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And vith a boat-hook Vite they sought;
Ven she, vith expectation big,
Thought Vite vas found, but 'twas his vig.


A VORTHY cit, von Vitsunday,
Vith vife rode out in von-horse chay,
And down the streets as they did trot,
Says Mrs. Vite, I'll tell you vot,
Dear Villiam Vite, 'tis my delight,
Ven our veek's bills ve stick 'em,
That, side by side, ve thus shou'd ride
To Vindsor or Vest Vickham.
My loving vife, full vell you know,
Ve used to ride to Valthamstow,
But now I thinks it much the best
That ve should ride tovards the vest.
If you agree, dear vife, vith me,

And vish to change the scene,
Then, ven the dust excites our thirst,
Ve'll stop at Valham-green.
Vell, then, says Mrs. Vite, says she,
Vat pleases you must sure please me,
But veekly vorkings all must go
If ve this day go cheerful through,
For vell I loves the voods and groves,
They raptures put me in;
For you know, Vite, von Vitsun-night,
You did my poor heart vin.
Then Mrs. Vite she took the vip,
And vacked poor Dobbin on the hip,
Vich made him from a valk run fast,
And reach the long-vished sign at last.
Lo, ven they stopt, out vaiter popt,

Vat vould you vish to take,
Says Vite, vith grin, I'll take some gin,
My vife takes vine and cake.
Ven Mrs. Vite had took her vine,
To Vindsor on they vent to dine.
Ven dinner o'er Mr. Vite did talk,
My darling vife ve'll take a valk;

The path is vide by vater-side,
So ve vill valk together;
Vile they gets tea for you and me,
Ve vill enjoy the veather.
Some vonton Eton boys there vere
Vich marked for vaggery this pair;
Mrs. Vite cried out vat are they arter?
Ven in they popped Vite in the vater.
The vicked vits then left the cits,

Ven Vite the vaves sunk under,
She vept, she squalled, she vailed, she bawled,
Vill not none help, I vonder.

Her vimpering vords assistance brought,
And vith a boat-hook Vite they sought;
Ven she, vith expectation big,

Thought Vite vas found, but 'twas his vig.
Vite vas not found, for he vas drowned;
To stop her grief each bid her;
Ah! no, she cried, I vas a bride,
But now I is a vidder.

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(W. Woty.)

My temples with clusters of grapes I'll entwine,
And barter all joys for a goblet of wine;
In search of a Venus no longer I'll run,
But stop and forget her at Bacchus's tun.
But why thus resolve to relinquish the fair?
Tis a folly, with spirits like mine, to despair,
For what mighty charms can be found in a glass
If not filled to the health of some favourite lass?
"Tis woman whose charms every rapture impart,
And lends a new spring to the pulse of the heart;
The miser himself, so supreme is her sway,
Grows a convert to love, and resigns her his key.
At the sound of her voice Sorrow lifts up her head,
And Poverty listens, well pleased, from her shed
While Age, in an ecstasy, hobbling along,
Beats time, with his crutch, to the tune of her sung

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YOUR laughter I'll try to provoke

With wonders I've seen in my trave's,

My first is a pig in a poke,

Next a law-case without any cavils:

A straw poker, a tiffany boat;

Paper boots, to walk dry through the ditches; A new lignum-vitæ great coat,

Flint waistcoat, and a pair of glass breeches.

A dimity warming-pan, new,

Steel night-cap, and pair of lawn bellows; A yard-wide foot-rule, and then two

Odd shoes that belong to odd fellows : China wheelbarrow, earthenware gig;

A book bound in wood, and no leaves to it; Besides a new velveret wig,

Lin'd with tripe, and a long pair of sleeves to it.
A coal-scuttle, trimm'd with Scotch gauze;
Pickled crumpets and harricoed muffins
'Tallow stew-pan, nankeen chest of drawers;
Dumb alarm-bells, to frighten humguffins :
Six knives and forks made of red tape;
A patent wash-leather Bologna;

A gilt coat, with a gingerbread cape,
And lined with the best maccaroni.

A plum-pudding made of inch deal;
A pot of mahogany capers;

A gooseberry pie made of veal,

And stuff'd with two three-corner'd scrapers: Sour crout, sweeten'd well with small coal; A fricasee'd carpenter's mallet;

A cast-iron toad-in-the-hole;

And a monstrous great hole in the ballad.



BRIGHT Chanticleer proclaims the dawn,
And spangles deck the thorn,
The lowing herds now quit the lawn,
The lark springs from the corn,

Dogs, huntsmen, round the window throng.
Fleet Towler leads the cry;

Arise! the burden of their song

This day a stag must die.

With a hey ho chevy!

Hark forward, hark forward, tantivy
Hark, hark, tantivy!

This day a stag must die.

The cordial takes its merry round,
The laugh and joke prevail,
The huntsman blows a jovial sound,
The dogs snuff the gale;


The upland winds they sweep along,
O'er fields, through brakes, they fly,
The game is roused, too true the song-
This day a stag must die!

With a hey ho, chevy! &c.
Poor stag! the dogs thy haunches gore,
The tears run down thy face,

The huntsman's pleasure is no more,
His joys were in the chase.
Alike the sportsmen of the town,
The virgin game in view,

Are full content to run them down,
Then they in turn pursue.

With their hey ho, chevy! &c.




I'm a clown, you may tell by my phiz,

I love to be busy and gay,

I will sing, only say you won't quiz,

For that quizzing is out of my way.
When a boy, light, your honour, I cried,
When a youth, was a waxy shoemaker,
As tailor, the bucks I supplied,

Quack doctor, and then undertaker. SPOKEN.] Aye, but as undertaker I could never bury any thing but meat, drink, fruit, or pastry— over a good dinner I was always a grave subject, and was devilish deep when I'd a dead neighbour to deal with; till, one day, being caught with a pig in my pocket, I was committed to Bridewell as a body-snatcher. Sing

Hey fiddle ho, faddle di dec.

As a soldier, I next went to France,
But in Spain my respect first did pay,
And, while others made Frenchmen to prance,
What did I do-why, I ran away.

But my officer, knowing me brave,
Made me presents, but not very large,
First, he whipt me for being a knave,

Then the reg'ment gave me my discharge. SPOKEN.] Yes, they drumm'd me out-and wha. for? because I blew the general's wig off. One soldier tried me for running away with his wife--the gunner blew me up, because he said his wife ran away with me-indicted me for crim. con.-when I proved it impossible for his wife to run away with me, because she had no legs; so the judges shook their wigs, and the court sang-.

Hey fiddle ho, &c.

For the last, as a footman went I,
Where my wages so nicely were paid,
But, egad, you must know that my eye
Was placed on the cook and housemaid ·

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Go patter to lubbers and swabs, d'ye see,
'Bout danger, and fear, and the like;

A tight water-boat and good sea room give me,
And it an't to a little I'll strike:

Though the tempest top-gallant-masts smack smooth should smite,

And shiver each splinter of wood,

Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouze every thing tight,

And under reef-foresail we'll scud:
Avast, nor don't think me a milksop so soft,
To be taken for trifles aback;

For, they say, there's a Providence sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor
Why, I heard the good chaplain palaver, one day,
About souls, heaven, mercy, and such;
And, my timbers! what lingo he'd coil and belay,
Why, 'twas just all as one as high Dutch:
But he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye see,
Without orders that come down below;
And many fine things, that proved clearly to me
That Providence takes us in tow;

For, says he, do you mind me, let storms e'er so oft

Take the top-sails of sailors aback, There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft, To keep watch for the life of poor Jack. I said to our Poll, for, you see, she would cry, When last we weighed anchor for sea, What argufies snivelling and piping your eye, Why, what a d-ned fool you must be ! Can't you see, the world's wide, and there's room for us all,

Both for seamen and lubbers a-shore; And if to Old Davy I should go, friend Poll, Why you never will hear of me more: What then, all's a hazard,-come, don't be so soft, Perhaps I may, laughing, come back; For, d'ye see, there's a cherub sits smiling aloft, To keep watch for the life of poor Jack. D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch All as one as a piece of the ship;

And with her brave the world, without offering to flinch,

From the moment the anchor's a-trip.

As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends,

Nought's a trouble from duty that springs; For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's my


And, as for my life, 'tis the king's.

Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft
As for grief to be taken aback;

That the same little cherub, that sits up aloft,
Will look out a good birth for poor Jack.


WHEN I was a younker, says feyther to I,
What trade, little Ralph, wouldst thou take to?

I answer'd, i'feggs! like a poor harmless boy,
Yours, sure, for I ne'er can forsake you.
You jollily work, and you merrily sing,
Then the branch from the tree don't be lopping;
Late or early, in summer, in winter, or spring,
With you
I'll be cleaving and chopping:

For labour and health will be friends through the
And the merry, merry, merry bells join our roun

My school-fellow, Jack, who turn'd lawyer besure,
Old Nick show'd the road to prefarment,
Set friends by the ears, and he plundered the poor;
Od ratten! I hate such black varment!
A Doctor was Dick, and he drugg'd folks to death;
Of him, too, the neighbours cried shame on't!
A corn-factor Wull, I shall hate while I've breath
To monopolize, he had the name on't:

But dang such base traffic-I toil through the day,
While the merry, merry, &c.

But mark, now, the end on't,-the lawyer, one day,
Wrote his name on a wrong bit of paper;
So, ecod! to old big wig they took'd him away,
And on nothing he cut his last caper.
Dick, the doctor, was poison'd by drugs of his own:
The corn-factor paid dear for his carving;
Plenty fill'd every market, the prices went down,
So a bankrupt is Wull now, and starving:
While labour and health stand my friends through
the day,

And the merry, merry, &c.


GREEN were the fields where my forefathers dwelt,
Erin ma Vourneen slan laght go bragh!
Though our farm it was small, yet comforts we
felt, oh!
Erin ma Vourneen, &c.
At length came the day when our lease did expire,
And fain would I die where before liv'd my sire;
But, ah, well-a-day! I was forced to retire.

Erin ma Vourneen, &c.
Tho' all taxes I paid, yet no vote could I pass, oh!
Erin ma Vourneen, &c.
Aggrandize no great men-I feel it, alas, oh!
Erin ma Vourneen, &c.
Forced from my home, yes, from where I was born,
To range the wide world, poor-helpless-forlorn,
I look back with regret, and my heart strings are

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I've nine milk ewes, my Marion,

A cow and a brawney quey; I'll give them a' to my Marion, Just on her bridal day.

And ye's got a green sey apron,

And waistcoat of the London brown; Then vow but ye will be vaporing, Whene'er ye gang to the town. I'm young and stout, my. Marion, None dances like me on the green; And 'gin ye forsake me, Marion, I'll e'en draw up wi Jean. Sae put on your pearlins, Marion, And kirtle of the cramasie;

And soon as my chin has nae hair on, I shall come west and see thee.

LET drunkards boast the pow'r of wine,
And reel from side to side;
Let lovers kneel at beauty's shrine,
The sport of female pride:
Be ours the more exalted part
To celebrate the mason's art,

And spread its praises wide.

To dens and thickets, dark and rude,
For shelter beasts repair;

With sticks and straws the feather'd brood
Suspend their nests in air;

And man, untaught, as wild as these,
Binds up sad huts with boughs of trees,
And feeds on wretched fare.

But science dawning in his mind,
The quarry he explores;
Industry and the arts combin'd,

Improv'd all nature's stores;

Thus walls were built, and houses rear'd,
No storms nor tempest now are fear'd
Within his well fram'd doors.

When stately palaces arise,

When columns grace the hall,

When tow'rs and spires salute the skies,

We owe to masons all:

Nor buildings only do they give,

But teach men how within to live,
And yield to reason's call.

All party quarrels they detest,
For virtue and the arts,

Lodg'd in each true mason's breast,

Unite and rule their hearts:

By these, while masons square their minds,
The state no better subjects finds,

None act more upright parts.

When Bucks, Sols, Albions, are forgot,
Free-masons will remain ;
Mushrooms, each day, spring up and rot,
While oaks stretch o'er the plain :

Let others quarrel, rant, and roar;
Their noisy revels when no more,
Still masonry shall reign.

Our leathern aprons may compare
With garters red or blue;
Princes and kings our brothers are,
May they our rules pursue :
Then drink success and health to all
The craft around this earthly ball,
May brethren still prove true.

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When little I was left alone,

To labour for my bread:
No matter, I ne'er piped my eye,
Though care attacked me sore;
But soon became a sailor-boy,
And left all care on shore.
All danger did I smiling scorn,
And swigged the flowing can,
And proved myself, from stem to stern,
A sailor and a man:

To Indies, East and West, I sailed,
The line crossed o'er and o'er;
Ere, on my native beach, I hailed
My pretty Poll on shore.

We jigged it at a merry dance,
And both disliked to part;
My timbers, stout, may start by chance,
But English oak's my heart.
Then let but fortune cheerly smile,
And hand me gold galore;
Why, all the sum of all my toil,
Is pretty Poll on shore.



I ONCE was a maid, though I cannot tell when,
And still my delight is in proper young men;
Some one, of a troop of dragoons, was my daddie,
No wonder I'm fond of a soger laddie.

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade,
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade;
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy,
Transported I was with my soger laddie.

But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch,
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church;
He ventured the soul, and I risked the body,
'Twas then I proved false to my soger laddie.
Full soon I
grew sick of my sanctified sot,
The regiment at large for a husband I got;
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready,
I asked no more for the soger laddie.

But the peace, it reduced me to beg in despair,
Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair;
His rags regimental, they fluttered so gaudy,
My heart, it rejoiced at my soger laddie.

And now I have lived, I know not how long,
And still I can join in a eup or a song;

But whilst, with both hands, I can hold the glass


Here's to thee, my hero, my soger laddie.

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THERE was a jolly shepherd lad,
And Colin was his name,

And all unknown to her old dad,

He, sometimes, to see Peggy came,
The object of his flame.

One day, of his absence too secure,
Her father thundered at the door;

When, fearing of his frown,

Says she, Dear love, the chimney climb.'
I can't,' cried he, there is not time,
Besides, I shou'd tumble down.'
What could they do, ta'en unawares?
They thought, and thought again;
In closets, underneath the stairs,
To hide himself, 'twere all in vain,
He'd soon be found 'twas plain.
• Get
Cried she,


the chimney, love, you must,' or else the door he'll burst;

I would not for a crown:
Young Colin, seeing but this shift,
E'en mounted up,-Peg lent a lift,

And cried, don't tumble down.'
With throbbing heart, now to the door
Poor Peggy runs in haste;
Thinking to trick her father sure:

But haste, the proverb says, makes waste,
Which proverb's here well placed.
Her father scolded her his best,
Called names, and said, among the rest,
Pray, have you seen that clown?'
She scarce had time to answer, no,
When, black all over, as a crow,
Poor Colin tumbled down.




How wretched those, who tasteless live,
And say, this world no joys can give,
Why tempts yon turtle sprawling,
Why smokes the glorious haunch;
Are these not joys, still calling,
To bless our mortal paunch?
Oh! 'tis merry in the hall,
When the beards wag all:
What a noise, and what a din!
How they glitter round the chin!
Give me fowl, and give me fish!
Now for some of that nice dish!
Cut me this-cut me that!
Send me crust and send me fat;
More fat! more fat!

Some for tit-bits pulling, hauling;
Legs, wings, breast, head:
Some for liquor scolding, bawling;
Hock, port, white, red.

Here, 'tis cramming, cutting, slashing;
There, the grease and gravy splashing;
Look, sir! what you've done,

Zounds! sir, you've cut off the Alderman's


Oh! my thumb! thumb! my thumb! my Look, sir! what you've done, &c. Oh! 'tis merry in the hall, &c.

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Alas one hour we live to joy,

But grief, the youngster meeting, Frowns darkly on the laughing boy, And then his smile is fleeting.

But banish hence our dreams of woe,
Away with dusky sorrow;
We'll only live to pleasure's glow,

And hope glance on to-morrow. Though friends may yield their parting breath, Why grieve because we sever;

For, travelling on the road to death,
At last we meet for ever:
Why weep for fortune's golden store,
Griefs fly, they care not whither;
"Tis but a span, then rich and poor
Must seek the earth together.

Then banish hence, &c.

Oh! mirth and joy would ne'er depart,
If memory, decaying,

Would leave a blank within the heart,
For happiness to play in:

But while to life our hearts can glow,
Remembrance sheds its power;
With ranging thoughts of joy and woe,
So seize the present hour;

And banish hence our dreams of yore,
A beam from pleasure borrow;
Tonight we'll scek her fleeting power,
And think of grief to-morrow.

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I AM a jolly fisherman,
I catch what I can get,
Still going on my better's plan,

All's fish that comes to net:
Fish, just like men, I've often caught,
Crabs, gudgeons, poor John, codfish;
And many a time to market brought,
A devilish sight of odd fish.
Thus, all are fishermen, through life,
With weary pains and labour;
This baits with gold and that a wife,
And all to catch his neighbour.

Then praise the jolly fisherman,
Who takes what he can get;
Still going on his better's plan,
All's fish that comes to net.

The pike, to catch the little fly,
Extends his greedy jaw;
For all the world, as you and I
Have seen your men of law;
He who to laziness devotes

His time, is, sure, a numb fish ;
And members, who give silent votes,
May fairly be called dumb fish:
False friends, to eels we may compare,
The roach resembles true ones;
Like gold fish, we find old friends, rare,
Plenty as herrings, new ones.

Then praise the jolly fisherman, &c.
Like fish, then, mortals are a trade,
And trapped and sold and bought;
The old wife and the tender maid

Are both with tickling caught:
Indeed, the fair are caught, 'tis said,
If you but throw the line in,
With maggots, flies, or something red,
Or any thing that's shining:

With small fish you must lie in wait
For those in high condition,

But 'tis alone a golden bait

Can catch a learn'd physician.

Then praise the jolly fisherman, &c.

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