All conspire to drive sorrow away,

From the lord to the smart linen-draper, Who, however their cut in the day,

At night cut themselves at a caper.

SPOKEN.] How d'ye do, Miss Simper? Delicately ill, 'pon honour! Mr. Smirk, pray what's danced to-night? Country dances, said Lady Betty Redchops. What shall we have? Drops of Brandy, says Mr. Swigger, the wine-merchant. La! Da, now you know you can reel best. What would you like, Miss Shrivle? Time's a tell-tale, said a knowing one. How do you know? said the old maid, in a passion. The same as I do my horses, ma'am, by your teeth. We'll have Fly by Night,' sighed a lover. No, the Honey Moon,' said his deary. Then join hands, my love. No, form a ring first, my dear, said the lady. And touch the rope after, said a husband. Go to the Devil and shake yourselves, bawled the master of the ceremonies, and they began with

A rumpti iddity, &c.

Jack, the lawyer, he stands by Miss Quiz, Like a poker, but she's thick and bandy; While a parson he shows his dull phiz

By the side of an out-and-out dandy. Now all hearts against sorrow are shut, While harmony closer does bind them; While the belles think the beaus are all-but The girls in the end seldom find them.

my

SPOKEN.] Let me beg your hand, miss, for the next set of quadrilles. Eh, eh, sir, I cannot spare either hand or heart. No matter, miss, for they both seem d-n'd tough. Why you impudent What am I to do? said master Jacky. Why, sir, avant deux et en arriere. Have one done on Harry? eh, why, what the devil, is the fellow mad? cried old Marrowfat, the tallow-chandler. Oh, you foolish old man! said fat Lady Puddingfacc, I shall never be able to make any thing of you. I know what I could make of you though, ma'am, said the grease-melter. What, sir? Why, eighty-four pounds of long sixes. Oh, fie! Mr. Sinecure is out of his place. Then let him change sides, and get in again. 'Pon honour, this is equal to Almack's, said a Corinthian, with a red nose. La sir, are there any brandy faces there? asked a lady. No, ma'am, but a devilish lot of rum ones; so we'll go it,

With rumpti iddity, &c.

HAMLET.

Air—“ Lunnun is the Devil." (T. Hook.)

A HERO'S life I sing,

His story shall my pen mark,

He was not the king,

But Hamlet, Prince of Denmark;

His mamma was young,

The crown she had her eyes on;

Her husband stopp'd her tongue,

She stopp'd his ears with poison.

Tooral, looral, lay, ti, rol, rumpti, udy,

Of love felt hot the flame,

And so went to Bernado,
"Oh! sir," says one, "we've seen
A sight with monstrous sad eye;"
And this was nothing but-
The Ghost of Hamlet's daddy.

Tooral, looral, lay, ti, rol, &c. Just at that time it rose,

List! Hammy,

And sighing, said,
Your mother is the snake
That poison'd me; or d-me.
And now I'm gone below,

All over sulph'rous flame, boy;
That your dad should be on fire,
You'll own's a burning shame, boy.
Tooral, looral, lay, ti, rol, &c.

Just at the time he spoke,

The morn was breaking through dell, Up jump'd a cock, and cried, Cock-a-doodle, doodel: "I'm now cock-sure of going, Preserve you from all evil; You to your mother walk, And I'll walk to the d

-1.

Tooral, looral, lay, ti, rol, &c.

Hamlet lov'd a maid,

Calumny had pass'd her,
She never had play'd tricks,
'Cause-nobody had asked her;
Madness seiz'd her wits,

Poor Lord Chamb'rlain's daughter,
She jump'd into a pond,

And went to heaven by water.

Tooral, looral, lay, ti, rol, &c.

No matter now for that,
A play they made, and shamm'd it;
The audience Claudius was,

And he got up and d-d it.
He vow'd he'd see no more,

He felt a wond'rous dizziness, And then for candles call'd,

To make light of the bus'ness.

Tooral, looral, lay, ti, rol, &c. A fencing-match had they, The queen drinks as they try too, Says she, "O king, I'm kill'd." Says Laertes, "So am I too." "And so am I," cries Ham,

"What, can all these things true be?" "What, are you dead?" says the king. "Yes, sir, and so shall you be."

Tooral, looral, lay, ti, rol, &c.

So then he stabb'd his liege,
Then fell on Ophy's brother,
And so the Danish court

All tumbl'd one on t'other.
To celebrate these deeds,
Which are from no false shamlet,
Ev'ry village small

Henceforth was call'd a Hamlet.
Tooral, looral, lay, ti, rol, &c.

When she had kill'd the king,

She ogl'd much his brother,

And having slain one spouse,

She quickly got another;

And this so soon did she,

And was so great a sinner,

The funeral bak'd meats

Serv'd for the wedding dinner.

Tooral, looral, lay, ti, rol, &c.

Now Hamlet, sweet, her son,
No bully or bravado,

I'm a votary of Bacchus, his godship adore,
And love at his shrine gay libations to pour;
And Venus, blest Venus, my bosom inspires,
For she lights in our souls the most sacred of fires:
Yet to neither I swear sole allegiance to hold;
My bottle and lass I by turns must enfold;
For the sweetest of junctions that mortals can
prove,

Is of Bacchus, gay god, and the goddess of love.
When fill'd to the fair, the brisk bumper I hold;
Can the miser survey with such pleasure his gold!

The ambrosia of gods no such relish can boast,

If good port fill your glass, and fair Kitty's your toast,

And the charms of your girl more angelic will be,
If Sophy's encircl'd with wreaths from his tree;
For the sweetest of junctions that mortals can
prove,

Is of Bacchus, gay god, and the goddess of love.
All partial distinctions I hate from my soul;
O give me my fair one! and give me my bowl;
Bliss reflected from either, will send to my heart
Ten thousand sweet joys which they can't have
apart!

Go try it, ye smiling and gay-looking throng,
And your hearts will in unison beat to my song,
That the sweetest of junctions that mortals can

YE Warwickshire lads and ye lasses,
See what at our jubilee passes,
Come revel away, rejoice and be glad,

For the lad of all lads was a Warwickshire lad.
Warwickshire lad,-all be glad,

For the lad of all lads was a Warwickshire lad.

Be proud of the charms of your county,
Where nature has lavish'd her bounty,
Where much she has giv'n, and some to be spar'd,
For the bard of all bards was a Warwickshire bard,
Warwickshire bard,-never pair'd,

For the bard of all bards was a Warwickshire bard.

Each shire has its different pleasures,
Each shire has its different treasures;
But to rare Warwickshire all must submit,

For the wit of all wits was a Warwickshire wit,
Warwickshire wit,- how he writ!

For the wit of all wits was a Warwickshire wit.

Old Ben, Thomas Otway, John Dryden,
And half a score more we take pride in,
Of famous Will Congreve we boast too the skill;
But the Will of all Wills was a Warwickshire Will,
Warwickshire Will,-matchless still,

For the Will of all Wills was a Warwickshire Will.
Our SHAKSPEARE compar'd is to no man,
Nor Frenchman, nor Grecian, nor Roman;
Their swans are all geese to the Avon's sweet swan,
And the man of all men was a Warwickshire man,
Warwickshire man,-Avon's swan,

And the man of all men was a Warwickshire man.

As ven'son is very inviting,

To steal it our bard took delight in,

WHEN o'er the salt ocean pale Luna's beams play,
And sunk in the west is the great orb of day,
How fancy recalls all those images gay,
Of joys we have shared with our friends far away.
Then hope kindly promises prospects of bliss,
The lover's return to enjoy the fond kiss.
But, ah! those sweet visions leave me to deplore
The waves that from Ella her true lover bore.
Thus fair Ella sigh'd, as the rude dashing foam
Of the sea wash'd the shore of her birth-place and
home;

Then gaz'd on those scenes, once delighted to roam
With her Edward, while hope painted joys yet to

THE BOLD HEARTED GILDEROY.
Air-"Gilderoy."—(Bryant.)

SINCE Scotland's page
Provides each age

With heroes great and grand,
I'll sing of one

Whose day is gone,

For he's lost to his native land;
I'll pronounce his name,
Will speak his fame,

He was Scotia's bonnie, bonnie boy;
He commanded a clan,
And they fought to a man,
For the bold-hearted Gilderoy!

With heart so bold,

He fought for gold,

And checked tyrannic power;
He forced each foe

To crouch so low,

And he made their standards low'r ;
With fire in his eye,
Each foe he'd defy,

And was Scotia's bonnie, bonnie boy;
He commanded a clan, &c.

COMICAL INCIDENTS.

(Hickman.)

WHEN I arrived in London town,

I got my lesson pat;

I cared for neither smile nor frown,

Though laughing makes one fat.

SPOKEN.] To be sure, it is as well to see folks merry as sad, but you know those Lunnuners are such a comical set of fellows, that they can do any thing, and are most likely to carry two faces under one hat. Do you know, I once heard my grandmother say, that they could pick your pocket, take the hat off your head, and stare you in the face all the while, but I thought it such a woundy droll thing, that, dang me, if I didn't set up a

Ha, ha, ha, tol de rol, &c.

To fashions there I ne'er could brook,

I thought one queer enough,
As through the streets my way I took,
The folks were taking snuff.

SPOKEN.] Thinks I, one had better take to snuff than take to getting snuffy. So a gentlemanlike man, as I thought, handed out a box, and says he, will you take a pinch of real Irish blackguard? No, says I, I'll see you d-m'd first, for I am neither real nor sham blackguard. O, then, says he, perhaps you are for prince's mixture. Why, says I, that's nearer my family and breeding by a main deal, for you must know, I'm somewhat related to the Royal Family, for my great grandfather was sixteenth stable-keeper to his Majesty's seventeenth groom. O, my lad, says he, you misunderstand, it's only the fashionable name for snuff. Efegs, then, said I, I come here to learn to be fashionable, so I took such a large pinch that for three quarters of an hour I couldn't help sneezing. (Sneezes.)

Ha, ha, ha, tol de rol, &c.

To see the sights one summer's day, I walk'd till night from morn; But sleepy grown, as one may say, I soon began to yawn. (Yawns.) SPOKEN.] Do you know, I'd quite forgot the way home, so I went into a shop, and asked if they could tell me the nearest way to (yawns)— the Bull and Mouth,' says he. No Bull and Mouth, says I, Mister Sheep's-face, to my lodging, to be sure. Why, how the devil, says he, do I know where you live? Not know, says I; why 1 thought every body knows the way to (Yawns.) Ha, ha, ha, tol de rol, &c.

But, one day, meeting Betty Crump,
Love in my bosom rose,

I felt my heart begin to thump, But she turned up her nose. SPOKEN.] Yes, I never shall forget it, it makes me (crying-I said a thousand things as sweet as barley sugar, but she looked as sour at me as a crab-apple-says I, Betty Crump, you are the daffey-down-dilly of my affections, and if you slight my addresses I'm sure I shall (Cries.)

Ha, ha, ha, tol de rol, &c.

As Betty Crump had ta'en the cag,
Thinks I, the rest's all flam;
For fear my spirits they should flag,
D'ye see, took a dram.

SPOKEN.] (Hiccoughs.) Do you know, taking one drop is just like taking physic, it wants something to wash it down, so, as I'd wet one eye, as we say in our town, I thought I might as well wet t'other; but, i'faith, it was so strong that it gave me the mubble fubbles so bad that I did nothing but (Hiccoughs,-cries,-yawns,--laughs, &c.) Ha, ha, ha, tol de rol, &c.

I'D THINK ON THEE, MY LOVE.

IN storms, when clouds obscure the sky,
And thunders roll, and lightnings fly-
In midst of all these dire alarms
I'll think, my Sally, on thy charms.
The troubled main,

The wind and rain,
My ardent passion prove;
Lash'd to the helm,
Should seas o'erwhelm,
I'd think on thee, my love.
When rocks appear on every side,
And art is vain the ship to guide;
In varied shapes when death appears,
The thoughts of thee my bosom cheers.
The troubled main, &c.

But should the gracious powers be kind,
Dispel the gloom, and still the wind,
And waft 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

shrill,

Join the sound of the heart-cheering horn.
What music celestial, when urging the race,
Sweet Echo repeats-to the chase! to the chase!
Our pleasure transports us, how gay flies the hour,
Sweet health and quick spirits attend;

Nor sweeter when ev'ning convenes to the bower,
And we meet the lov'd smile of a friend.
See the stag just before us! he starts at the cry:
He stops-his strength fails-speak, my friends--
must he die?

His innocent aspect, while standing at bay,
His expression of anguish and pain,
All plead for compassion-your looks seem to say,
Let him bound o'er his forest again.
Quick, release him, to dart o'er the neigbouring
plain;

Let him live-let him bound o'er the forest again.

A TRAVELLER STOPPED AT A WIDOW'S
GATE.
(Colman.)

A TRAVELLER stopp'd at a widow's gate;
She kept an inn, and he wanted to bait,

But the landlady slighted her guest:
For, when Nature was making an ugly race,
She certainly moulded this traveller's face,
As a sample for all the rest.

The chambermaid's sides they were ready to crack, When she saw his queer nose, and the hump on his back;

(A hump isn't handsome, no doubt;) And, though 'tis confess'd that the prejudice goes Very strongly in favour of wearing a nose, A nose shouldn't look like a snout.

A bag full of gold on the table he laid, "Thad a wond'rous effect on the widow and maid, And they quickly grew marvellous civil :

The money immediately altered the case, They were charmed with his hump, and his snout, and his face,

Though he still might have frightened the devil. He paid like a prince, gave the widow a smack, And flopp'd on his horse, at the door, like a sack; While the landlady, touching the chink, Cried, 06 Sir, should you travel this country again, I heartily hope that the sweetest of men Will stop at the widow's to drink."

KATE, OF ABERDEEN.
(J. Cunningham.)

THE silver moon's enamour'd beam
Steals softly through the night,
To wanton with the winding stream,
And kiss reflected light.
To beds of state go, balmy sleep,

('Tis where you've seldom been,) May's vigil while the shepherds keep With Kate, of Aberdeen.

Upon the green the virgins wait,
In rosy chaplets gay,
Till Morn unbars her golden gate
And give the promised May.
Methinks I hear the maids declare
The promis'd May, when seen,
Isn't half so fragrant, half so fair,
As Kate, of Aberdeen.

Strike up the tabor's boldest notes,
We'll rouse the nodding grove,

The nested birds shall raise their throats,
And hail the maid I love.

And see-the matin lark mistakes,
He quits the tufted green:
Fond bird! 'tis not the morning breaks,
"Tis Kate, of Aberdeen.

Now, lightsome, o'er the level mead,
Where midnight fairies rove,
Like them, the jocund dance we'll lead,
Or tune the reed to love :

For see, the rosy May draws nigh;
She claims a virgin-queen;
And, hark, the happy shepherds' cry.
"Tis Kate, of Aberdeen.

SPOKEN.] To be sure and they did tug too, but not always together; with their Hurrah whack heigho fal de ral liddy. Hoot, splutter her nails, and whack heigho. Miss Margery Grim was built rather slim, Himself was fat-shouldered and brawny; This wife of his bed, when she shook her head, Though Irish, he look'd like a sawney, With his hurrah whack heigho fal de ral liddy. Till, once in a fray, he found out the way To handle his sprig of shellelagh;

He cried out, och hone, I'll tip her the drone Of the bagpipe, and make her lilt gaily.

SPOKEN.] Sure enough he taught her to dance in the true Tipperary stile, 'twas neither a hop nor

a jig, but a real right down Kilkenny caper. Och,
if you'd staid there till now, you'd have been dead
long enough ago with laughing to see her lead off
in the first position, to the tune of his
Hurrah whack heigho, &c.

The times were severe, and herrings were dear,
Cried she how untoward my fate is;
Determin'd to please, she cook'd toasted cheese,
When he roar'd like a bull for poratees,
With his hurrah whack heigho fal de ral liddy.
The Welsh rabbits fly, some low and some high,
While she scarcely ventur'd to speak;

Till, at length, on the trot, she seized one hissing hot,

And she gave it him slap on the cheek.

SPOKEN.] By the powers of Moll Kelly, you'd have blubbered yourself black in the face to have seen ould Phelim jig a Welsh waltz all alone by himself, to a Scotch tune on an Irish instrument; to be sure he didn't roar out like Murphy M'Shane's big bull with an empty stomach; and for dancing, faith, he jumped about like my grandmother's ould cow, cutting capers to the sound of a bugle horn, with his

Hurrah whack heigho, &c.

*****...

PEGGY TART.

A CHARMING girl was Peggy Tart,
Yet whimsical and vain,

Her charms could conquer every heart,
But none could hers obtain.

The man, says she, with whom I'll treat,
Must be young, rich, and wise,

He must be handsome, and six feet,
At least, must be his size.

At least must be his size. SPOKEN.] Well, I declare, no puny little things for me. Heigho! I'll have done playing with dolls, and am determined to have a fine, tall, handsome, fellow for my husband; one I can look up to and admire as a lofty po-pu-lar; not one of those little creatures, with high heels and large collars. Oh!

no,

He must be handsome, and six feet,
At least, must be his size.

A sprightly lad, with large black eyes,
Came first, her heart to sue;
Fine large black eyes she didn't despise,
Although she lik'd them blue;

He sighed, he wept, but not a jot
The lady cared for that,

And told him plain, she'd have him not,
Because he was too fat.

Because he was too fat.

SPOKEN.] Ha! ha! sir, says she, will you be kind enough to tell me what is your length, and what is your breadth? for, upon my honour, I cannot tell. Ah! ah! ah! what is your circumference -an enormous balloon, that is blown just like a man of war in full sail. Why, sir, you are as plump as a prize-ox at Christmas;-so

Told him plain she'd have him not,
Because he was too fat.

A dashing blade, with turned-up nose,
Next this proud dame addressed;
She liked his nose, 'twas one of those
That struck her fancy best;
They all were sure she'd now be won,
When he was seen to court;

But no, she said, pray, sir, begone,
For you are much too short.

For you are much too short. SPOKEN.] Pray, sir, what countryman are you. Do you come from Lilliput? why, you don't stand

higher than a pair of good-sized bellows; upon my word, we should be obliged to put a cushion under you to rise you up to the table-ah! ah! ah! and shall want a microscope to spy you out. You be my husband! I took you for a principal performer at the puppet-show.

Oh, no, she said, sir, pray, begone,
For you are much too short.

But when Old Time began to blot
The beauties of her face,
And all her lovers, once so hot,
Were getting cold apace,

She thought 'twas time to look about,
And Peg, her fears to quash,
Married an ugly dwarfish lout

That lacked both wit and cash.

That lacked both wit and cash.

SPOKEN.] Oh, dear me! what shall I do? forsaken, deserted by them all. So poor Peggy ran to catch one, by hook or by crook, to prevent her from dying an old maid, and

Married an ugly dwarfish lout
That lacked both wit and cash.

O KENMURE'S ON AND AWA, WILLIE.
O KENMURE'S on and awa, Willie,

O Kenmure's on and awa;
And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord
That ever Galloway saw.

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie,
Success to Kenmure's band;
There's nae a heart that fears a whig

That rides by Kenmur hand.
There's a rose in Kenmure's cap, Willie,
There's a rose in Kenmure's cap;
He'll steep it red in ruddie heart's blude,
Afore the battle drap.

O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie,
O Kenmure's lads are men;
Their hearts and swords are metal true,
And that their faes shall ken.

They live or die wi' fame, Willie,
They live or die wi' fame,

But soon wi' sounding victorie

May Kenmure's lord come hame.

Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie,
Here's Kenmure's health in wine,

There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude,
Nor yet o' Gordon's line.

To Venus and Bacchus, those spirits divine,
I pledge, in full bumpers, libations on earth,
For friendship and love shall e'er hallow the
shrine

From whence all such comforts ife owe their birth;

Though care may embitter the pleasures of man, "Tis wine, cheering wine, that can temper the smart;

Then quaff it, ye mortals, and make it your plan

your

To bumper a friend and the girl of heart. Should envy intrude on the raptures of love, And her poison-fraught adders malignantly hiss, Let constancy follow the faith of the dove,

And the harpies shall die through sincerity's kiss;

Then fill me a flagon, fill, fill to the brim,

And let each good fellow with me bear a part, For my song and sentiment's made but for him Who drinks to a friend and the girl of his heart.

To sorrow or discord I ne'er turn my mind,

What have I with the minions of trouble to do? With Venus's myrtle my brows are entwined,

And each throb of my heart e'er to friendship is

true;

While I breathe in this world, let me taste such delight,

As Bacchus and Venus can only impart; And, like a true Briton, I'll drink day and night, To a brotherly friend and the girl of my heart.

THE CATALOGUE OF IFS;

OR, THE CARDINAL POINTS BETWIXT HELL AND HEAVEN.

Air-"Dear Tom, this brown Jug."

(E. J. B. Box.)