the rush light; The little farthing rush light. But neither of the two Could blow out the rush light.

Sir Solomon and Lady, their breath quite gone, Rang the bell in a rage, determin'd to crush light. Half asleep, in his shirt, then up came John, And he puff'd at the rush light, The little farthing rush light, But none of the family Could blow out the rush light.

Cook, coachmen and maids, very near all in bust, Come, and swore, in their lives, they never met with such light; And each of the family by turns had a puff At the little farthing rush light, The curst farthing rush light, But all that they could do Could'nt blow out the rush light.

The watchman at last, went by crying—one! Here, watchman come up, on you we might on worse light;

Then up came the watchman the business it was done, For he turn'd down the Rush Light, The little Farthing Rush Light; So the business it was done, For he turn'd down the Rush Light.

SONG XXX.

TO hear a sweet goldfinch's sonnet, This morning I put on my bonnet, But scarce in the meadow—pies on it, When the Captain appears in my view; I felt an odd sort of sensation, My heart beat in strange palpitation, I blush'd like a pink of carnation, When says he, my dear, how d'ye do?

The dickins, says I, here has popp'd him, I thought to slip by, but I stopp'd him, So my very best curt'sy I dropp'd him; With an air, then he took off his hat; He seem'd with my person enchanted, He squeez'd my hand—how my heart panted▪ He ask'd for a kiss, which I granted, And, pray now, what harm was in that?

Says I, Sir, for what do you take me? He swore a fine lady he'd make me, No, dem him, he'd never forsake me, And then on his knee he stoop'd down; His handkerchief, la! smelt so sweetly, His white teeth he shew'd so completely, He manag'd the matter so neatly, I ne'er can be kiss'd by a clown.

SONG XXXI.

HOPE, treach'rous meteor, lucid vapour! Ever flying, Still belying The village ••aper— Wand'ring pilgrims—lone, benighted, The blue falsehood, pleas'd, descry; See the cheerful faggot lighted. Think the social cottage nigh.

Lambent fire, deceive, but harm not; Pallid gleam, relume, but warm not— Light no error in my breast, Sooth my weary soul, but charm not; Unrelenting, Unconsenting, Swearing never to be bless'd—

SONG XXXI.

MY mother says, I'm now sixteen, Must dress—in the beau monde be seen, Reply to all the vows of men, No, no, no.

In sweetest buds there canker lies, And in the rose sharp thorns arise; All this she says to make me wise, And say no.

When Henry t'other morning came, Profess'd an honest tender flame, And ask'd me, if the day I'd name, I said no.

I told him, mother I'd obey, And must reply of course with nay; He sigh'd, then shall I far away? I said no.

My speaking tears betray'd my love: He said, shall Hymen doubt remove, To church, you'll not deny to rove? I sigh'd no.

My mother now I have obey'd, Attended well to what she said, And will to all—but him I wed, Still say no.

SONG XXXII.

A FLAXEN-headed cow-boy, as simple a•• may be, And next a merry plough-boy I whist'led o'er the lea: But now saucy footman, I strut in worsted lace, And soon I'll be a butler and wag my jolly face.

When steward I'm promoted, I'll snip a trades|man's bill. My master's coffers empty, my pockets for to fill: When ••olling in my chariot, so great a man I'll be, You'll forget the little plough-boy that whist|led o'er the lea.

I'll buy votes at elections, but when I've made the pelf,

I'll stand poll for parliament, and then vote in myself: Whatever's good for—me, Sir, I never will oppose; When all my ayes are sold off, why then I'll sell my nose.

I'll bawl, harangue and paragraph, with speeches charm the ear, And when I'm tir'd on my legs, then I'll sit down a peer, In court or city honor, so great a man I'll be, You'll forget the little plough-boy that whist|led o'er the lea.

SONG XXXIII.

AH! Delia, see the fatal hour, farewell my soul's delight, Oh! how can wretched Damon live thus ban|ish'd from thy sight. To my fond heart no rival joys, supply the loss of thee, Ah! who can tell if thou my dear will e'er remember me.

Alone, thro' unfrequented wilds, with pensive steps I rove, I ask the rocks, I ask the streams, where dwells my absent love? The silent eve, the rosy morn, my constant searches see, Ah I who can tell, &c.

Thus while my restless, wand'ring thought•••• pursue their soft repose,

Unwearied, may they trace the paths where'er my Delia goes: Forever Damon shall be there, attendant still on thee, Ah! who can tell, &c.

Oft I review those smiling scenes, each fav'rit•• brook and tree, Where once I pass'd those happy hours, those hours I pass'd with thee: What painful, fond, memorials rise, at every thing I see; Ah! who can tell, &c.

Let every rival vot'rist soon their soft address remove, Nor trace thee in thy new abode, to tempt thy soul to love: Yet, who can tell what sighing crouds, their tender homage pay; Ah! who can tell, &c.

Think, Delia think, how deep a wound, thy sweetly pointed dart, Thy dear remembrance left behind, has pierc'd a hapless heart, Think on the fatal, sad adieu, that severs me from thee; Ah! who can tell, &c.

How can I speak the last farewell, what cares distress my mind. How can I go to realms of bliss, and leave my love behind. When angels wing me to the skies. I'd fai•• retun to thee, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 who can tell, &c.

SONG XXXIV. The Tempest.

CEASE, rude Boreas, blust'ring railer! L••st ye lands-men, all to me; Messmates, here a brother sailor Sing the dangers of the sea. From boundless billows, first in motion, When the distant whirlwinds rise, To the tempest 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ocean, Where the seas co••••end with skies.

Hark! the boatswain hoarsely bawling— By toplan sheets and haulyards stand! Down top gallants, quick be hauling! Down your stay 〈◊〉〈◊〉, hand, boys, hand! Now it freshens, set the braces; Quick the top-sail sheets let go; Lu••••, boys, luss, don't make wry faces! Up your topsails nimbly clew!

Now all you on down beds sporting, Fondly lock'd in beauty's arms, Fresh enjoyments, wanton courting, Free from all but love's alarms— Round us r••ats the tempest louder; Think what fears our minds enthral! Hard•••• yet, it yet blows ha••dar! Now again the boatswain calls:

The ••••psail yards point to the wind, boys: 〈…〉〈…〉 to reef each course: Let 〈…〉〈…〉 sheets go; don't mind, boys, Though the weather should be worse.

Fore and aft the sprit-sail yard get; Reef the mizen; see all clear; Hands up—each preventer brace set; Man the fore-yards; cheer, lads, cheer!

Now the dreadful thunder's roaring! Peals on peals contending clash! On our heads fierce rain falls pouring! In our eyes blue lightnings flash! One wide water all around us, All above us, one black sky! Diff'rent deaths at once surround us! Hark! what means that dreadful cry?

The forem-ast's gone! cries ev'ry tongue out, O'er the lee, twelve feet 'bove deck, A leak beneath the chest tree's sprung out; Call all hands to clear the wreck▪ Quick the land-yards cut to pieces: Come, my hearts, be stout and bold! Plumb the well;—the leak increases! Four feet water's in the hold!

While o'er the ship wild waves are beating, We for wives or children mourn; Alas! from hence there's no retreating; Alas! to them there's no return. Still the leak is gaining on us; Both chain pumps are chok'd below; Heaven have mercy here upon us! For only that can save us now!

O'er the lee beam is the land, boys. Let the guns o'er board be thrown; To the pump come ev'ry hand, boys; See, our mizen mast is gone.

The leak we've found; it cannot pour fast; We've lighten'd her a foot or more; Up, and rig a jury fore-mast; She rights, she rights, boys! we're off shore.

Now once more on joys we're thinking. Since kind Fortune's spar'd our lives Come, the can, boys, let's be drinking To our sweet-hearts, and our wives. Fill it up, about ship wheel it; Close th' lips a brimmer join. Where's the tempest now? who feels it? None! our danger's drown'd in wine!

SONG XXXV.

BANISH sorrow grief and folly, Thoughts unbend the wrinkling brow; Hence dull cares and melancholy, Wine and mirth unite us now. Bacchus opens all his treasure, Comus brings us wit and song; Follow, follow, follow, follow pleasure, And let's join the jovial song.

Life is short, its but a season; Time is ever on the wing; Let's the present moment seize on, Who knows what the next may bring•• All my time I now will measure, All dull care I now despise, Follow, follow, follow, follow pleasure, To be happy's to be wise.

Wherefore should we thus perplex us, Why should we not merry be;

Since there's nothing here to vex us; Drinking sets our hearts all free. Let's have drinking without measure, Let's have mirth what time we have; Follow, follow, follow, follow pleasue, There's no drinking in the grave.

SONG XXXVI.

IDELIA's beauties would disclose, More blooming than the blushing rose, And sweeter than the spring: She fa••rest is of all the fair, To ev'ry grove I'll this declare, Of Beauty's queen I sing.

Aid then my song each smiling muse, Your melody you can't refuse, To celebrate her charms: Inspire to praise in purest rhyme, Her—whose mild beauties are divine, And all my breast alarms.

Steal silent by, ye murm'ring streams. Let echo swell the render themes, The themes her praise rehearse; Her praise shall e're employ my breath, And nought but all devouring death Shall end the pleasing verse.

To paint the lustre of her eyes, An azure stolen from the skies, Would need a Sappho's tongue: Her shape, her tuneful voice, that thrills And all the soul with rapture fills, These must remain unsung

Her gentle, sympathetic heart, Fond to assuage affliction's smart, Can drop the crystal tear; Like gracious Heav'n, she wears a smile; That would the fiercest pains beguile, And soften rigid care.

Good sense and virtue, hand in hand, The graces all, a genial band, Upon her steps attend: From charms so striking to the sight, So pregnant with sincere delight, What can the heart defend?

Her modest worth, no wily art, Engag'd my captivated heart To cherish fond desires; 'Twas beauty taught me to admire, But virtue's bloom that did inspire These firm undying fires.

Supremely blest in Delia's love, From her embrace I'd ne'er remove, Nor e'er ••nconstant stray; But spending life in tranquil ease, Make it my study how to please, And blithsome pass each day.

Could we our joys and sorrows share, Double each bliss, dissolve each care, 'Twould sure transporting prove: Together glide the sea of life, Avoid ambition, banish strife, And seek immortal love.

SONG XXXVII.

THE lark was up, the morn was grey, The drummers beat a reveille, Whilst jolly soldiers on the ground, In peaceful camp slept safe and sound. All but one poor soldier, who Nought but love, could e'er subdue; Wandering through a silent grove, There did vent his plaintive love.

For women are whimsical changeable things, Their sweets are like bees, they're mingled with stings. They are not to be got without toil, care and cost, They are hard ••o be won and as easily lost, For in searching a fair one, I found to my smart, I knew not the way, but I lost my own heart. Ah! hapless, hapless day, wh••n first I saw fair Bid dy, My heart she stole away, my head she turn'd quite giddy. The world may laugh and sneer, tis wond'rous now to see, A lover so sincere, a swain admire like m••▪ She's comely tall and slender, she's brigh•••• than the sun; Her looks are kind and tender, but ah! her heart's like stone. Too lovely still I found her, and every method tried, In hopes to win and wound her, but ah! I was denied,

And now all hopes are over, what schemes then can I try, But like a hapless lover, now lay me down and die.

As on the ground he lay, Minerva came that way, In armour bright and gay, and thus to him did say, Arise! soildier arise! and I'll take you by the hand, And I'll lead you through the land And I'll give you the command, of a well chosen band. Arise! soldiers arise! don't be stupid, drive away cupid, Follow Minerva's wife command, Soldier go home, go home, ne'er mind your Mistress' scorn; Slight, slight her again, For flighted love should slight return▪

The soldier then rose from his amo••ous 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Hastened away to his duty, Swore to Minerva a terrible oath, He'd never think more of her beauty. Bachelor's bluff, bachelor's bluff, High for a heart that's rugged and tough.

He that is single can never wear horns, He that is single is happy, He that is married must lay upon thorns, And always go ragged and shabby. Bachelor's bluff, &c.

He that is single fears not the rout, Nothing to him can be sweeter,

Having no wife to whimper and pout And cry, can you leave me dear creature. Bachelor's bluff, &c.

Ye Belles and ••lirts, so gay and fair, Say, are not soldiers form'd for love; I'm sure you'll find them all sincere, If you'll but kind and constant prove:

But if you slight their passions still; And tyrannize their wills to prove, Depend upon't they'll all rebel And will not give a thought to love.

Hold your idle prat'ling tongue, Little laughing Cupid said, Have you never heard it sung, Constancy m••st win the maid.

Then ground your arms, ye sons of war, Who shine thro' Britain's happy Isle, Nor ever quarrel with the fair, But patient wait to win their smile. Rule ye fair of Britain's Isle, We'll patient wait to win your smile.

SONG XXXVIII.

IN storms, when clouds obscure the sky, And thunders roll, and light'nings fly— In midst of all these dire alarms, I think, my Sally, on thy charms. The troubled main, The wind and rain, My ar••••nt passion prove; Lash'd 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

Should seas o'erwhelm, I'd think on thee, my love!

When rocks appear on ev'ry side, And art is vain the ship to guide; In varied shapes, when death appears, The thoughts of thee my bo••om cheers. The troubled main, &c.

But should the gracious pow'rs be kind— Dispel the gloom, and still the wind, And w••ft me to thy arms once more, Safe to my long lost native shore: No more the main, I'd tempt again, But tender joys improve, I then with thee, Should happy be, And think on nought but love!

SONG XXXIX.

HAIL, Patriots all! This day combine, Your off'ring make at Union's shrine. Too long by parties we've been torn; Too long degrading insults borne. Now let us join, the phalanx form. And firm•••• brave the threat'ning storm, Resolve to face each hostile band, Fo•• freedom and this Happy Land.

Can we—while France with treach'rous guile, Employs the Dagger and the Smile— To ev'ry sense of honor dead,

Forget for what our Father's bled? No, let us join, &c.

Shall we who planted first the Tree▪ Of soul endaring LIBERTY, With tribute bl••ght the rip'ning fruit, Or with concessions blast the root? No, let us join, &c

This Government, our common choice, Shall we support with Heart and voice? Or shall we change its happy means, For Tyrants, Dungeons. Gu••••lotines? Come, Patriots, join, the phalanx form, And firmly brave the threat'ning storm, Rosolve to face each hostile band, For Freedom and this Happy Land.

SONG XL.

FRIENDSHIP to every willing mind Opens a heavenly treasure; There may the sons of sorrow find Sources of real pleasure. See what employments men pursue, Then will you own my words are true, Friendship alone unfolds to view Sources of real pleasure.

Poor are the joys which fools esteem, Fading in transitory; Mirth is as fleeting as a dream, Or a delusive story; Luxury leaves a sting behind,

Wounding the body and the mind: Only in Friendship can we find Pleasure and solid glory.

Beauty, with all its gaudy shows, Is but a painted bubble; Short is the triumph wit bestows, Full of deceit and trouble; Fame, like a shadow, flies away, Titles and dignities decay: Nothing but Friendship can display Joys that are free from trouble.

Learning, (that boasted glittering thing) Scarcely is worth possessing; Riches, forever on the wing, Cannot be call'd a blessing: Sensual pleasures swell desire, Just as the fuel feeds the fire: Friendship can real bliss inspire, Bliss that is worth possessing.

Happy the man who has a friend Form'd by the God of nature; Well may he feel and recommend Friendship for his Creator. Then as our hands in Friendship join, So let our social powers combine, Rul'd by a passion most divine, Friendship with our Creator.

SONG XLI.

SAYS Plato, Why should man be vain? Since bounteous Heav'n has made him great!

Why looketh he with insolent disdain On those undeck'd with wealth and state! Can splendid robes or beds of down, Or costly gems that deck the fair? Can all the glories of a crown, Give health, or ease the brow of care?

The scepter'd king, the burthen'd slave, The humble and the haughty die: The rich, the poor, the base, the brave, In dust without distinction lie. Go search the tombs where monarchs rest, Who once the greatest titles bore: The wealth and glory they possest, And all their honors are no more.

So glides the meteor through the sky, And spreads a long, a gilded train: But, when its short liv'd beauties die, Dissolves to common air again. So 'tis with us, my jovial souls, Let Friendship reign while here we stay; Let's crown our joys with flowing bowls, When Jove commands we must obey.

SONG XLII.

THE bright God of day, drew westward away, And the evening was charming and clear; The swallow remains nimbly sailing o'er the plains. And the shadows l••ke giants appear.

In a gay summer bower, when the violet's in the flower,

And zephyrs breathe odors around, Lov'd Celia she sat playing on her spinnet, And she charm'd all the grove with the sound.

The gay God of love flew over the grove, By zephyrs conducted along, As she touch'd on the string, he beat time with his wing, And the echo repeated the song.

Rosy bowers, she sung, while the harmony rung, And the birds they all flutt'ring arrive; Th' industrious bees, from the flowers on the trees, Gently humm'd, with their sweets, to the hive.

Ye mortals beware how ye venture too near, Love doubly is armed to wound, Your fate you may shun, but you're surely undone, If you rashly approach near the sound.

SONG XLIII.

A ROSE tree in full bearing, Had sweet flowers, fair to see One rose beyond comparing, For beauty, attracted me; Tho' eager once, to win it, When lovely, blooming, fresh and gay, I found a canker in it, And now, throw it far away.

How fine this morning early!

The sun shining fair and bright, So late I lov'd you dearly, Tho' lost now, each fond delight, The clouds seem big with showers, The sun beams no more are seen, Farewell, ye fleeting hours, Your falsehood has chang'd the scene,

When fair Aurora blushes, And heaven's serene and clear, The linnets, larks and thrushes, With music, delight the ear; When storms begin to gather, And clouds veil the vaulted skies, They bid adieu to pleasure, In silence, their music dies.

So when you was my lover, I thought you was all divine, No blemish could discover, But now, all your vices shine; I find you are inconstant, You're false and fickle, as the wind, I'll think no more upon you, But banish you from my mind.

As little Cupid played, The sweet blooming flowers, among, A bee, that lay concealed Under th' leaves, his finger stung; Tears down his pretty cheeks ran, He frantic, blow'd the smarting wound, And crying thro' the grove ran, Until he his mother found;

Mamma, I'm sorely wounded, Assist me, or I die with pain,

My anguish is unbounded, A bee stung me, on the plain; She smilingly, replying, Said, O my son, how can it be? That by a bee you're dying, What must she feel, who's stung by thee?

SONG XLIV.

HOW stands the glass around? For shame, ye take no care, my boys, How stand the glass around? Let mirth and wine abound. The trumpets sound; The colors they are flying, boys. To fight, kill, or wound, May we still be found, Content with our hard fate, my boys, On the cold ground.

Why, soldiers, why, Should we be melancholy, boys? Why, soldiers, why, Whose bus'ness 'tis to die! What sighing fie! Drown fear, drink on, be jolly boys, 'Tis he, you or I! Cold, hot, wet or dry, We're always bound to follow, boys, And scorn to fly!

'Tis but in vain— I mean not to upbraid ye, boys—

'Tis but in vain For soldiers to complain. Should next campaign Send us to him who made us, boys, We're free from pain! But if we remain, A bottle and kind land-lady boys, Cure all again.

SONG XLV. The Old Maid's last prayer.

COME all you pretty maidens, some older some younger, Who all have got sweethearts, but I must stay longer, Some sixteen, some eighteen, are happily mar|ried, Alas how unequally such things are carried; A limner, a penman, a tinker, a tailor, A fiddler, a pedlar, a ploughman, a sailor, Come gentle, come simple, come foolish, come witty, Come don't let me die a maid, take me out of pity.

I have a sister Sally, who's younger than I am, Has so many sweethearts she's forc'd to deny them. I never was guilty of denying many, The lord knows my heart, I'd be thankful for any, A l••mner, &c.

I have a sister Susan, tho' ugly ill shapen, Before she was sixteen years old, she was taken,

Before she was eighteen, a son and a daughter, And I'm six and thirty and ne'er had an offer, A limner, &c.

It has often been said, by my father and mother, That going to one wedding, makes way for another; If that be the case, I will go without bidding, And let the world judge, if I don't want a wed|ding. A limner, &c.

I never will scold, and I'll never be jealous, My husband shall have money, to go the ale-house, While he is there spending, I'll be at home saving, And leave it to you all, if I an't worth the having. A limner, &c.

SONG XLVI.

BOTH sexes give ear to my fancy, While the praise of a woman I sing; Confin'd not to Polly, nor Nancy, But alike from the beggar to king.

When Adam at first was created, And lord of the universe crown'd, His happiness was not completed, Because a help meet was not found.

He had all things that were wanting, Which yield us contentment in life, Both horses and foxe••, for hunting, Which many love more than a wife.

A garden, so planted by nature, Man could not produce in his life, And yet, the all wise Creator Saw that he wanted a wife.

Old Adam was cast into slumber, A rib taken out of his side, And when he awoke, he with wonder, Beheld a most beautiful bride;

With transport, he gazed upon her, His happiness now was complete, He prais'd the bountiful doner, Who thus had provided a mate.

She was not taken out of his head, To rule and triumph over man, Nor was taken out of his heel; To be rul'd, and trampled upon:

But she was taken out of his side, His equal and companion to be, And thus they both were united, And man is the top of the tree.

Then let not the fair be despised By man, for she's part of himself; Since woman by Adam was prized, More than the whole world full of wealth;

For man without woman's a beggar; Altho, the whole world he possess, And the beggar, that has a good wife, With more than this world he is bless'd.

SONG XLVII.

ANY one, who reads the scripture, without a true Bunyanic rapture, Will freely own some places in it, Cannot be fathom'd in a minute.

Tho' God set a man to write it, He study'd all the while to indite it In such a form as made a sum, For wrangling ages, yet to come.

Hence, arose fierce goose quill wars, Which hack religion all to scars; They lug and tug it, wring and twist it, To show how one another miss it.

SONG XLVIII.

THERE was once, it was said, when is out of my head, And where too, yet true is my tale, That a round belly'd viccar, bep••mpled with liquor, Could stick to no text like good ale. Tol de rol, de rol, lol lol lol lol.

He one night 'gan to dose; for under the ros•• The parson was then non se ipse: Non se ipse!—you'll say, What's that to the lay? In plain English, the parson was tipsy.

H••s clerk stepping in, with a band bobbi•• chin, As solemn and stupid as may be;

The vicar he gap'd; the clerk hemm'd and scrap'd, Saying, Please, Sir, to bury a baby.

Now our author supposes, the clerk's name was Moses. He look'd like his master so rosy; Who blink'd with one eye, with his wig all awry And hiccup'd—Pray how is it Mosy?

A child, Sir, is carry 'd, by you to be bury'd.— Bury me Moses! no, that won't do.— Lord, Sir! said the clerk, you are all in the dark; 'Tis a child to be bury'd, not you.

Well, Moses, don't hurry; the infant we'll bury.— But, master, the corpse cannot stay.— We••l can't it? but why? for once, then, we'll try If a corpse, Moses, can run away.

But Moses reply'd:—Sir, the parish will chide, For keeping them out in cold weather.— Then Moses, quoth he, go and tell them, from me, I'll bury them warm, all together.

But, Sir, it rains hard; pray have some re|gard.— Regard, Moses! that makes me stay: For no corpse, young or old, in rain can catch cold; But, faith, Moses, you and I may.

Moses begg'd he'd be gone, saying, Sir, the rain's done;

Please to rise, and I'll lend you my hand.— O••! 'tis hard, quoth the vicar, to leave my good liquor, And go, where I'm sure I can't stand,

Then the parson sore troubled, to the church-yard he hobbled, Lamenting the length of the way: For, Moses, quoth he, were I a bishop, d'ye see, I neither need walk, preach, nor pray.

When he came to the grave, says he—Moses, a stave. Lord! where's my tobacco-box hid? I declare this fast walking prevents me from ta••king; So Moses, pray give me a qui••.

Then he open'd the book, and in't seem'd to look, But o'er the page only he squinted:— Says he, Moses, I'm vex'd, for I can't find the text. The book is so damnably printed.

Good people, let's pray. Life's, alas! but a day; Nay, some••••mes 'tis over at noon; M••n is but a flower▪ cut down in an hour: 'Tis strong ale, Mosy, does it so soon.

Woman of a man born—no, that's wrong, the leaf's torn: Upon woman the natural swell is; The world would g••ow wild, were men got with child:

Moses, you and I m••ght have big bellies!

Neighbours mind what I say, when 'tis night 'tis not day, Though in former times saints could work wonders; For, cut off your head, in a trice, it is said, They'd replace it without any blunders.

Come, let us go forth; put the child in the earth; Dust to dust, Moses, dust is away; For Moses, I trust we all should be dust, If we were not to moisten our clay.

So one pot, and then—the clerk said, Amen▪— And thus we have carried the farce on. The taste of the times will relish our rhymes, When the ridicule runs on a parson.

T••••n, Satire, detest Immorality's jest, Each profane or immodest expression: But we'll not rude, but drink, as we should, To the good folks of ev'ry profession.

SONG XLIX.

WHEN Delia on the plain appears, Aw'd by a tho••sand tender fears, I would a proach, but dare not move; Tell me my heart, if this be love?

When e'er she speaks, my ravish'd ear No other voice but her's can hear; No other wit but her's approve; Tell me my heart, if this be love?

If she some other swain command; Tho' I was once his fondest friend, His instant enemy I prove; Tell me my heart, if this be love?

When she is absent, I no more Delight in all that pleas'd before, The clearest spring, the shadiest grove; Tell me my heart, if this be love?

When fond of pow'r, of beauty vain, Her net she spread for ev'ry swain, I strove to hate, but vainly strove: Tell me my heart, if this be love?

SONG L.

'TWAS on the morn of sweet May day, When nature painted all things gay, Taught birds to sing and lambs to play, And gild the meadows rare: Young Jockey early in the dawn, Arose, and tript it o'er the lawn; His Sunday's coat the youth put on, For Jenny had vow'd away to run With Jockey to the fair. For Jenny had vow'd, &c.

The cheerful parish bells had rung, With eager steps he trudg'd along, With flow'ry garlands round him hung, Which shepherds us'd to wear: He tapt the ••indow—Haste, my dear, Jenny impatient, cri'd Who's there? 'Tis I, my love, and no one near;

Step gently down, you've nought to fear, With Jockey to the fair.

My dad and mamma's fast asleep, My brother's up, and with the sheep; And will you still your promise keep, Which I have heard you swear? And will you ever constant prove? I will by all the powers above, And ne'er deceive my charming dove: Dispel these doubts, and haste my love, With Jockey to the fair.

Behold the ring, the shepherd cri'd Will Jenny be my charming bride? Let Cupid be our happy guide, And Hymen meet us there. Then Jockey did his vows renew, He would be constant, would be true: His word was pledg'd—away she flew, With cowslips tipt with balmy dew, With Jockey to the fair,

In raptures meet the joyful throng, Their gay companions blithe and young; Each join the dance, each join the song. And hail the happy pair: In turns there's none so fond 〈◊〉〈◊〉 they, They bless'd the kind propitious day; The smiling morn of blooming May, When lovely Jenny ran away, With Jockey to the fair.

SONG LI.

A BEAUTEOUS Sterling late I saw, On lovely Sylvia's hand; To check its slight, around its leg, She ties a silken band.

In vain it flutters to be gone; Confinement is its lot: In vain it strives to break the band, But can't untie the knot.

"Cease, cease, she cri'd, here you shall feed "And in my bosom rest," No bird that ever wing'd the air, Was half ••o much carest.

"If from my hand you should escape, "You may perchance be shot; "Then cease to peek 'tis all in vain; "You can't untie the knot."

The bird contented grows at length, While Sylvia strokes his plumes, Erects his little crest, and, soon, His former notes resumes.

From what he'd heard the fair one say, These words by rote he got, And oft repeated, every day, You can't untie the knot.

One evening youthful Damon sat, W••th Sylvia by his side; Reward my love, at last, sa••d he, To-morrow be my BRIDE.

Her blushes in his favor rose, Yet she consented not: For ere she spoke, the Sterling cri'd, You can't untie the knot.

SONG LII.

TRUST not man for he'll deceive you; Treach'ry is his sole intent; First he'll court you, then he'll leave you, Poor, deluded! to lament.

Form'd by nature to undo us, They escape our utmost heed; Oh! how humble when they woo us, But how proud, when they succeed.

So the Bird when once deluded, By the fowler's artful snare; Pines out life, in cage secluded; Fair ones, while you're young, beware!

SONG LIII. PARODY ON THE ABOVE.

TRUST not Woman, she'll beguile you, All her smiles are form'd by art; First she'll flatter then exile you. S••ghing with a broken heart!

Form'd by nature to pursue us, They outstrip the fleetest men;— Ah! how sweet they bill and ••oo, us But how proud they triumph then!

So the FISH the bail admiring, On the angler's fatal snare, Gasps out life, in pangs expiring! LOVERS, of the hook beware!

SONG LIV.

SOME women take delight in dress, And some in cards take pleasure, While others place their happiness In heaping hoards of treasure, In private some delight to kiss, Their hidden charms unfolding. But they mistake their sov'reign bliss, There's no such joy as scolding.

Each morn, as I open my eyes, I soon disperse all silence, Before my neighbors can arise, They hear my clack a mile hence. When at the board I take my seat, There's one continued riot; I eat, I scold, I scold, I eat, My clack is never quiet.

Let it be flesh, or fowl, or fish, Though of my own providing. I still find fault with every dish, Still every servant chiding; Too fat, too lean, too salt too fresh, I never can be suited, But give a blast at every dish, Bak'd, roasted, boil'd or stewed.

Every night when I go to bed, I surely fall a weeping.

For silence is the thing I dread, I cannot scold when sleeping. But then my pains to mitigate, And drive away all sorrow, Although to night may be too late, I'll pay them off to-morrow.

SONG LV.

YE virgins attend, Believe me your friend, And with prudence adhere to my plan: Ne'er let it be said, There goes an old maid, But get married as fast as you can.

As soon as you find Your hearts are inclin'd, To beat quick at the sight of a man; Then choose out a youth With honor and truth, And get married as fast as you can.

For age, like a cloud, Your charms soon will shroud, And this whimsical life's but a span; Then maids make your hay, While Sol darts his ray, And get married as fast as you can.

The treacherous rake Will artfully take, Ev'ry method poor girls to trepan; But baffle their snare,

Make virtue your care, And get married as fast as you can.

And when Hymen's bands, Have join'd both your hands, The br••ght flame still continue to fan; Ne'er harbor the stings That jealousy brings, But be constant, and blest while you can.

SONG LVI.

I DREAMT I saw a piteous sight, Young Cupid weeping lay, Until his pretty stars of light, Had wept themselves away.

Methought I ask'd him why he wept, Mere pity led me on: He deeply sigh'd and then reply'd, Alas! I am undone.

As I beneath you mirtle lay, Close by Diana's springs, Amintor stole my bow away, And pinion'd both my wings.

Alas! said I, where's then thy bow, Wherewith he wounded me? Thou art a god, and such a blow, Could come from none but thee.

But if thou wilt revenged be On that ambitious swain, I'll set thy wings at liberty, And thou shalt fly again:

And all the service on my part That I require of thee, Is that you'd wound Amintor's heart, And make him die for me.

The silken fetters I unti'd, And the gay wings display'd, He mounting gently fann'd and cry'd Adieu, fond foolish maid!

At that I blush'd and angry grew, I should the god believe; But walking found my dream too true, Alas! I was a slave.

SONG LVII.

I SIGH and lament me in vain, These walls can but echo my moan; Alas! it increases my pain, When I think on the days that are gone. Through the grate of my prison I see, The birds as they wanton in air: My heart, how it pants to be free, My looks they are wild with despair!

Above, though opprest with my fate, I burn with contempt for my foes; Though fortune has alter'd my state, She ne'er can subdue me to those. False women! In all ages to come, Thy malice detested shall be; And when we are cold in the tomb, Some hearts shall still sorrow for me.

Ye roofs, where cold damps and dismay, With silence and solitude dwell;

How comfortless passes the day! How sad tolls the evening bell! The owls from the battlements cry; Hollow winds seem to murmer around: O Mary! prepare thee to die! My blood it runs cold at the sound!

SONG LVIII. FLY YE TRAITORS▪

FLY ye traitors from our land, Fly ye Jacobinic band, Who join the French and aid their cause; Who join the French and aid their cause; And should the storm of war come on, No doubt you'd to their standard run. The independence which we boast, By your vile arts was nearly lost; Each true Columbian will despise The traitors who the Frenchmen prize. All their arts employ'd we see To destroy our liberty, Like a band of rascals join'd May they be to hell consign'd.

Ye Democrats who strove once more To make rude foes attack our shore, Invited o'er the impious band, Invited o'er the impious band, Encourag'd by your artful lies To wrest from us the rights we prize; While ye oppose each measure just,

The French in you place all their trust, That through your influence they'll prevail, But all their wicked schemes shall fail. All their arts &c.

May public infamy and shame Forever brand the traitor's name, Who boasted he should not oppose The French, should they come here as foes: While they protect his interest dear, He turns to them a joyful ear. With matchless skill he makes his power Assist his interest every hour; For while he gains, his heart's at ease; Tho' he destroys his country's peace. All his arts, &c.

While those who league with Talleyrand, Once more to cheat our country stand; Ye Democrats on you they call, Ye Democrats on you they call, For all the Jacobinic crew Their hopes had fix'd on hell and you; But now o'erwhelm'd with dire dismay, Their schemes expos'd in open day, From vile French influence we'll be free, Nor dread destructive anarchy. Tho' all their arts employ'd should be To introduce vile anarchy, The band of rascals soon shall find Their names to infamy consign'd.

SONG LIX.

OF damask cheeks, and snowy neck, Let other lovers tell: Within the bosom of my fair, Superior beauties dwell.

There all the graces of the mind, In fair assemblage play; There each endearing virtue shed Its intellectual ray.

Unbounded sympathy displays, Each captivating charm! While friendship pure, and virtuous love, Her tender bosom warm.

When that fair form shall sink in age, And all those graces fly, The beauty of that heav'nly mind, Shall length of years defy. PHILANDER.

SONG LX.

WHY should our joys transform to pain? Why gentle Hymen's silken chain A plague of iron prove? BENDISH, 'tis strange, the charm that binds Millions of hands, should leave their minds At such a loose from love.

In vain I sought the wond'rous cause, Rang'd the wide field of nature's laws,

And urg'd the schools in vain; Then deep in thought within my breast My soul retir'd, and slumber dress'd, A bright instructive scene.

O'er the broad lands, and cross the tide, On Fancy's airy horse I ride, (Sweet rapture of the mind!) Till on the banks of Ganges' flood, In a tall ancient grove I stood For sacred use design'd.

Hard by, a venerable priest, Ris'n with his God, the sun, from rest, Awoke his morning song. Thrice he conjur'd the murm'ring stream, The birth of souls was all his theme, And half divine his tongue.

"He sang th' eternal rolling flame, "That vital mass, that still the same, "Does all our minds compose; "But shap'd in twice ten thousand frames; "Thence diff'ring souls, of diff'ring names, "And jarring tempers, rose.

"The mighty power, that form'd the mind, "One mould for ev'ry two design'd, "And bless'd the new-born pair: "This be a match for this: (He said) "Then down he sent the souls he made, "To seek them bodies here:

"But parting from their warm abode, "They lost their fellows on the road, "And never join'd their hands: "Ah cruel chance, and crossing fates!

"Our eastern souls have dropt their mates, "On Europe's barbarous lands.

"Happy the youth that finds the bride, "Whose birth is to his own ally'd, "The sweetest joy of life! "But oh! the crowds of wretched souls, "Fetter'd to minds of d••fferent moulds, "And chain'd t' eternal strife!"

Thus sang the wond'rous Indian bard; My soul with vast attention heard, While Ganges ceas'd to flow; "Sure then, (I cry'd) might I but see "That gentle nymph that twin'd with me, "I may be happy too.

"Some courteous angel, tell me where, "What distant lands this unknown fair, "Or distant seas detain? "Swift as the wheel of nature rolls "I'd fly to meet and mingle souls, "And wear the joyful chain.

SONG LXI.

I THAT once was a ploughman, a sailor am now, No lark that's aloft in the sky, E••er flutter'd its wings to give speed to the plough, Was so gay and so careless as I, But my friend was a Carfindo on board a King's ship, And he axed me to go to sea for a trip; And he talk'd of such things,

As if sailors were Kings; And so teazing did keep, That I left my poor plough, to go plough|ing the deep; Where so sweetly the horn, Call'd me up in the morn, Ere I trusted to the Carfindo or the inconstant wind. That made me for to go and leave my dear be|hind. When so sweetly the horn, &c.

I did'nt much like to be on board a ship, When in danger there••s no door to creep out; I lik'd the jolly Tars, I lik'd bumbo and slip, But I didn't like rocking about. By and by came a hurricane, I didn't like that, Next a battle that many a sailor laid flat; Ah! Why did I roam, When so happy at home? I could sow, and could reap, Ere I left my poor plough, to ploughing the deep. Where so sweetly the horn, &c.

At length safe I landed, and in a whole skin, Nor did I make any long stay, Ere I found by a friend who I ax'd for my kin, Father dead, and my wife run away, Ah! who ••ut thyself, cry'd I, hast thou to blame, Wives loosing their husbands oft loose a good name. Ah! Why did I roam,

When so happy at home? I could sow, and could reap, Ere I left my poor plough, and went plough|ing the deep. Where so sweetly the horn, &c.

Why if that be the case said this very same friend, And you be'nt no more minded to roam; Ci's a shake by your fist, all your care's at an end, Dad's alive and your wife's safe at home: Stark stairing with joy, I leap'd out of my skin, Buss'd my Wife, Mother, Sister, and all of my kin: Ah! cri'd I, let them roam, Who want a good home; I am well, so I'll keep, Nor again leave my plough, to go ploughing the deep: Once more shall the horn, call me up in the morn, &c.

SONG LXII.

HOW imperfect is expression, Some emotions to impart, When we mean a soft confession, And yet seek to hide the heart. When our bosoms all complying, With enraptur'd tumults swell, And beat, what broken, falt'ring, dying▪ Language would, but cannot tell.

Deep confusion, rosy terror, Quite expressive, paints my check; Ask no more, behold your error, Blushes eloquently speak: What, tho' silent is my anguish, Or breath'd only to the air: Mark my eyes, and as they languish, Read what your's have written there.

O that you could once deceive me! Once my soul's strong feelings view! Love has nought more fond, believe me, Friendship nothing half so true, From you, I am wild, despairing: With you, speechless, as I touch, This is all that bears declaring, And, perhaps, declares too much.

SONG LXIII.

FOR various porpose serves the fan, As thus a decent blind, Between the sticks to peep at man, Nor yet betray our mind. Each action has a meaning plain, Resentment's in the snap; A flirt expresses strong disdain, Consent a gentle tap.

All passions will the fan disclose, All modes of female art, And to advantage I weekly shews The hand if not the heart, 'Tis folly's sceptre, first design'd

By love's capricious boy. Who knows how lightly all mankind, Are govern'd by a toy.

SONG LXIV.

JOLLY mortals, fill your glasses, Noble deeds are done by wine; Scorn the nymph, and all her graces, Who'd for love or beauty pine?

Look within the bowl that's flowing, And a thousand charms you'll find, More than Phillis has, tho' going In a moment to be kind.

Alexander hated thinking, Drank about at council board; He sub••u'd the world by drinking More than by his conqu'ring sword.

SONG LXV.

MUSIC, how pow'rful is thy charm! That can the fiercest rage disarm, Calm passion in a human breast, And lull ev'n jealousy to rest; With amorous thoughts the soul inspire, Or kindle up a warlike fire. So great is music's pow'r.

Amphion, with his tuneful lyre, Could rocks remove, and stones inspire▪

Command a city to arise, And lofty buildings touch the skies; While stones, obed••ent to his call, Harmonious mov'd, and form'd a wall.

Arion, from his vessel cast, In safety o'er the seas he past, For, mounted like the ocean's god, Upon a Dolphin's back he rode, Whilst shoals of fishes fl••ck'd around, Well pleas'd drank in the charming sound,

Sad Orpheus, through hell's dr••ary coast, Was seeking for his consort lost, His music drew the ghosts along, And sur••es listen'd to his song; His song could Charon's rage disarm, And Pluto and his consort charm.

Inflam'd by music soldiers fight, Inspir'd by music poets write; Music can heal the lover's wounds, And calm fierce rage by gentle sounds; Philosophy attempts in va••n, What music can with ease attain. So great is music's pow'r.

SONG LXVI.

A SAILOR's life's a life of woe, He works now late, now early; Now up and down, now to and fro, What then? he takes it cheerly. Bless'd with a smiling can of grog,

If duty call, Stand, rise or fall, To fate's last verge he'll jog; The cadge to weigh, The sheets belay, He does it with a wish; To heave the led, Or to cat head The pond'rous anchor-fish. For while the grog goes round, All sense of danger's drown'd, We despise it to a man: We sing a little, and laugh a little, And work a little, and swear a little, And fiddle a little, and foot it a little, And swig the flowing can.

If howling winds and roaring seas, Give proof of coming danger, We view the storm, our hearts at ease, For Jack's to fear a stranger. Bless'd with the smiling grog we fly Where now below We headlong go, Now rise on mountains high; Spite of the gale, We hand the sail, Or take the needful reef; Or man the deck, Or clear some wreck, To give the ship relief: Though perils threat around, All sense of danger drown'd, We despise it to a man: We sing a little, &c.

But yet think not our case is hard, Though storms at sea thus treat us! For coming home, (a sweet reward!) With smiles our sweethearts greet us. Now too the friendly grog we quaff, Our am'rous toast, Her we love most, And gaily sing and laugh; The sails we furl, Then for each girl, The petticoat display; The deck we clear, Then three times cheer, As we their charms survey; And then the grog goes round, All sense of danger drown'd, We despise it to a man. We sing a little, &c.

SONG LXVII.

ATTENTION pray give, while of Hob|bies I sing; For each has his hobby from cobler to king: On some fav'rite hobby we all get a stride, And when we'er once mounted full gallop we ride. All on hobbies, All on hobbies, All on hobbies, Gee up, gee O.

Some hobbies are restive and hard for to govern, E'en just like our wives, they're so cursedly stubborn;

The hobbies of Scolds are their husbands to teaze, And the hobbies of Lawyers are plenty of fees. All on hobbies, &c.

The Beaux, those sweet gentlemen's hob|bies, good lack! Is to wear great large poultices ty'd round th•• neck; And they think in the ton and the tippey they're drest, If they've breeches that reach from the ancles to chest. All on hobbies, &c.

The hobbies of Sailors when safe moor'd in port, With their wives and their sweethearts to toy and to sport, When our navy's completed, their hobby shall be To shew the whole world that America's free. All on hobbies, &c.

The hobbies of Soldiers, in time of great wars, Are breaches and battles, with blood wounds and scars; But in peace you'll observe that quite diff'rent the trade is— The hobbies of Soldiers in peace, are the ladies. All on hobbies, &c.

The Ladies, sweet creatures, yes, they now and then Get astride of their hobbies, ay, just like the men;

With smiles and with simpers beguile us with ease, And we gallop, trot, amble, e'en just as they please. All on hobbies, &c.

The American's hobby has long since been known; No tyrant or king shall from them have a throne: Their States are united, and let it be said Their hobby is WASHINGTON, Peace, and Free Trade. All on hobbies, &c.

SONG LXVIII.

OUR immortal poet's page Says, that all the world's a stage, And that men with all their airs, Are nothing more than players: Each using skill and art, In his turn to tap his part, All to fill up this farcical scene, O. Enter here, Exit there, Stand in view, Mind your cue, High down, ho down, derry, deny down, All to fill up this farcical scene, O.

First the infant in the lap, Mewling, pewling with its pap, Like a chicken that we truss, Is swaddled by its nurse,

Who to please the puppet tries, As it giggles, and it cries. All to fill up this farcical scene, O. Hush abye, Wipe an eye, Kisse pretty, Such a tetty High down, ho down, &c.

Then the pretty babe of grace, With his shining morning fa••••, And satchel on his back, To school, alas! must pack; But like a snail he creeps, And for bloody Monday weeps. All to fill up this farcical scene, O. Book mislaid, Truant play'd, Rod in pickle, Rump to tickle, High down, &c.

Then the lover next appears, Sous'd all over head and ears, Like a lobster on the fire, Sighing ready to expire; With a deep hole in his heart, Through which you may drive a cart, All to fill up this farcical scene, O. Beauty spurns him; Passion burns him, Like a wizard, Gu••••s and gizzard▪ High down, &c.

Then the soldier, ripe for plunder, Breathing slaughter, blood and thunder; Like a cat among the mice, Kicks a dust up in a trice; And talks of shatter'd brains, Scatter'd liwbs and streaming veins. All to fill up this farcical scene, O. Fight and fly, Run and die, Pop and pelter, Helter skelter. High down, &c.

Then the justice in his chair, With broad and vacant stare; His wig of formal cut, And belly like a butt; Well lin'd with turtle hash, Callipee and callipash. All to fill up this farcical scene, O. Baud and trull, Pimp or cull, At his nod, Go to quod. High down, &c.

Then the slipper'd pantaloon, In life's dull afternoon, With spectacles on nose; Shrunk shank in youthful hose: His voice once big and round, Now whistling in the sound: All to fill up this farcical scene, O. Body bent, Vigor spent,

Shaking noddle, Widdle, waddle, High down, &c.

At last to end the play, Second childhood leads the way, And like sheep that's got the rot, All our senses go to pot. So death amongst us pops, And down the curtain dops. All to fill up this farcical scene, O. Then the coffin, We move off in, While the bell Tolls the knell, Of high, and low down in the cold ground, All to finish this farcical scene, O.

SONG LXIX.

AS passing by a shady grove, I heard a linnet sing, Whose sweetly plaintive voice of love Proclaim'd the cheerful spring.

His pretty accents seem'd to flow As if he knew no pain; His downy throat he tun'd so sweet, It echo'd o'er the plain.

Ah! happy warbler (I reply'd) Contented thus to be; 'Tis only harmony and love, Can be compar'd to thee.

Thus perch'd upon the spray you stand, The monarch of the shade; And even sip ambrosial sweets, That glow from every glade.

Did man possess but half thy bliss, How joyful might he be! But man was never form'd for this, 'Tis only joy for the••

Then farewell, pretty bird (I said) Pursue thy plaintive tale, And let thy tuneful accents spread All o'er the fragrant vale.

SONG LXX.

SWEET Nightingale, best poet of the grove, The plaintive strain can ne'er belong to thee, Bless'd with the full possession of thy love, O, lend that strain sweet Nightingale, to me,

'Tis mine alas, to mourn my wretched fate, I love a maid, who all my bosom charms; Yet spend my days without this lovely mate, Inhuman fortune keeps her from my arms,

You happy birds by nature's simple laws, Lead your soft lives sustain'd by nature's care, You dwell where'er your roving fancy draws, Your lovely songs enliven all the al••—

But we va••n slaves of int'rest and of pride, Dare not be blest lest envious tongues should blame,

Hence, tis in vain, I languish for my bride, Come mourn with me sweet birds, my help|less flame.

SONG LXXI.

WERE I to choose the greatest bliss, That e'er in love was known, 'T would be the highest of my wish, To enjoy her heart alone.

Kings might possess their kingdoms free, And crowns unenvied wear; And should no rival have of me, Might I reign monarch there.

Hear, Cynthia, hear the gentle air, But whisper out my love: And prove but half so kind at fair, My sorrow you'll remove.

Cynthia, Oh! let us happy be, Unite our hear••s in love, I'd change not such felicity For all the joys above.

SONG LXXII.

CELIA, that I once was blest, Is now the torment of my breast: Since to cu••e me you bereave me Of the pleasure I possess'd. Cruel creatu••e to deceive me, First to love and then to leave me▪ Cruel creature, &c.

Had you the bliss refus'd to grant. I then had never known the want; But possessing once the blessing, Is the cause of my complaint. Once possessing is but tasting, 'Tis no bliss that is not lasting, Once possessing, &c.

Celia now is mine no more, But I'm hers, and must adore: Not to leave her will endeavor, Charms that captiv'd me before. No unkindness can discover, Love that's true is love forever. No unkindness. &c.

SONG LXXIII.

YOU say, Sir, once, a wit * 1.4 allow'd A woman to be like a cloud; Accept a Simile, as soon, Between a woman and the moon; For, let mankind say what they will, The sex are heavenly bodies still. Grant me to mimic human life; That sun and moon are man and wife; What e'er kind Sol affords to lend her Is squander'd upon midnight splendor; And when to rest he lays him down, She's up and st••r'd at through the town! From him her beauties close confining, And only in his absence shining;

Or, else, she looks like fullen tapers▪ Or, else, she's fairly in the vapors; Or owns at once a wife's ambition, And fully glares in opposition, Say, are not these a modish pair, Where each for other feels no care? Whole days in sep'rate coaches driving, Whole nights to keep a sunder striving. But in the dumps in gloomy weather, And lying once a month together: In one sole point unlike the case is, On her own head the horns she places.

SONG LXXIV.

TIME has not thin'd my flowing hair, Nor bent me with his iron hand Ah! why so soon the blossom tear, Ere Autumn yet the fruit demand.

Let me enjoy the cheerful day, Till many a year has o'er me roll'd; Pleas'd let me trifle life away, And sing of love ere I grow old.

SONG LXXV.

THIS world is a stage, On which mankind engage, And each acts his part in a throng; But all is confusion Me••e folly's delusion, And nothing on earth but a song.

The Parson so grave, Says your souls he can save, And teach the right way from the wrong; After piously teaching, And long winded preaching, He fobs off his flock with a Song.

The Lawyer he scribbles In qui••ks and in quibbles, And moves his melifferous tongue; 'Twixt demur and vacation, He'll raise expectation, And sink your estate to a song.

The Doctor he fills You with bolus and pills, In assurance that you shall live long; But, believe me, 'tis true, He's guineas in view, And his recipes are nought but a Song.

The Surgeon, so bold, His lancet doth hold, And slashes your bodi••s along; Small wounds he enlarges, To fill up his charges, His art, like the rest, is a song.

The Merchant is bent On his fifty per cent, To whom Ledger and Journal belong▪ 'Compts current in trading And long bills of lading; His balance will end in a song.

The Printer descerning 'Twixt ignorance and learning

The diff'rence that truly belongs; Yet, sure, it is said, That his logical head, Is turn'd by a statesman or Song.

The School master rages, For want of more wages, And hurries his schollars along; He teaches them morals, And whips those that quarrel, And silence all day is his Song.

The Farmer he brags Of what crops he shall have, Provided the season holds long; But if drought comes on, His hopes are all gone, And his crops may be bought for a Song.

The soldier he prattles Of sieges and battles, And actions he ne'er was among; His preferment and merit, Are like to his spirit, And nothing on earth but a Song.

With powder and lace, And a feminine face, The fop he goes strutting along; Just arriv'd from his travels, Yet nothing unravels, But just like a dance or a Song.

The surly old prude, Complains you are rude, Tho' for bliss she so secretly longs;

But take her aside, And you'll manage her pride, And her virtue bring down to a Song,

The silly Coquette, Is all in a fret, In the morning her toilet goes wrong; All day long she passes, Consulting her glasses, And at night dies away like a Song.

I've often been told, The Women will scold, Their good-natur'd husbands among; They'll work and they'll fret, And they'll scold, and they'll sweat, And at night die away like a Song.

Then let us be jolly, Drive hence melancholy, While we are good fellows among; Let's fill up our glasses, Take life as it passes, And each merry soul sing a Song.

SONG LXXVI.

'TWAS in the flow'ry month of May, When Nature blooms on ev'ry spray, And lambkins fondly sport and play, To grace the sylvan scene; That pretty Miss first form'd the plan, To leave papa and chiding mam; In chaise and four with dear footman, To trip to Gretna Green.

The youth was form'd with ev'ry grace, Tall, blooming, gay with lovely face, Sure ne'er before in worsted lace, Was such a charmer seen; The night serene, the coast was clear, When pretty Miss with loving dear, Set off with haste, and full career, To trip to Gretna Green.

The morning come, and plot is blown, The cage is open and bird is flown, But whither, is by no one known, Lud, what a curious scene! Mamma in fits while ancient prig, In fury tore his powder'd wig, And with grim passion monstrus big, Sets off for Gretna Green.

Before old square toes reaches near, He meets the beau and lovely dear, Returning back in full career. From Hymen's flow'ry scene; Stop thief, he cries;—the work i•• done, My dear papa, we're coming home, For we have tasted joys that come From pleasant Gretna Green.

SONG LXXVII.

HOW blest is the bachelor's life, Who constantly lives at his ease; Never plagu'd by a proud scolding wife, And no quarrelling children to tease. He fears not the frowns of the fair; He scorns the coquette with her art;

For love never fell to his share, Its pains never tortur'd his heart.

But wedlock, oh, where are thy joys! That man ha•• perceiv'd in thy state; A scene of vexation and noise, Which thousands have reason to hate. To me, how detested the cries Of children round, asking for bread; Till I see the poor man advertise, "That his wife has clop'd from his bed."

Yet single, a man may have bliss, If he has but a grain of content; Though once if he wed to a Miss, He will find it too late to repent. In friendship, and freedom, and ease, The Bachelor's life rolls away; For friendship and freedom can please, When beauty is gone to decay.

Tim Crusty may tell of his pain, That his years all unhappily roll; That single he lives but in vain; I despise his complaints from my soul. Poor Crusty has whin'd for a bride, His breeches and stockings to mend; When his wants might as well be supply'd, If he had but a maid or a friend.

But the wretch who has never a friend, Should sure never marry a maid; For this would their wretchedness blend, And their griefs be by sorrow repaid. Yea children to add to the gloom, For mark what some clergymen tell,

That infants receive their sad doom When they die to the dungeons of hell.

Avaunt! superstitious Divine, If infants to misery go; You ne'er shall have children of mine, To sentence to regions of woe. If man is accurst from his birth, And you scarce give him doctrines of peace, Better send forth a sword on this earth, And bid population to cease.

To me may no children be born, Distress and misfortune to share; But let me relieve the forlorn, And banish the sight of despair. The children of sorrow I cheer, The beggar is often my guest; They smile and suppress ev'ry tear, Their gratitude sweetens my rest.

'Tis thus I dispose of my wealth— My house is an inn for the poor; I live in contentment and health, I am happy, I wish for no more. While I live I will c••erish content, And love the old bachelor's life; So never I'd need to repent, Nor wish Betty Wrinkle my wife.

SONG LXXVIII.

THE sun sets at night, and the stars shun the day, But glory remains when their lights fade away;

Begin, ye tormentors, your threats are in vain, For the son of Almonoak shall scor•• to com|plain.

Remember the arrows he shot from his bow; Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low: Why so slow? do you wait 'till I shrink from my pain? No— the son of Almonoak shall never com|plain.

Remember the wood—where in ambush we lay, And the scalps which we bore from your na|tion away: When the flame rises fast! you'll exult in ••ay pain; But the son of Almonoak shall never complain.

I go to the land where my father is gone; His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son: Death comes like a friend—he relieves me from pain; And thy son, O Almonoak, has scorn'd to com|plain.

SONG LXXIX.

THE sails unfurl'd, the ship umnoor'd, Her cour•••• to steer—all hands on board, Propitiou•• ev'ry gale; Fair Sally on the beach deplores Her sailor bound to distant shores, But nought her tears avail.

"Oh! cruel ••ate—ye Pow'rs above, "Why thus bereft of him I love!

"Who on the restless deep, "The boi••••'rous ••ide must 〈◊〉〈◊〉 brave, "And meet, per chance, a wat'ry grave, While I but live to weep."

Twelve months elaps'd when he return'd, Her constant heart with rapture burn'd, 'Twas freed from ev'ry care; And Henry's love, his heart, his soul, Were true, as needle to the pole, When absent from his fair.

In wedded bliss they taste delight, No winds disturb, nor storms affright The lovely Sally's breast; For now he makes a firm decree, No more to tru•••• the raging sea— With her completely blest.

SONG LXXX.

HOW happy is the man, Who has a quiet home; Who loves to do what good he can, And hates the demon, Rum.

Whose house contains enough, For him and all his folks, Whose wi••e abhors a box of snuff, And very seldom smokes.

Whose wife knows how to spin, And loves to use the needle; Who keeps herself and husband clean▪ But never lov'd a fiddle.

Whose wife is like a tree, That's ever green and fair; That ever in the bloom will be, And yet will never bear.

Whose wife will rise in season, Be weather hot or cold; And always give sufficient reason, If e'er she chance to scold.

This man, while others roam, Among the sons of strife, Is always happiest when at home, In converse with his wife.

SONG LXXXI.

COME, care curing mirth, From Wit's bower forth, Bring Humour, your brother, along; Hospitality's here, And Harmony near, To chorus droll Sentiment's song.

In Comedy trim, Joke, Gesture, and Whim, With Trios will keep up the ball; By order of ••aste, We open the feast Of Friendship, in Liberty Hall.

Who'll President be? Unanimity; see He's order'd to sit as our host▪ My Lord Common Sense, With pains and expense,

Introduc'd him to give out the toast,

Though Scandal we hate, Only good we hold great, Nor any for title's sake prai••e; Unworthy that name, No merit can claim, But what genealogies raise.

In this Anno Dom. we Would felicity see, I'll demonstrate how easy we could, Change fault finding ••lves To mending ourselves, Then things might soon be as they should.

Some wives read their mates Curtain lecture debates, And wonder they're not understood; The Husband's perplex'd, And the Lady is vex'd, 'Cause every thing's not as it should.

If pension, or place, Is the gift of his Grace, Refusal would be over nice: Plumb pudding on board, And press'd by my Lord, Who would not come in for a slice?

Corruption's the cry, Opposition runs high, Yet who can help laughing to see, Though Faction's so big Ambo Tory and Whig, In one part both parties agree?

For the kingdom of man, Division's the plan, By the laws of the Cyprian court, The ladies must yield, When our standard we wield, And what we advance they support.

For a bumper I call— Here's to the Sov'reign of All, The spring from which all honor flows; From thence we all came, So we go to that same, Here's to it, and to it, Here goes.

SONG LXXXII. THE FRENCH ••AFT.

AS Neptune in his coral bow'r, Pass'd t'other day a vacant hour, Discoursing with his wench; Trity, says he, the news above, Will make you laugh your fill, my love, At those mad folks, the French.

They fain old England would invade, But of the means are much afraid, Though of the project fond; Amidst their visionary schemes, They find it difficult it seems, "To cross the herring pond."

'Twould be an awkward thing to meet, Half way with Bridport and his f••eet— "Burnt children dread the fire;" 'Tis ten to one, but dire misch••nce,

Would happen to the ships of France, From one so full of ire:

They therefore thought of some balloon, A little smaller than the moon, To fail aloft in air; But from the scarcity of gas, Or cash to parchase it—alas! The scheme would never bear.

They next propos'd, all hands to creep, Through a long cave beneath the deep, And undermine our floor; But tearing mischief over head, This deep laid scheme no better sped, Than t'other did before.

At length, two men of wond'rous craft, Have orders to construct a Raft, A wide as Hounflow heath; From which their army, one and all, Are sworn to land 'twixt Spring and Fall, In spite of John Bull's teeth.

Their Cash Subscribers will be paid, With int'rest, when the landing's made! And have it in a lump; As ev'ry man on board the Raft, Will in his pocket bring a draft, At sight—"on Algate pump."

I never heard of such a scheme, (Says Amphitrite) sure you dream, They'll all be food for fish: "They will be so (you jade) I grant, That's just what the Directory want, The very thing they wish."

They then no more will feel dismay, About their army and its pay, But banish all their fears; For when the Raft is overset, It pays at once the public debt, And liquidates arrears!

SONG LXXXIII.

I HEARD much talk of Oxford town, And fain I would go thither. When ploughing and sowing that was done, It being gallant weather; Father he did to't agree, That Nell and I should go: But mother cry'd that we should ride, So we had dobbin too.

So I goes unto sister Nell, And bids her make her ready; And put on all her Zundy close, As fine as any lady: 'Tis a galiant day; the morning's gay: And likely to he fair; Therefore make haste, and soon be la••'d, And I'll go bait the mare.

So up upon the mare we got, And away we rid together; And every body as we met, We ask'd how far 'twas thither. Till at the last, when on the top Of Chisse••don hill we riss, I somewhat spy'd, like steeples: and cry'd, Zooks, Nell look yonder 'tis!

So when as nearer to'•• we came, We zee folks infant thick; I heard a little bastard zay, Look here comes country Dick. Another bastard call'd me Ralph▪ And how is't honest Joan? And Roger too; how's little Sue, And all the folks at home.

So we rode on and nothing said, But looked for an alehouse; At last we zee a hugeous sign, As big as any gal••ows; It was two dogs: So in we rode, And called for the hostler: Out came a lusty fellow then, I warrant he was a wrostler,

Here take this horse, and set'en up, And ge'n a lock o•• hay; For we be come to zee the town, And tarry here all day. Yes, Sir, he said, and call'd the maid, That stood w••thin the entry: She had ••s into a room as clean As though we both been gentry.

So we zet down, and bid 'em fetch A flagon of their beer: But when it come, Nell shook her head, And zed 'twas plaguy dear. Says she to me, If long we stay, 'Twill make us go a begging; For I am sure it cannot be So much as old Martin's flaggon.

So we got up, and away we went To zee the gallant town; And at the gate we met a man With a pitiful ragged gown: For, as for a slave, I do believe That they wu•• both tore off; And, instead of a hat, he wore a cap, 'Twas a trencher cover'd w' cloth.

And as we were going along the town, I thote I had found a knife; I stooped down to pick it up, But was ne'er so sham'd in my life. For the underside was all be—t With an arrant Christian's t—d: The boys fell a hollowing, An April fool! But I zed never a word.

As we went through a narrow lane, One catch'd fast hold of sister; He'd parson's close, and he du'dn't know us; But fain would ha' kiss'd her. He was plaguy fine; but to my mind, He look'd much like a wencher: I up wi' my stick, and ge'en a lick, I b'lieve I sl••t his trencher.

Then we went into a fine place, And there we went to church: I kneeled down to say my pray'rs, And du'dn't think no hurt. I'th' midst o'th' pray'rs, just up the stairs, Was bagpipes to my thinking; And the folks below fell singing too, As though they'd been a drinking.

I du'd'nt like the doings there, And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 took my hat; I du'dn't think they would ha' done so In zich a place as that: But Nell was for staying, till they'd quite done playing, Because she lik'd the tune; For she was sure she ne'er did hear O••d Crunball play'd at home.

Then we went into a fine garden, All up n••on a hill: And just below, a dial did grow, Much like a waggon wheel: But bigger by half, which made me laugh, 'Twas like a garden knot: When the zun ••••one bright, it went as right As our parson's clock.

Then we went out of that fine place, And went into another, Which was vorty times as fine As any of the other. Bless me, our John, quite all along There's books pil'd up like mows; Faith, Nell, I wish that mother was here, If 'twas not for the cows.

And in the middle stood two things As round as any ball; They told 'twas the picture of The world, the zea, and all: And th••se that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 how to turn 'em righ•• And how to turn 'em round, Could tell us what it was a clock In the world under ground,

And many more things they could tell, That was almost as strange; As when the sun should set and rise, And when the moon should change. I du'dn't care to stand ••o near, When all these things I heard; For I thote in my heart it was the black art, And I was a little afraid.

The sun being low, then we began To think of going home; But one thing more we zaw before We got quite out of town: We went apace; for, being in haste, For fear of being benighted. Two hugeous men stood strutting within, And Nell and I was frigh••ed.

Nell had a colour as red as a rose, And darst not go no furder. They had bloody weapons in their hands, Stood ready there for murder. So we went back, and took our mare, And away came troting home: W••' stories enough to tell father and mother; And little sister Joan.

SONG LXXXIV.

I AM a blade both free and easy Not a vulgar country clown; I will do my best to please ye, And my name is easy John. Let the world go as it will

I a•• free and easy still. Free and easy, Free and easy, I am free and easy still.

Ladies, view my person over, If my lessen right I con; Search Newcastle, London, Dover, You'll not find an easier John. Let the world go, &c.

Now a lady I could fancy, Aye, but could she fancy me! I would marry lovely Nancy, She's so easy and so free. Let the world go, &c,

Gentlemen, a brother greets ye, Happy may you ever be; And whene'er a brother meets you. May you easy be and free. Let the world go, &c.

Worthy friends, this blest occasion Fills my panting heart with glee; To possess your approbation, Makes me happy, easy, free. Let the world go, &c.

SONG LXXXV.

HAIL, godlike WASHINGTYN! Fair Freedom's chosen son, Born to command; While this great globe shall roll, Thy deeds from pole to pole,

Shall shake Columbia's soul With virtuous praise. Millions unborn to save, Freedom to worlds he gave, Liberty's Chief! Terrific God of War, Seated in Vict'ry's car, Fame hails him from afar, Virginia's boast.

Flow'rets of bliss adorn The bright auspicious morn, Breathing delight. Let the loud cannon roar, Joyful from shore to shore; Phoebus did ne'er explore, So happy a day: Millions unborn to save, &c.

When Freedom's atmosphere, Clouded with gloomy care WASHINGTON view'd; He with heroic pride, Stem'd dire Oppression's tide. And made the world deride Britain's disgrace. Millions unborn to save, &c

When Howe with venal bands, Delug'd our pensive lands. Britain's weak rod! Fabius by wise delays, Liberty's cause to raise, To his immortal praise, Trenton subdu'd. Millions unborn to save, &c,

Fayette, the just and good, Spil•• Gallia's noble blood For the distress'd: May this auspicious day, Gratitude's tribute pay, And breath a joyous lay. Sacred to him. Millions unborn to save. &c.

Let us in rapture sing, Of Louis the patriot King, Virtue's support; Who with unshaken zeal, Aided our common weal, And fixed Friendship's seal To the New World. Millions unborn to save, &c.

See gallant Rochambeau! Tyranny's deadly foe, Liberty's shield▪ Victory draws her sword To capture the warlike Lord, Whom Parliament ador'd, Britannia's pride. Millions unborn to save, &c.

Now Albion's sons are fled, Liberty rears her head▪ Smiling in scorn. May her great Hero's name, Fill the loud trump of Fame, And ages unborn proclaim, Great WASHINGTON. Millions unborn to save, &c.

Next in our theme shall be, Prince of philosophy, Franklin the sage: Who gave to light'ning laws, Taught from effects the cause, What fire etherial was: Of Wisdom the Chief. Millions undorn to save, &c.

The goddess of Peace to come, Lighting, with downy plume, On Freedom's shrine; She from fell Tyranny, Wrested fair Liberty, And bid a world be free, Through WASHINGTON, Millions unborn to save, &c.

Commerce unfurls her sails, Wafted by gentle gales, Over the deep: And in her smiling train, Brings in her pleasing gain, And from the wealthy main, Hails Freedom's gifts, Millions unborn to save, &c.

Ambition's storm that blows, Ruffles not his repose, Blest in retreat: Wisdom persuasive flows, Virtue refulgent glows, In speech and act he shews Friendship and truth: Millions unborn to save, &c.

Guardian of civil laws, Saviour of Freedom's cause, WASH••NGTON stands: May his light spirit fly, And claim its native sky, Free from each earthly sigh, To Heaven ascend. Millions unborn to save, Freedom to wor••ds he gave, Liberty's Chief! Terrific God of War, Seated in Vict'ry's car Fame hails him from afar, Virginia's boast.

SONG LXXXVI.

CEASE, a while, ye winds to blow, Cease, awhile, ye streams to flow, Hush'd be every ruder noise, Methinks, I hear any lover's voice.

There's the rock, the hill, the tree, Hark, a voice, methinks 'tis he: 'Tis not he, still night comes on, O where is my wanderer gone?

Thick, my doubts and fears arise, Loud, for him, I raise my cries; Why has he, so long delay'd? Where's my lovely Wanderer stray'd?

Loud I call; I'll make him hear, 'Tis my voice, my love, my dear; The time is past, why this delay? Wy lovely Wanderer's lost his way▪

SONG LXXXVII.

IN infancy our days were blest, With peace and liberty; Our gardens and our fields were drest In sweet simplicity! No hostile foe had we to dread, No enemy to fear; But now, alas! those joys are fled, And danger doth appear.

Our seas with the French navy swarms, Our trade and commerce droop; They'd our cities rob and leave forlorn; Shall we to slavery stoop? "Ah, no! ah, no! you shall be free," Liberty's goddess said; "The French shall strike their flag to thee, And droop its haughty head."

SONG LXXXVIII.

WHEN fortune doth frown, I'll ne'er be cast down, Repining wont alter my store; For a good state of health Is better than wealth: And I'll be merry although I am poor.

The soldier delights In blood, wars and fights, The sailor too sails the seas o'er: But this mind I am in,

I'll keep a full skin; And I'll be merry although I am poor.

When the sailors drink wine, Their lovers repine; The miser is fond of his store; Give the glutton his dish, And I what I wish, And I'll be merry although I am poor.

Let statesmen debate On the affairs of the State: Let moralists frown and look sour; Let the world go as 'twill, I'll drink to my fill; And I'll be merry although I am poor.

Wine will discord assuage, Enliven old age, Make cheerful and gay at four score: Give me a full glass. A complying sweet lass, And I'll be merry although I am poor.

Ye benevolent souls, With full flowing ••••wls. Who cheerfully add to the store▪ Give me but one quart, Just to comfort my heart, And I'll be merry although I am poor▪

And ye drunken sots. Who ca•••• for your pots, And ever are ca••••ing for more; Only just let me drink, And I'll make you all think, That I'll be merry although I am poor.

Wine will its vot'ries save From death and the grave; When tipsy we fear death no more; With a full glass in hand, Firm as Atlas I'll stand; And I'll be merry although I am poor.

SONG LXXXIX.

AMO, amas, I love a lass, As a cedar tall and slender; Sweet Cowsl••••'s grace Is her nom'tive case, And she's of the feminine gender. Rorum corum, Sunt divorum, Harum scarum, divo! Tag rag, merry derry, perriwip and hatband, Hic, hoc, horum genitivo!

Can I decline, A nymph divine? Her voice as a flute is dulcis, Her oculus bright, Her manus white, And soft, when I tacto her pulse is. Rorum, &c.

Oh! how bella, My puella; I'll k••ss her secula seculorum: If I've luck, sir,

She's my uxor, O dies bene••ictorum! Rorum, &c.

SONG XC.

COME now, all ye social powers, Shed your influence o'er us, Crown with joy the present hours, Enliven those before us. Bring the flask, the music bring, Joy shall quickly find us, Drink and dance, and laugh and sing, And cast dull care behind us.

Friendship, with thy pow'r divine, Brighten all our features; What but friendship, love and wine, Can make us happy creatures. Bring the flask, &c.

Lov, thy godhead I adore, Source of gen'rous passion; But I'll ne'er bow down before Those idols, wealth and fashion. Bring the flask, &c.

Why the plague should we be sad, Whilst on earth we moulder? Whether merry, grave, or mad, We every day grow older. Bring the flask, &c.

SONG XCI.

OH, Cupid forever, I fear not thy quiver. Nor do I regard thy brave bow; Thine arrows can't hit me, Nor women out wit me, I'm free ••rom all sorrow and woe. I'm free from, &c.

It's true my sweet Nancy, A while pleas'd my fancy; But yet, she will cruelly frown, If they'll not use freedom, Then quickly I'll leave them, I'll leave them to languish alone. I'll leave them, &c,

Had Nancy prov'd loyal, I should have had trial. Of no other girl in my life; I often times told her, Which made her the bolder, I purpos'd to make her my wife. I purpos'd, &c.

But she being wanton, Must needs go a ranting, So easily hush'd my heart's flame; Yet bent on her pleasure, I left a fair treasure, I left her to folly and shame. I left, &c.

That soft tender passion, So much in the fashion, Excited my wantoner's art— Allurements of women, So soft and so winning, Yet never could conquer my heart. Yet never, &c,

SONG XCII.

FROM night till morn I take my glass, In hopes to forget my Chloe; But as I take the pleasing draught, She's ne'er the less before me. Ah! no, no, no, wine cannot cure The pain I endure for my Chloe.

To wine I flew, to ease the pain Her beauteous charms created; But wine more firmly bound the chain, And love would not be cheated. Ah, no, &c.

SONG XCIII.

THE women all tell me I'm false to my lass; That I quit my poor Chloe, and stick to my glass: But to you man of reason, my reasons I'll own; And if you don't like them, why let them a|lone.

Although I have left her the truth I'll declare, I believe she was good, and I'm sure she was fair: But such goodness and charms in a bumper I see, That makes it as good and as charming as she.

My Chloe had dimples and smiles I must own; But though she could smile yet in truth she could frown: But tell me▪ ye lovers of liquors divine, Did you e'er see a frown in a bumper of wine?

Her lilies and roses were just in their prime; Yet lilies and roses are conquer'd by time; But in wine from its age such a benefit flows, That I like it the better the older it grows.

They tell me my love would in time have been cloy'd, And that beauty's insipid when once 'tis en|joy'd; But in wine, I both time and enjoyment defy, For the longer I drink the more thirsty am I.

Let murders, and battles, and history prove The mischiefs that wa••t upon rivals in love; But in drinking, thank Heav'n, no rival con|te••••s; For the more we love liquor, the more we are friends.

She too might have poison'd the joys of my life, With nurses, and babies, and squalling, and st••ife; But my wine neither nurses nor babies can bring, And a big belly'd bottle's a mighty good thing,

We shorten our days when with love we en|gage; It brings on diseases, and hastens old age: But wine ••rom grim death can its votaries save, And keep out t'other leg when there's one in the grave.

Perhaps, like her sex ever false to their word, She had left me—to got an estate or a lord; But my bumper, regarding nor titles nor pelf, Will stand by me when I can't stand by myself.

Then let my dear Chloe no longer complain, She's rid of her lover and I of my pain; For in wine mighty wine, many comforts I spy— Should you doubt what I say, take a bumper and try.

SONG XCIV.

WHAT is a poet, Sir? you, Sir,? No, Sir? 'Tis this, Sir, I'd have you to know— Constantly writing, Sir, And his nails biting, Sir, Oh, he's a wond'rous fellow!

Now in the garret, Sir—high, Sir—high, Sir! Now in the celler below; Sunshine and vapour, Sir— Pen, ink and paper, Sir, Oh, he's a wond'rous fellow!

His pockets to fill, Sir—still, Sir—still, Sir— His noddle he empties—O no!

Scribbling and scrawling, Sir, Starting and bawling, Sir, Oh, he's a wond'rous fellow!

SONG XCV.

'TWAS at the break of day we spy'd The signal to unmoor, Which sleepless Caroline descry'd, Sweet maid, from Gosport shore. The fresh'ning gale at length arose, Her heart began to swell, Nor could cold fear the thought oppose, Of bidding me farewell!

In open boat, the maid of worth Soon reach'd our vessel's side, Soon too she found her William's birth, But sought me not to chide:— Go, she exclaim'd—for fame's a cause A female should approve; For who, that's true to honor's laws, Is ever false to love!

My heart is loyal, scorns to fear, Nor will it even fail, Tho' war's unequal wild career, Should William's life assail: Tho' death 'gainst thee exert his sway, Oh! trust me, but the dart That woundeth thee will find its way To Caroline's true heart.

Should conquest, in fair form array'd, Thy loyal efforts crown,

In G••sport will be found a maid, That lives for thee alone.— May girls, with hearts so firm and true To love and glory's cause, Meet the reward they have in view, The meed of free applause.

SONG XCVI.

YE fair, possess'd of ev'ry charm, To captivate the will; Whose smiles can rage itself disarm, Whose frowns at once can kill. Say, Will you deign the verse to hear, Where flatt'ry bears no part; An honest verse, that flows sincere, And candid from the heart?

Great is your pow'r; but, greater yet Mankind it might engage: If, as ye all can make a net, Ye all could make a cage. Each nymph a thousand hearts may take; For who's to beauty blind? But to what end a prisoner make, Unless you've strength to bind?

Attend the council often told, Too often told in vain, Learn that best art, the art to hold, And lock the lover's chain. Gamesters to li••tle purpose win, Who lose again as f••st: Tho' beauty may the charm begin, 'Tis sweetness makes it last,

SONG XCVII.

AT the close of the day, when the Hamlet is still, And mortals the sweet of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill, And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove: 'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar, While his harp rung symphonious, a Her|mit began: No more with himself or with nature at war, He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.

Ah why, all abandon'd to darkness and woe, Why, alone Philomela, that languishing fall? For Spring shall return, and a lover bestow, And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthral. But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay Mourn sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn; O soothe him, whose pleasures like thine pass away, Full quickly they pass—but they never re|turn.

Now gilding remote, on the verge of the sky, The moon half distinguish'd her crescent dis|plays, But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high, She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze.

Roll on thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue The path that conducts thee to splendor again, But man's fading glory what change shall re|new! Ah fool! to exult in a glory so vain!

'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more; I mourn, but ye woodlands, I mourn not for you: For morn is approaching your charms to re|store, Perfum'd with fresh fragrance and glit'ring with dew, Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn; Kind nature the embryo blossom will save: But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn! O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave!

'Twas thus by the glare of false science betray'd, That leads to bewilder and dazzles to blind: My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade, Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. O pity Great Father of light, then I cry'd, Thy creature who fain would not wander from Thee! Lo humble in dust, I relinquish'd my pride: From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free.

And darkness and doubt are now flying away No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn, So breaks on tho traveller, faint and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence morn.

See truth, love and mercy, in triumph descend|ing, And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom, On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending, And beauty immortal awake from the tomb.

SONG XCVIII.

SAY, Have you seen my Arabell? The Caledonian maid, Or heard the youths of Scotland tell, Where Arabell has stray'd? The damsel is of angel mien, With sad and downcast eyes; The Shepherds call her, sorrow's queen, So pensively she sighs.

But why her sighs so sadly swell, Or why her tears so flow; In vain, they press the lovely girl, The innate cause to know. E're reason fram'd her tender mind, The virgin learn'd to love, Compassion taught her to be kind, Deceit she was above.

And had not War's terrific voice, Forbid the mutual bands, E're now, had Sandy been her choice, And Hymen join'd our hands: But, since the sword of War is sheath'd, And peace resumes her charms, My every joy is now bequeath'd To Arabella's arms.

SONG XCIX.

TO my muse give attention, and deem it not a mystery, If we jumble together, music, poetry and history, The times to display in the reign of Queen Bess, Sir, Whose name and whose memory posterity may bless, Sir, Oh the golden days of good Queen Bess! Merry be the memory of good Queen Bess.

Then we laugh'd at the bug-bears of Dons and Armadas, With their gun-powder puffs and their bluster|ing bravadoes; For we knew how to manage both the musket and the bow, Sir, And could bring down a Spaniard just as easy as a crow, Sir, Oh the golden days, &c.

Then our streets were unpav'd, and our houses were thatch'd, Sir, Our windows were lett••'d, our doors only latch'd, Sir; Yet so few were the folks that would plunder or ••ob, Sir, That the hangman was starving for want of a job, Sir. Oh the golden days, &c.

Then our ladies with large ruff's ty'd round about the neck fast,

Would gobble up a pound of beef steaks for their breakfast, While a close quill'd-up coif their noddle just did fit, Sir, And they truss'd up as tight as a rabbit for the spit, Sir. Oh the golden days, &c.

Then jerkins and doublets, and yellow worsted hose, Sir, With a huge pair of whiskers, was the dress of our beaux, Sir; Strong beer they prefer'd too to claret or to hock, Sir, And no poultry they priz'd like the wing of an ox, Sir, Oh the golden days, &c.

Good neighborhood then was as plenty too as beef, Sir, And the poor from the rich never wanted re|lief, Sir, While merry went the mill-clack, the shuttle and the plough, Sir, And honest men could live by the sweat of their brow, Sir, Oh the golden days, &c.

Then the folks ev'ry Sunday went twice, at least, to church, Sir, And never left the parson nor his sermon in the lurch, Sir; For they judg'd that the Sabbath was for peo|ple to be good in,

And they thought it Sabbath-breaking, if they din'd without a pudding. Oh the golden days, &c.

Then our great men were good, and our good men were great, Sir, And the props of the nation were the pillars of the State, Sir, For the sov'reign and the subject one interest Supported, And our powerful alliance by all powers then was courted. Oh the golden days, &c.

Thus renown'd as they liv'd all the days of their lives, Sir, Bright examples of glory to those who sur|vive, Sir; May we, their descendants, pursue the same ways, Sir, That King George, like Queen Bess, may have his golden days, Sir, And may a longer reign of glory and success Make his name eclipse the fame of good Queen Bess.

SONG C.

HARK! Echo! sweet Echo repeats the loud strain, The shouting and hooting of chaste Dian's train; Aurora smiles sweetly, and comes on apace, The hounds and the horn call us forth to the chace.

Blind Cupid is banish'd from these happy fields, His quiver to Dian the wanton now yields; She blunts all his arrows, his power destroys, While the virgins all follow her innocent joys.

SONG CI.

NO pastime, no sport can with hunting compare, Let each lad and each lass to the field then re|pair; While health, rosy health, with delight shall keep pace, And prove there's no joys like the joys of the chace: When the horn's sprightly notes calls the huntsman away, Tantivy, tantivy, hark forward, huzza, huzza.

Let fashion and scandal, and cards share the time, Of your fine London ladies who murder their prime; Give me the delights that enliven this place, While echo, re-echo'd, gives joy to the chace. Hark forward, tantivy, huzza.

O'er mountain, o'er valley, with speed haste away, No longer our innocent pastime delay: Aurora to welcome with bright ruddy face, Let echo, re-echo'd, give joy to the chace. Hark forward, tantivy, huzza.

SONG CII.

MINERVA in heaven disconsolate mourn'd. The loss of her Cook, who Britain adorn'd; She shun'd the celestials, and solitude sought, Then wept as she glanc'd o'er the actions he wrought.

Surpriz'd at his deeds, she sat pensive, amaz'd! When sudden her eyes to a volume were rais'd; 'Twas fate's mighty mirror the goddess des••ry'd, Where the glory he gain'd on its pages were dy'd.

Sensibility smil'd, as the records she press'd, And sigh'd as in pity these words were express'd: "Oh! Cook, who till now the world dare ex|plore? "Who'll venture, my hero, now thou art no more?

"No more, ah! Ow••v••oe, the Cook will ap|pear, "The friend of mankind, whom you struck "with a spear; "He came to your succour, proud savages know, "He came as a friend, whom you slew as a foe."—

She ceas'd—when a voice shook the heav'ns around— "Minerva forbear—see the gods have him crown'd:" Be joyful, cry'd Jove, for the trophies he's won Have prov'd him my daughter's legitimate son.

The portals of heaven were op'd to her view, She saw him enthron'd in a vesture of blue: Yes, Britain, she cry'd in a transport of love, Cook's honour'd on earth, and held sacred above.

SONG CIII.

ON that lone bank where Lubin died, Fair Rosalie, a wretched maid, Sat weeping o'er the cruel tide, Faithful to her Lubin's shade.

Oh! may some kind, some gentle wave, Waft him to this mournful shore; These tender hands should make his grave, And deck his corps with stow'•••• o'er.

I'd ever watch his mould'ring clay, And pray for his eternal rest; When time his form has worn away, His dust I'd place within my breast,

While thus she mourn'd her Lubin lost, And echo to her grief reply'd; Lo! at her feet his corpse was toft, She shriek'd—she clasp'd him—sigh'd, and died.

SONG CIV.

THIS hot pursuit, With threats to boot, Have little to alarm me; So war I wage,

Defy his rage, And brave whate'er may harm me.

He still may swear, And stamp and stare, I'll neither fear nor falter; Whate'er may bind, 'Gainst woman's mind, Will prove a rotten halter.

My mistress flown, I'll soon be gone:— Old Crusty swears he'll tame her; For him she loves, Abroad she roves, In truth I cannot blame her,

In varied shapes, Thro' hair-breadth scapes, Each way he tries to win her: She scorns restraint, And such a saint Would make e'en me a sinner.

Some trim disguise, No doubt she tries— I'll follow her example: Of faith, of skill, And wit at will, I'll give 'em straight a sample.

So she and I Will fairly try, Whose trick or change can blind most. And since, old Don, You choose to run, The devil take the hindmost,

SONG CV.

ADIEU, ye streams that gently flowing, Murmur through the flowery mead; Vernal airs that softly blowing. Rustle through the leafy shade!

Adieu, ye birds whose notes delighting, Sweetly charm the rural scene; Beauteous prospects all inviting, Fields and meadows deck'd with green!

I could quit you unrepining, Not a tear should bathe my eye, Your enjoyments all resigning, Nor my bosom heave a sigh.

But when cruel fate ordains me From my lovely fair to part; Oh! the separation pains me! Deeply wounds my aching heart.

Falsehood and deceit despising, O she's fairer than the morn! When bright Phoebus just arising, Strews with pearl the dewy lawn.

But her mind in charms surpasses, Spotless as the solar ray: While a thousand nameless graces All around my fair one play.

When with her the sweet enjoyment Crowns the day with fresh delight; To chat with her the sweet employment Gilds with joy the gloomy night.

But by fate compell'd to leave her, From my Julia forc'd to part; Oh! the cruel word "forever," Wounds afresh my bleeding heart!

SONG CVI.

WHEN Werter fair Charlotte beheld, As she danc'd with the nymphs on the green, He thought ev'ry maid she excell'd. And he prai••'d the soft grace of her mien; But all her accomplishments known, Gentle Werter began to adore; He sighs for a heart not her own, And the joys of poor Werter are o'er.

Tho' vows the fair Charlotte engag'd, As a friend gentle Werter was dear, Her smiles oft his sorrows assuag'd, While pity has dropt a soft tear. Urg'd by love, he grew bold, and she cry'd, Werter leave me, and see me no more; He sigh'd—he obey'd—and he dy'd, Then the sorrows of Werter deplore.

Ye nymphs, let not Cupid deceive, Under pity's soft garb hide his dart, Werter's sorrows are laid in the grave, While pity still wrings Charlotte's heart: And oft o'er his grave has she cry'd, While with flow'rets she deck'd it all o'er, He saw me—he lov'd—and he dy'd, Then the sorrows of Werter deplore.

SONG CVII.

WHEN up to London first I came, An aukward country booby, I gap'd and sta••'d, and did the same As ev'ry other looby. With countenance demurely set, I doff'd my hat to all I met, With—"Zir, your humble servant!

Alas! too soon! got a wife; And, proud of such a blessing, The joy and business of my life Was kissing and caressing. 'Twas—"charmer! sweeting! duck and dove!" And I, o'er head and ears in love, Was Cupid's humble servant.

But when the honey-moon was past, Adieu to tender speeches! Ma'am lov'd quadrille, and lost too fast, I swore I'd wear the breeches. I storm in vain,—restraint she hates: Adieu, she cries—the party waits:— My dear, your humble servant!

SONG CVIII.

POUNDS, shillings, pence and farthings, I have at my finger's end, And how to sell, and how to buy, To borrow or to lend; But this, since I felt b••••ch at school,

My pate has run upon, Addition be my golden rule, Ha! dot and carry one.

At loss and gain a schollar good, Full early was I taught, To gain of guineas all I could, To lose the devil a groa••. At fractions and divisions when Hard knocks were laying on, Subtraction was my practice then, Ha! dot and carry one.

But words no more I'll numerate, And thus sum total lies; Of terms I'll not an acre bate, Reduction I despise: And since cockade and roguish eye Miss Clara's heart has won, If you're resolv'd to multiply, Ha! dot and carry one.

SONG CIX.

TO banish life's troubles, the Grecian old sage Prest the fruit of the vintage oft into the bowl, Which made him forget all the cares of old age; It bloom'd in his face, and made happy his soul. While here we are found, Put the bumper around, 'Tis the liquor of life, that each care can con|troul.

This jovial philosopher taught that the sun Was thirsty, and often drank deep of the main; That the planets would tipple away as they run, The earth wanted moisture, and soak'd up the rain. While here we are found, Put the bumper around, Tis the liquor of life, and why should we refrain.

Its virtues are known both in war and in love, The hero and lever alike it makes bold; Vexations in life's busy day 'twill remove, Delightful alike to the young and the old. While here we are found, Put the bumper around, That every ill may by wine be controul'd.

SONG CX.

'TWAS near a thicket's calm retreat, Under a poplar tree, Maria chose her wretched seat, To mourn her sorrows free; Her lovely form was sweet to view, As dawn at opening day, But ah, she mourn'd, her love not true, And wept her cares away.

The brook flow'd gently at her feet, ••n murmurs smooth along; Her pipe, which once she tun'd most sweet, Had now forgot its song. No more to charm the vale she tries;

For grief has fill'd her breast; Those joys which once she us'd to pri••e— But love has robb'd her rest.

Poor hapless maid! who can behold Thy sorrows so severe, And hear thy love-lorn story told, Without a falling tear': Maria, luckless maid! adieu, Thy sorrows soon must cease, For Heaven will take a maid so true To everlasting peace.

SONG CXI.

THE British lion is my sign, A roaring trade I drive on; Right English usage—neat French wine, A landlady may thrive on. At table d'hotte, to eat and dring, Let French ana English mingle, And while to me you bring the chink, Faith let the glasses jingle; Your rhino rattle, come Men and cattle, come All to Mrs. Casey; Of trouble and money, My j••wel, my honey, I warrant I'll make you easy.

When drest and seated in my bar, Let 'squire, or beau, or belle come, Let captains kiss me if they da••e, It's Sir, you're kindly welcome! On Shuffle, Cog, and Slip, I wink,

Let Rooke and pigeons mingle, And if to me they bring the chink, Faith let the glasses jingle. Your rhino rattle, come, &c.

Let love fly here on silken wings, His tricks I still connive at: The lover who would say soft things, Shall have a room in private. On pleasures I am pleas'd to wink, So lips in kisses mingle, For while to me they bring the chink, Faith let the glasses jingle. Your rhino rattle, come, &c.

SONG CXII.

BEHOLD this fair goblet—'twas carv'd from the tree, Which, oh! my sweet Shakespeare, was plant|ed by thee: As a relick I kiss it, and bow at thy shrine, What comes from thy hand must be ever di|vine, I shall yield to the mulberry tree: Bad to thee, Bless'd mulberry! Matchiefs was he That planted thee, And thou like him immortal shall be.

Ye trees of the forest, so rampart and high, Who spread round your branches, whose heads sweep the sky;

Ye curious exotics, whom taste has brought here, To root out the natives at prices so dear; All shall yield, &c.

The oak is held royal, in Britain's great boast. Preserv'd once, our king, and will always our coast; Of the, Sir, we make ships—there are thous|ands that fight, But one, only one, like our Shakespeare can write. All shall yield, &c.

Let Venus delight in her gay myrtle bowr's, Pomona in fruit trees, and Flora in flowr's, The garden of Shakespeare all pleasures will suit, With the sweetest of flow'rs, and the fairest of fruit. All shall yield, &c.

With learning and knowledge the well-let|ter'd birch Supplies law and physic, and grace for the church; But law and the gospel in Shakespeare we find, He gives the best physic for body and mind. All shall yield, &c.

The fame of the patron gives fame to the tree; From him and his merits this takes its degree: Give Phoebus and Bacchus their laurel and vine, The tree of our Shakespeare is still more divine, All shall yield, &c.

As the genius of Shakespeare outshines the bright day, More rapture than wine to the heart can con|vey; So the tree which he planted, by making his own, Has the laurel and bay, and the vine all in one. All shall yield, &c.

Then each take a relick of this hallow'd tree, From folly and fashion a charm let it be; Let's fill to the planter the cup to the brim, To honor your country, do honor to him. All shall yield, &c.

SONG CXIII.

WHILST happy in my native land, I boast my country's charter, I'll never basely lend my hand, Her liberties to barter, The noble mind is not all By poverty degraded▪ 'Tis guilt alone can make us fall, And well I am persuaded, Each free-born Briton's song should be, Or give me death or liberty. Or give me, &c.

Tho' small the pow'r which fortune grants, And few the gifts she sends us, The lordly hireling often wants That freedom which defends us; By law se cur'd from lawless strife,

Our house is our castellum; Thus bless'd with all that's dear in life, For lucre shall we sell 'em! No!—every Britons song should be, Or give me death or liberty. Or give me, &c.

SONG CXIV.

THURSDAY in the morn, the nineteenth of May, Recorded be forever the famous ninety-two! Brave Russell did discern. by dawn of day, The lofty sails of France advancing now; All hands aloft, aloft—let English valor shine; Let fly a culverin, a signal for the line: Let every man supply his gun; Follow me, And you'll see That the battle will soon be won.

Tourville on the main triumphant roll'd, To meet rhe gallant Russell in combat of the deep; He led a noble train of heroes bold, To sink the English Admiral and his fleet. Now ev'ry valiant mind to victory doth aspire; The bloody fight's begun, and the sea is all on fire; And mighty Fate stood looking on; Whilst a flood, All of blood, Fill'd the scuppers of the Rising Sun.

Sulphur, smoke and fire, disturbing the air, With thunder and wonder, affright the gal|lic shore: The regulated band stood trembling near, To see their lofty streamers, now no more; At six o'clock, the Red, the smiling victor led, To give the second blow—the fatal overthrow: Now death and horrow equal reign; Now they cry, Run or die: British calors ride the vanquish'd main.

See, they fly amaz'd thro' rocks and sands; One danger they grasp at to shun the great|er fate; In vain they cry for aid to weeping lands: The nymphs and sea gods mourn their loft estate: Forever more adieu, thou dazzling Rising Sun, From thy untimely and thy master's fate be|gun: Enough, thou mighty god of war! Now we sing, Bless the King! Let us drink to every British tar,

SONG CXV.

WELCOME, welcome, brother debtor, To this poor but merry place, Where no bailiff, dun, or setter, Dare to shew his frightful face. But, kind Sir, as you're a stranger, Down your garnish you must lay,

Or your coat will be in danger; You must either strip or pay,

Ne'er repine at your confinement From your children or your wife: Wisdom lies in true refinement, Through the various scenes of life. Scorn to show the least resentment, Though beneath the frowns of fate: Knaves and beggars find contentment. Fears and cares attend the great.

Though our creditors are spiteful, And restraint our bodies here, Use will make a g••••l delightful, Since there's nothing else to fear, Every island's but a prison, Strongly guarded by the sea: Kings and princes, for that reason, Pris'ners are as well as we.

What was it made great Alexander Weep at his unfriendly fa••e? 'Twas because he could not wander Beyond the world's strong prison gate. The world itself is strongly bounded By the heav'ns and stars above: Why should we then be confounded, Since there's nothing free but love?

SONG CXVI.

PUSH about the bowl, boys, Here's no time for meaner joys; Push about the bowl, boys,

Here's no time for thinking; Let us with hearts and hands unite, To do ourselves the bumper's right, The business of this happy night Consists alone in drinking.

Drain the flowing bowl, boys, Wisdom at the bottom lies; Drain the flowing bowl, boys, Drive away all sorrow: And thus away reflection rude, All care was made for solitude, And we'll be sure should vice intrude, To bid her, Come to marrow.

He that b••lks a glass, boys, Half his real bliss destroys; He that balks a glass, boys, H••'s a sorry fellow; For wine with mirth will fill the knave, And wine will make the coward brave, And ev'ry poor dejected slave As free as he is mellow.

Give us each a lass, boys, One who most our minds employs; Give us each a lass, boys. Modest and complying; One whose mind is fond of bliss, Who loves to wed to woo and kiss, And cannot see what harm it is To save a swain from dying.

Here's to noble selves, boys, Length of days and lasting joys; Here's to noble selves boys,

This toast will bear repe••ting▪ When e'er we bid this house adieu, We'll drink to all who's sound and true, So, Here's to you, to you, and you, 'Till our next happy meeting.

SONG CXVII.

LET a set of sober asses Rail against the joys of drinking, While water, tea, And milk agree To set cold brains a thinking. Power and wealth, Beauty, health Wit and mirth in wine are crown'd, Joys abound, Pleasure's found, Only where the glass goes round.

The ancient sects on happiness All differ'd in opinion; But wiser rule•• Of modern schools In wine fix her dominion. Power and wealth, &c.

Wine gives the lover vigor, Makes glow the cheek of beauty; Makes poets write, And soldiers fight, And friendship do its duty. Power and wealth, &c.

Wine was the only Helicon Whence poets are long liv'd so;

'Twas no other main Than brisk champaign, Whence Venus was deriv'd too. Power and wealth, &c.

When Heaven in Pandora's box All kind of ill had sent u••, In a merry mood A bottle of good Was cork'd up to content us. Power and wealth, &c,

All virtues wine is nurse to, Of every vice destroyer; Gives ••ullards wit, Makes just the cit, Truth forces from the lawyer, Power and wealth, &c,

Wine sits our joys a flowing, Our care and sorrow drowning. Who rails at the bowl, Is a Turkin's soul, And a Christian ne'er should own him, Power and wealth, &c,

SONG CXVIII.

YE Ch••••stains of Columbia, your forces marshal o••t, 'Tis time to make enquiry what these French|men 〈◊〉〈◊〉 about; Your flag has been insulted, your commerce has been stopt;

Your citizens are plundered, and into prison popp'd. Yankee Doodle, mind the tune, Yenkee Doodle dandee; If Frenchmen come, with naked bum, We'll spank 'em hard and handy.

Your ministers degraded, your senate they condemn, They say no treaties you shall make but what's approv'd by them: Will you who fought so bravely, and bled in freedom's cause, Now tamely sit and suffer France to trample on your laws. Yankee Doodle, &c.

They say they gave you freedom, and call you all ingrate••: For by their valor you were made the inde|pendent States: We know they join'd Columbia, and call'd themselves our friends, As well we know their plan was laid to an|swer their own ends, Yankee Doodle, &c.

But let me ask how, when, and where those Frenchmen set you free? Was it their conquest m••de by land, or victo|ry gain'd by sea? When lord Conwall•••• yielded, I will admit their sleet, By laying off the harbor, prevented his retreat. Yankee Doodle, &c.

Ye advocates for Frenchmen, what can you more advance, To prove your independence originates from France? The Count D'Estang at Georgia was glad to make retreat, And by a force inferior confess'd his own de|feat. Yankee Doodle, &c.

When Burgoyne and his army were forc'd to own your sway, The Yankee Boys alone fhar'd the honors of the day. Should any dare assert that France by victory gain'd at sea, Secur'd your independence and set Columbia free. Yankee Doodle, &c.

Tell them of Count de Grasse's fall, and quick the charge deny, Or from the shades old Rodney's ghost will thunder out "you lie." I say, Columbia's glory, which she this day en|joys, Was gain'd by General WASHINGTON, who led the Yankee boys. Yankee Doodle, &c.

Then, shall your Senate be reproach'd, your citizens oppress'd, Your ministers degraded, your swords in scab|bards rest? Say, shall your Eagle's wings be ••lipt, your stars' great lustre fade,

And shall Columbia's stripes no more with honor be display'd? Yankee Doodle, &c.

Arise, ye sons of freedom, Columbia's rights maintain, Brave WASHINGTON you'll find prepaid to wield the sword again: Then raise your standard, draw your sword, prepare the pointed ••ance, Evince your Constitution shall ne'er be sway'd by France, May wisdom guide your commerce, and jus|tice never cease, To shield Columbia's glory, till victory brings you PEACE. Yankee Doodle, &c,

SONG CXIX.

WHEN our great sires this land explor'd, A shelter from tyrannic wrong! Led on by heav'n's Almighty Lord, They sung—and acted well the song, Rise, united! dare be freed! Our sons shall vind••cate the deed.

In vain the region, they would gain, Was distant, drea••y, undisclos'd, In vain the Atlantic ••oar'd between, And ••osts of savages oppos'd, They rush'd undaunted, Heav'n decreed, Their sons should vindicate the deed.

'Twas freedom led the vet'rans forth, And manly fortitude to bear, They toil'd they vanquish'd—such high worth Is always Heav'ns peculiar care; Their great example still inspires, Nor dare we act beneath our sires.

Tis ours undaunted to defend The dear-bought, rich inheritance: And spite of each invading hand, We'll fight, bleed, die! in its defence. Pursue our father's path to fame, And emulate their glorious flame.

As the proud oak inglorious stands, 'Till storms, and thunder root it fast, So stood our new, unprac••i••'d bands, 'Till Britain roar'd her stormy blast: Then her they vanquish'd, fierce led on By Freedom and great WASHINGTON.

Hail godlike hero! born to save! Ne'er shall thy deathless laurels fade, But on that b••ow eternal wave, And consecrate blest Vernon's shade. Thy spreading glories still increase, 'Till earth, and time, and nature cease.

Oh! may that spirit on thee shed, Columbia's truest, noblest fr••end! On thy successor's honor'd head, In copious, double show'rs descend! This cha••ge to ADAMS be consign'd; Be thou the second of mankind.

So when El••jah, call'd to heav'n, Up in flaming chariot ro••e,

Elisha took the mantle giv'n, And rose a prophet—or a god! Then shout, great ADAMS! freedom's son! Immortal heir of WASHINGTON,

SONG CXX.

WHEN Jove was resolv'd to create the round earth, He supoenaed the virtues divine! Young Bacchus then sat the gay chairman of mirth, And the toast was wit, women, and wine,

The sentiment tickled the ear of each God; Apollo he wink'd to the Nine; And Venus gave Mars, too a fly wanton nod, When she drank to wit women, and wine.

Great Jove shook his sides, and the cup put around, While Juno for once look'd divine: These blessings, says he, shall on earth now a|bound, And the toast is, wit, women, and wine.

These are joys worthy Gods, which to mortals are given, Says Momus: Who will not repine? For what's worth our notice, pray tell me in Heav'n, If men have wit, women, and wine.

This joke you'll repent, I'll lay fifty to seven, Such attractions no power can decline,

Great Jove, by yourself you'll soon keep house in Heav'n, For you'll follow wit, women, and wine.

Thou'rt right, says great Jove, let us hence to the Earth, Men and Gods think variety fine; Who would stay in the clouds, when good-na|ture and mirth Are below, with wit, women, and wine?

SONG CXXI. ON THE BIRTH OF GEORGE WASHING|TON.

AS in a grot reclin'd Columbia's genius pin'd, With grief oppress'd, She wept her fav'rite land, Wrung by oppression's hand, Too feeble to withstand The direful pest.

Dejected droop'd her head— Thick gloom the scene o'erspread, Despotic Night! 'Till pitying Heav'n gave ear, To check the gushing tear, Bade WASHINGTON appear, "And all was light."

Against his country's foes The patriot hero rose. Auspicious hour! Cloath'd with heav'n's vengeance, he

Crush'd galling Tyranny, And set his country free From lawless pow'r.

To hail his Natal day, Then raise the vocal lay, With joy sincere; Be every cheek bedew'd With tears of gratitude, To him the great, the good, Whom kings revere!

Great sire of freedom, hail! Thy virtues shall prevail, And crush thy foes: Though demagogues combine, Envy and malice join, To tear the wreathes that twine Thy sacred brows,

Hence! ev'ry tongue profane, Whose sland'rous zeal would stain Thy spotless fame; Dazzled by worth so bright, Let baneful party spite Forever shun the light, O'erwhelm'd with shame.

Thy fame illustrious sage, Shall last through every age, Thy deeds have won: Thy trophies shall remain, Un••l••ed with a stain, In freedom's sacred fane, 'Till time is done,

Call'd by the public voice, A free and graceful choice, To guard the states: Lo! where the sage presides, True policy abides, Consummate wisdom guides The high debates.

He check'd the raging tide Of insurrection's pride, Bade faction cease! Collected and sedate, He rode the car of state, While dangers low'ring fate, And gave us peace.

But, lo! the chief retires— No vain ambition fires His generous breast— Resigns sublimely great, His Presidential seat, And shuns the toils of State For peace and rest.

To hail his natal day, Then raise the vocal lay— Let joy preside; May Heav'n's best gifts descend, Long happiness attend, On him the People's friend, COLUMBIA'S PRIDE.

SONG CXXII.

HAIL Independence, hail, Bright goddess of the skies! Behold thy sons unite, Behold thine altars raise! Lo, freeborn millions kneel and swear, Their birth-rights to maintain, Resolv'd no foreign yoke to bear, To drag no tyrant's chain. 'Tis Freedom's day—let millions rise, To freedom's standard fly, Obey Columbia's call, UNITE—LIVE FREE—OR DIE.

Long has our favor'd clime, Beneath indulgent Heaven, Enjoy'd the smiles of peace, M••d copious blessings given, Here Independence banners wav'd, Triumphantly unfurl'd; With laurels crown'd, Columbia's rose, The envy of the world. 'Tis freedom's day, &c.

But lo! what gathering clouds Assail Columbia's shore? From Gallia's crimson'd cl••••e, What 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thunders 〈◊〉〈◊〉? 'Tis mad Ambition's hydra form Loud threat'ning from afar, That pours abroad th' i••pending stor••••, And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the trump of wa••! 'Tis freedom's day, &c.

Rise, inju•••••• Freemen, rise! Out-stretch th' indignant arm; Defend your country's cause, Nor dread the rude alarm. Around fair Freedom's altar throng, Pronounce the firm decree, Swear to avenge your country's wrong, Live like your fathers free! 'Tis freedom's day, &c.

Hail, Vernon's hoary chief! Glory's immortal son! Long may those laurels bloom Thy matchless valor won; And may thy grateful country long Revere thy deathless name, And with thy well earn'd praises swell, Th' eternal trump of Fame! 'Tis freedom's day, &c,

Illustrious ADAMS, hail! To thee the task is giv'n, To guard thy country's rights, And share the smiles of Heav'n, With what an honest patriot pride, Th' immortal l••ader glows, Firm and undaunted as a rock, To crush Columbia's foes. 'Tis freedom's day, &c.

Hail. Independence, hail, Columbia's proudest boast! Ne'er shall thy sons forget, The price thy blessings cost. Long may our youth undaunted stand, To stem Oppression's flood;

To guard their country's sacred rights, And seal it with their blood! 'Tis freedom's day, &c,

SONG CXXIII.

COLUMBIA's Bald Eagle displays in his claws, The arrows of Jove, to confound her proud foes; While the artful French Bear, with his wide spreading paws, Would ensnare us by hugs far more fatal than blows. But his hugs and his blows, we will meet them like men, And the Eagle shall drive the beast back to his den.

The terrible bear, not yet sated with blood, Growls around his huge den o'er the bones of his prey; Tho' now gorg'd to the full, he still howls for more food, And would lure by his tricks fair Columbia away. But his tricks and his howls we despise them like men, And the Eagle shall drive the beast back to his den.

Not a Frog e'er shall bribe him to stay his rude sh••cks, For the Eagle disdains to retreat from his ire: We will marshal our columns as solid as rocks,

And receive the proud Frenchmen in vollies of fire, Like true sons of Columbia, we will act still like men▪ And her Eagle shall drive the Bear back to his den.

SONG CXXIV.

TO Columbia, who, gladly reclin'd at her ease, On Atlantic's broad bosom lay smiling in peace, Minerva flew hastily, sent from above, And address'd her this message from thund|ering Jove: "Rouse, quickly awake, "For your freedom's at stake, "Storms arise, your renown'd independence to shake; "Then lose not a moment, my aid I will lend, "If your sons will assemble your rights to de|fend."

Rous'd Columbia rose up, and indignant de|clar'd, That no nation she'd wrong'd, and no nation she fear'd; That she wish'd not for war, but if war was her fate, She could meet it with souls independent and great; Then tell mighty Jove, That we quickly will prove, We'll deserve the protection he'll send from above▪

For ne'er shall the sons of America bend, But united, their rights and their freedom de|fend.

Minerva smil'd cheerfully as she withdrew, Enraptur'd to find her Americans true; "For (said she) our fly Mercury oft-times re|ports "That your sons are divided"—Columbia re|torts: Tell that vile god of thieves, His report but deceives, And we care not what madmen such nonsense believes. For ne'er shall the sons of America bend, But united, their rights and their freedom de|fend.

Jove rejoic'd in Columbians this union to see And swore by old Styx they deserv'd to be free; Then assembled the gods, and to all gave con|sent, Their assistance if needful in war to present; Mars arose, shook his armour, And swore, his old farmer Should ne'er in his country see ought that could harm her; For ne'er should the sons of America bend, But united, their rights and their freedom de|fend.

Minerva resolved that her Aegis she'd lend; And Apollo declar'd he their cause would be|friend; Old Vulcan an armor would forge for their aid

More firm than the one for Achilles he made; Then said he I'll prepare A compound most rare, Of courage and union each a full share. That ne'er can the sons of America bend, But their rights and their freedom most firmly defend.

Ye sons of Columbia then join hand in hand; Divided we fall, but united we stand; 'Tis ours to determine, 'tis ours to decree, That in peace we will live Independent and free. And should from afar Break the horrors of war, We'll always be ready at once to declare, That ne'er will the sons of America bend, But united, their rights and their freedom de|fend,

SONG CXXV.

WHILE discord's bloody flag unfurl'd, O'er Europe, war his torrent pours, Rolls vollied thunder round the world, From Boreal climes to India's shores, Rise united, Harvard'•• band, Rise the bulwark of our land,

Shall Gallia's clan our coast invade, With hellish outrage scourge the main, Insult our na••ion's neutral trade, And we not dare our rights maintain? Rise, &c.

What though Minerva's temple claim,

Our fervid vows at learning's shrine. We boast the Patriot's glorious flame, The sons of Freedom and the nine. Rise, &c.

'Mid the wild desert's gloomy waste, Our gallant Sires, untaught to yield, This germ of science whilom plac'd, To shade the Muse, the Hero shield. Rise, &c.

Here nurs'd by virtue' towers the oak, Whose lofty branches prop the skies, Defy the lightning's forceful stroke, When earthquake whelms, or whirlwind flies. Rise, &c.

Beneath the shade by wisdom taught, The arts unfold their virgin charms And, fir'd by genius, nervous thought in triumph grasps his classic arms, Rise, &c.

To guard this pantheon of the globe, While peace displays her rainbow vest. While, leagu'd with justice, swells the robe, And great in valor nods the crest. Rise, &c.

Let freedom's voice round earth proclaim, Cabal shall ne'er divide our realm, While time can trumpet GEORGE's fame, Or ADAMS guide our Union's helm. Rise, &c.

Should fierce invasion's powers combine▪ To guard Columbia, great and free,

E'en Bunker, rent by bursting mine, Would float an Andes o'er the sea.

SONG CXXVI. THE NEW-YORK PATRIOTIC SONG.

Tune—Washington's March and Yankee Doodle.

POETS may sing of their Helicon streams, Their Gods and their heroes, are fabulous dreams; They ne'er sang a line Half so grand, so divine, As the glorious toast We Columbians boast, The Federal Constitution boys, and LIBERTY forever.

ADAMS, the man of our choice, guides the helm, No tempest can harm us, no storm overwhelm; Our sheet anchor's sure, And our bark rides secure, So here's to the toast We Columbians boast, The Federal Constitution boys, and President for|ever.

A free navigation, commerce and trade: We'll seek for no foe, of no foe be afraid; Our frigate's shall ride Our defence and our pride; Our tars guard our coast,

And huzza to our toast, The Federal Constitution, Trade, and Commerce, boys forever.

Montgomery, Warren, still live in our songs, Like them our young heroes shall spurn at our wrongs, The world shall admire The zeal and the fire Which blaze in the toast, We Columbians boast, The Federal Constitution, and its Advocates for|ever.

When an enemy ••hreats all party shall cease, We bribe no int••iguers to buy a mean peace, Columbians will scorn Friend or foe to suborn, We'll ne'er stai•• the toast Which as freemen we boast, The Federal Constitution and Integrity forever.

Fam••'s trumpet shall swell in WASHINGTON's praise, And time grant a furlough 〈…〉〈…〉 his days. May ••ealth weave the thread Of delight round his head; No nation can boast Such a name—such a toast— The Federal Const••••ution boys, and WASHING|TON forever.

SONG CXXVII.

SONGS of shepherds in rust••cal roundel••••s, ••orm'd in f••ncy and 〈…〉〈…〉, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to solace young nymphs upon hol••days,

Are too unworthy for wonderful deeds. Sot••sh Silenus to Phoebus the genius Was sent by dame Venus, a••ong to prepare In phrase nicely com'd, and verse quite refin'd, How the states divine hunted the hare.

Stars quite tir'd with part times Olympical, Stars and planets that beautiful shone, Could no longer endure that men only should Revel in pleasures, and they but look on. Round about horned Lucina they swarmed; And quickly informed her how minded they were, Each god and goddess to take human bodies, As lords and ladies to follow the hare, Chaste Diana applauded the motion, And pale Prosepina sat down in her place, To guide the welkin, and govern the ocean, While Dian conducted her nephews in chace,

By her example, their fathers to trample, The earth old and ample, they soon leave the air: Neptune the water, and wine Liber pa••er, And Mars the slaughter, to follow the hare, Young god Cupid was mounted on Pegasus, Borrow'd o'the muses with kisses and pray|ers; Stern Alcides upon cloudy Caucasus Mounted a centaur that proudly him bears. The postilion of the sky, light-heeled Sir Mer|cury, Made his swift courser fly fleet as the air; While tuneful Apollo, the pastime did follow,

To whoop and to hollow, boys after the hare.

Drowned Narcissus, from his metamorphosis Rous'd by Echo, new manhood did take. Snoring Somnus upstarted from Cim'ries: Before for a thousand years he did not wake. There was ••ame club-footed Mulciber booted; And Pan, too, promoted on Corydon's mare. Aeolus flouted; with mirth Momus shouted; While wise Pallas pouted, yet follow'd the hare.

Grave Hymen ushers in lady Astrea. The humour took hold of Latona the cold. Ceres the brown, too with bright Cytherea, And Thetis the wanton, Bellona the bold; Shamefac'd Aurora, with witty Pandora, And Maria with Flora did company bear; But Juno was stated too high to be mated, Altho', Sir, she hated not hunting the hare. Three brown bowls of Olympical nectar The Troy-born boy now presents on his knee; Jove to Phoebus now carouses in nectar, And Phoebus to Hermes, and Hermes to me; Wherewith infused. I piped and mused, In language unused their sports to declare, 'Till the vast house of Jove like the bright spheres did move, Here's health, then, to all that love hunting the hare,

SONG CXXVIII.

RETURNING home, across the plain, From market, t'oher day, A sudden storm of wind and rain O'ertook me by the way: With speed I tript•••••• o'er the ground, To find some kinder spot, And from the storm a shelter found, In Lubin's rural cot.

This swain had long possess'd a flame, But modestly conceal'd; Nor 'till those fav'ring moments came, His passion e'er reveal'd: Will you consent, sweet maid, cried he, To share my humble lot; Return, my love, and mistress be, Of Lubin's rural cot.

He spoke so fair it pleas'd my mind, I blushing. answer'd yes; He swore he would be true and kind, And seal'd it with a kiss: Next day the wedding ring was bought, I all my fears forgot; And blest the day I shelter sought, In Lubin's rural cot.

SONG CXXIX.

I'VE found, my fair, a true love knot, 'Tis loose by some disaster, Come then with me to yonder grot,

And let us tie it faster: Or shall we to the grove repair, There is no time to dally, The church, the priest awaits us there, Let's tie the knot my Sally.

Methinks the knot was surely laid, By Cupid's fond direction, To prove, my sweet, my charming maid, The cement of affection; 'Tis form'd by some immortal hand, Come, let us leave the valley, And join in Hymen's silken band, Let's tie the knot, my Sally.

No hand can e'er the band untie, When once we are united: For every guardian saint is by, When lovers vows are plighted: The deed recorded is above, Then let's not sh••lly shally, Oh, let us haste my charming love And tie the knot my Sally.

SONG CXXX.

A FEW years ago in the days of my gran|nam, (A worthy good woman as ever broke bread,) What lectures she gave, in the morning began 'em, Nor ceas'd till she laid herself down on her bed; She ne'er declin'd what she once undertook,

But twisted, Persisted, Now flatter'd, Now spatter'd, And always succeeded by hook or by crook.

Said she child, whatever your fate is hereafter, If married, if single, if old, or if young, In madness, in sadness, in tears, or in laughter, But follow my maxims, you cannot do wrong; Each passion, each temper, I always could brook; When scolded, I moulded, When heated, Retreated, And manag'd my matters, by hook or by crook.

Ensnar'd by her councils. I ventur'd to marry, And fancy'd a wife, by my grand mother's rules, M••ght be taught like a spaniel to fetch and to carry, But soon I found out that we both had been fo••ls; In vain I show'd madam the wonderful book; I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 her, I box'd her, Bu•• truly, Unruly, Wives cannot be govern'd by hook or by crook.

SONG CXXXI.

GUARDIAN of our nation, stand firm in your station, While Europe is all in commotion; We'll let the world see that America's fre Our flag shall ride safe on the ocean.

Since France doth aspire to set us on fire, And fill our Grand Court with distraction, Then firm let us be, united and free, In spite of proud France and of faction.

We'll ne'er have a king, tho' of ADAMS we'll sing, And chaunt to our children his story; We'll let the world see Columbia is free, And fight for our country and glory.

Our Navy shall ride on the ocean so wide, With all the proud billows in motion, No tyrant shall dare his ensigns to rear, And pirates shall fly from the ocean.

These pira••es of France have dar'd to advance To our seas, and the mouths of our harbors; But Frenchmen shall see our sta••es will be free, We'll clear all ou•• coasts of such robbers.

Now let us unite to stand for our right, And protect our commerce from plunder; These rovers at sea, shall begin now to flee, When Ganges discharges his thunder,

SONG CXXXII.

SWEET Laura see the fatal hour, Farewell, my souls delight; But how shall wretched Henry live, Thus banish'd from my fight? To my fond heart no rival joys Supply the loss of thee; But who can tell if thou my dear, Will e'er remember me.

Alone thro' unfrequented wilds, With pensive steps I ••ove: I ask the rocks, I ask the streams, Where dwells my absent love? The silent eve, the rosy morn, My constant search survey, But who can, &c.

Oft I'll review the smiling scene, Each fav'rite brook and tree, When gaily pass'd the happy hours, Those hours I've pass'd with thee: What painful fond memorials rise, From ev'ry place I see; But who can, &c.

SONG CXXXIII.

A SONG, a song, is the cry of mankind, All know what to singing belongs; 'Tis interest governs us all you will find, And gives us the pitch of our songs.

The miser with riches, who's never content, Can tell what is right or is wrong. For he joins in the chorus of twenty per cent, And owns it a very good song.

Behold next the merchant, the federal lad, Who hopes that the union is strong, But says it is money that makes the heart glad, And hammers away with a song.

The merchant is punctual—to see himself paid, And wishes for credit that's long, Yet strikes up the ditty of commerce and trade, How quickly he joins in the song.

The lawyer and parson do know very well, The things that to singing belong, One fingers the fee, ere a word he can tell, One "turns off his flock with a song."

And WASHINGTON too, the hero and sage, To Heaven he carols this song:— "The blessings which thou to Columbia gave; "Oh Heaven! I pray thee prolong."

SONG CXXXIV.

DIOGENES▪ surly and proud, Who snarl'd at the Macedon youth, Delighted in wine that was good, Because in good wine there is truth: But growing as poor as a Job, And unable to purchase a flask, He chose for his mansion a tub,

And liv'd by the scent of the cask, And liv'd by the scent of the cask.

Heraclitus would never deny A bumper to cherish his heart; And when he was maudlin, would cry, Because he had empty'd his quart: Tho' some were so foolish to think He wept at men's folly and vice, 'Twas only his custom to drink Till the liquor run out of his eyes.

Democratus always was glad To tipple, and cherish his soul; Would laugh like a man that was mad. When over a jolly full bowl, While his cellar with wine was well stor'd, His liquor he'd merrily quaff; And, when he was drunk as a lord, At those that were sober he'd laugh.

Copernicus too, like the rest, Believ'd there was wisdom in wine; And knew that a cup of the best Made reason the brighter to shine: With wine he replenish'd his veins, And made his philosophy reel; Then fancy'd the world, as his brains, Turn'd round like a chariot wheel.

Aristotle, that master of arts, Had been but a dunce without wine; For what we ascribe to his parts, Is due to the juice of the vine: His belly, some authors agree, Was as big as a watering trough;

He therefore leap'd into the sea, Because he'd have liquor enough.

When Pyrrho had taken a glass, He saw that no object appear'd; Exactly the same as it was Before he had liquor'd his beard; For things running round in his drink, While sober he motionless found, Occasion'd the sceptic to think There was nothing of truth to be found.

Old Plato was reckon'd divine, Who wisely to virtue was prone; But, had it not been for good wine, His merit had never been known. By wine we are generous made; It furnishes fancy with wings; Without it, we ne'er should have had Philosophers, poets, or kings.

SONG CXXXV.

AS musing I rang'd in the meads all alone, A beautiful creature was making her moan; The tears they were falling full fast from her eyes, She pierced the air and my heart with her cries.

I gently requested the cause of her moan, She told me her sweet Serecino was gone; And in that sad posture she ever would remain, Unless her dear charmer return'd home again.

Perhaps it is some linnet, or blackbird, said I,

Perhaps it is the lark that has soar'd in the sky: Come, dry up your tears, and abandon your grief, I'll bring you another that shall give you re|lief,

It's no blackbird, nor linnet, nor sky lark, said she, But one that is fairer by far, than all three, My sweet Sen••cino, for whom I now cry, Is sweeter than all the gay songsters that fly.

Adieu to Prunella, Corinna, likewise, Whom stars, and whom planets extol to the skies; Adieu! to the Opera, farewell to the ball! My charmer has gone, and a fig for you all.

SONG CXXXVI.

MY name's Tippy Bob, With a watch in each sod, View me round—on each side and the top, I'm sure I'm the thing, Nay, I wish I may swing, If I an't now a nice natty crop! I'm up to each rig, Of my hat smoke the gig, Like candles my locks dang••e down: And look in my rear, As an ostrich I'm bare, But the knowingist smart of the town As I walk through the lobby, The girls cry out "Bobby!

"Here, Bobby!—my Biddy Bob! Now squ••aking, now bawling, Then pulling and halling, So smirking and pleasing, So coaxing and teazing, I can't get them out of my nob,

Observe well my shape, And the fall of my cape, It's the thing! It's the thing! dam'me! an't it? And this bow round my neck, Will at least hold a peck, It may catch some old Dowager! mayn't it? Then under this collar I've got a large roller, 'Tis just like a large German sausage; And squeez'd up so tight, That, by this good light, It goes nearly to stop up my passage. As I walk thro' the lobbey, &c.

My vesta foot long, N••ne capes in a throng, My breeches—my small clothes I mean, From my chest to my calf— Damn the mob, let them laugh, I dress not by them to be seen! The strings at my knees, Like chevaux de freze My boots to the small of my leg! My spurs the nonsuch, No crop can me touch, I swear I'm at home to a peg.

SONG CXXXVII.

FAIR Kate of Portsmouth lov'd a ••ar, Ben Surf, as kind a soul As ever brav'd the hottest war, Or slung the flowing bowl, Yet, oft' he'd heave a sigh, since fate Had borne him far from lovely Kate,

For Ben in vain had often strove, (Would parents but agree) To wed fair Kate, his only love, 'Ere that he went to sea; But, ah! in vain, fond hope was o'er, He sigh'd, then left his native shore.

One night as the mid-watch he kept, A loose to love he gave, For wh••le his ship mates careless slept, Plung'd in a wat'ry grave— "The conflict's o'er, sweet Kate," he cried, Then sunk in peace, alas! and dy'd.

Thus hope is like the summer gale, That's transient as the wind, Which reefs too soon soft pleasures' sail, 'Ere the wish'd port we find: The tidings to fair Kate was brought, Whose bosom was with anguish fraught.

"And is my love no more?" she cried, 'Then peace adieu, farewell, This heart to his was e'er allied. And still it shall be true— I feel my spirit wing its flight—" She spoke, and sunk in endless night.

SONG CXXXVIII.

YOU ask why I thus droop my head, Why pensive and sad I deplore? All joy from poor Anna is fled, My William, alas! is no more: These eyes dim and mournful appear, Which from his all their lustre did borrow; I must pause o'er my tale—drop a tear, For, alas! 'tis a story of sorrow.

I stood on the beach, while in view The bark toss'd, that brought him from far; The rain beat, the winds fiercely blew, The elements seem'd all at wa••: On a rock (the dire thought bids me weep) His ship split—no aid could they borrow; He immerg'd in the watery deep, Full, alas! is my story of sorrow.

Distracted! but prayers could I give, As he dash'd the big billows aside, Hope faintly breath'd forth, "he'd survive." But, fatigu'd, he sunk breathless—and dy'd: Depriv'd of my love, I complain, I his bride should have been on the morrow, But I'll plunge in the unfated main, And cure a heart bursting with sorrow.

SONG CXXXIX.

WELL met, jolly fellows, well met: By this bowl you're all welcome, I swear:

See where on the table 'tis set. And design'd for the grave of your care, From this social convention, 'Twill drive all contention, Save only who longest can drink; Then fill up their glasses And drink to your lasses, The head-ache take him that shall shrink.

Do but look at this glass! here boys, hand it around; Why it sparkles like Phillis's eyes; But 'tis better by far, boys; for when her eyes wound, This balm to the wound will supply; Then a fig for this thinking: Fill, fill and be drinking; Let us drown all our cares and our sorrows: Come, the toast, boys, the toast! There's no time to be lost, For our cares will return with to-morrow.

SONG CXL.

WHEN beating rains and pinching winds, At night attack the lab'ring hinds, And caus'd them to retire: How sweet they pass their time away, In sober talk and rustick play; Beside the social fire, Beside, &c.

There many a plaintive tale is told, Of those who linger in the cold; With sighs and groans expire;

The mournful story strikes the ear, They heave a sigh and drop a tear, And bless their social fire. And bless, &c.

The legendary tale comes next, With many an artful phrase perplext, Which well the tongue might tire; The windows shake, the shutters crack, Each thinks a ghost behind his back, And hitches to the fire, And hitches, &c.

And now perhaps some humble swain, Who fann'd the lover's flame in vain: With sighs and groans expire: Relates each st••a••agem he play'd, To win the coy d••sdainful maid, And eyes the social fire, And eyes, &c.

To this succeeds a j••cund song, From lungs less musical than strong. And all to m••rth aspire; The humble-roof returns the sound, The soc••al can goes b••••sk••y round; And brighter burns the fire. And brighter, &c.

Grant me k••nd Heaven a state like this, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 simple ignorance is bliss, 'T••s all that I requ••re: And ••hen ••o crown the j••ys of life▪ I'll s••ek a k••nd indu••gent wise, To bless the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a•• fi••e, To bless, &c.

SONG CXLI.

A PLAGUE of those musty old lubbers, Who tell us to fast and to think, And patient fall in with life's rubbers, With nothing but water to drink: A cann of good stuff had they twigg'd it, Would have set them for pleasure agog. And spite of the rules, The rules of the schools, The old fools would have all of'em swigg'd it, And swore there was nothing like grog.

My father, when last I from Guinea Return'd with a bundance of wealth Cried—Jack, never be such a ninny To drink—Says I—here's father, your health. So I pass'd round the stuff—soon he twigg'd it, And it set the old codger agog, And he swigg'd, and mother swigg'd, And sister swigg'd and brother swigg'd, And I swigg'd, and all of us swigg'd it, And swore there was nothing like grog.

One day, when the Chaplain was preaching, Behind him I curiously slunk, And, while he our duty was teaching As how we should never get drunk, I tip'd him the stuff, and he twigg'd it, Which soon set his rev'rence agog. And he swigg'd, and Nick swigg'd, And Ben swigg'd, and Dick swigg'd, And I swigg'd, and all of us swigg'd it, And swore there was nothing like grog.

Then trust me there's nothing like drinking So pleasant on this side the grave; It keeps the unhappy from thinking, And makes e'en more valiant the brave, For me, from the moment I twigg'd it, The good stuff has so set me agog, Sick or well, late or early, Wind foully or fairly, I've constantly swigg'd it, And dam'me there's nothing like grog.

SONG CXLII.

DEAR Tom ••his brown jug which foams, with mild ale, In which we will toast the sweet Nan of the vale; Was once Toby Fillpot a thirsty old soul As e'er drank a bottle or fathom'd a bowl: In Baccus's court 'twas his joy to excell, And among jolly topers he bore off the bell.

It chanc'd as in dog-days he loll'd at his ease, In a flower-woven arbor as gay as you please; With his friend and his pipe puffing sorrow away, And with royal old stingo was soaking his clay. His breath-door of life on a sudden was shut, And he died full as big as a Dorce••shire butt.

His body when long in the ground it had lain, And time into clay ha•• desolv'd it again! A potter found out in its covert so snug,

And with part of old Toby he form'd this brown jug: Now sacred to friendship to mirth and mild ale, Here's a health to my lovely sweet Nan of the Vale.

SONG CXLIII.

HOW brim full of nothing's the life of a beau, They've nothing to think of, for nothing they do, And nothing to talk of, for nothing they know, Such, such is the life of a beau, Such, &c.

For nothing they rise but to draw the fresh air, Spend the morning in nothing but curling their hair; And do nothing all day but sigh, saunter and stare, Such, such is the life of a beau, Such, &c.

For nothing at night to the play-house they crowd, To mind nothing done there they are always too proud, But to bow and to grin, and to say nothing loud, Such, such is the life of a beau, Such, &c.

For nothing they run to assembly and ball, For nothing at cards a fair partner they call;

For they still must be hasted who're nothing at all, Such, such is the life of a beau, Such, &c.

For nothing on Sunday's at church they appear, They've nothing to hope for and nothing to fear, They can be nothing no where, who nothing are here; Such, such is the life of a beau, Such, &c.

SONG CXLIV.

SPANKING Jack was so comely, so pleas|ant, so jolly, Though wind blew great guns still he'd whis|tle and sing. Jack lov'd his friend and was true to his Molly, And if honor gives greatness was great as a king. One night as we drove with two reefs in the main-sail, And the scud came on low'ring upon a lee shore, Jack went up aloft for to hand the top ga'en sail, A spray wash'd him off, and we ne'er saw him more! But grieving's a folly, Come let u•• be Jolly. If we've troubles at sea, boys, We've pleasures ashore.

Whiffling Tom still of mischief or fun in the middle, Through life in all weathers at random would jog, He'd dance and he'd sing, and he'd play on the fiddle, And swig with an air his allowance of grog: Long side of a don in the Terrible Frigate As yard arm and yard arm we lay off the shore, In and out whiffling Tom did so caper and jog it, That his head was shot off, and we ne'er saw him more; But, &c.

Bonny Ben was to each jolly messmate a brother, He was manly and honest, good natured, and free, If ever one tar was more true than another To his friend and his duty, that sa••lor was he; One day with the David to heave the kedge anchor, Ben went in a boat on a bold craggy shore, He overboard tipt, when a shark and a spanker▪ Soon nipt him in two, and we ne'er saw him more! But, &c.

But what of it all, lads, shall we be down hearted Because that mayhap we now take our last sup; Life's cable must one day or other be parted, And death in fast mooring will bring as all up: But 'tis always the way on'••, one scarce finds a brother

Fond as pitch, honest, hearty and true to the core, But by battle, or storm, or some had thing or other, He's popp'd off the hooks, and we ne'er see him more▪ But, &c.

SONG CXLV.

HER mouth with a smile, Devoid of all guile, Half open to view; Is the bud of the rose, In the morning that blows, Impearl'd with the dew.

More fragrant her breath Than the flow'r scented heath, At the dawning of day: The hawthorn in bloom, The lily's perfume, Or the blossoms of May.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Nero fiddled while Rome was burning.
• † 1.2

  Pronounced, sank Tate.
• † 1.3

  i. e. we••ding breeches.
• * 1.4

  Dean Swi••••.