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Thus round the world sails faithful Jack,
To deck his fair one's charms,
Thus, grateful, safe and sound come back,
Poll takes him to her arms.

THE LITTLE WHITE COT;

OR, ANNIE THE PRIDE OF THEM A'.

(Upton.)

THOUGH Scotia may boast of its maids fair and free,

O, the lassie that lives in the cottage for me;
In a little white cot by the Tay's winding stream,
Where the sun shows her image in each golden
beam.

O, yes, and no fairer the swains ever saw,

Than Annie, the fairest, and pride of them a'.
Though Scotia may sing of its castles and lairds,
Of its beauties and chieftains, in songs of its bards,
No minstrel e'er yet found the theme of his lays
So pleasing as Annie, the gem of my praise!
O, yes, and the laddies proclaim it afar-
"Tis Annie, the fairest, and pride of them a'!
And, Scotia, thy bells shall melodiously play
When I and my charmer to kirk gang away;
O, yes, and her brows with sweet roses I'll twine,
When Annie, the Maid of the Cottage, is mine;
While each lad and lassie shall envy us twa,
Dear Annie, the fairest, and pride of them a'.

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ALL IN THE MONTH OF AUGUST.
(T. Dibdin.)

OBADIAH SNAGS he was buried, and for why?
It happened on the first of August;

He never would have suffered it, but that he chanced to die

A week before the first of August;

I lived with him, as usher, when he taught school night and day,

And, when the pretty little boys their lessons couldn't say,

ONCE REASON, THEY SAY, A LADY This cruel-hearted monster gave 'em leave to go

LOVED.

(Beazley.)

ONCE Reason, they say, a lady loved,

And tried every means to get her,

But Reason-alas! he very soon proved
That the lady loved somebody better.

For, whenever poor Reason would knock at the door,

Intending with wisdom to court her;

"Not at home," was the answer for ever in store,
From Cupid, her ladyship's porter:
For woman and Reason can seldom agree,
So Cupid refused his petition;

My mistress would turn me away, sir, said he,
If Reason once gained an admission.
The lady grew older, but Cupid did not;

He's as young and as fresh as the morning; So Reason contrived, with a sober thought, To make the poor dame give him warning: But Cupid, not wishing his post to resign, Gently tapped in his turn at the door, sir; "Not at home, sir;" quoth Reason," the lady is mine;"

So Cupid was heard of no more, sir; Quoth Reason, delighted, "the lady is won, "My empire, I see, is beginning."

But, alas! he soon found that, when Cupid was

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and play,

All in the month of August.

Except a dozen duck-legged ladies, every body

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This happened on the first of August; Being pretty, it was very like both Jane and me, 'twas said,

All in the month of August;

And the dozen duck-legged ladies, mighty glad to find a flaw,

Because poor Jenny disappeared, they laid it down as law

That she and I, no matter how, had made a fox's paw,

All in the month of August.

The Squire would not listen to a word I had to

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Ye little birds, that sit and sing,
Amidst the shady vallies,
And see how Phillis sweetly walks,
Within her garden alleys;

Go, pretty birds, about her bower,
Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower,
Ah me! methinks I see her frown,

Ye pretty wantons, warble.

Go tell her, through your chirping bills,
As you by me are bidden,
To her is only known my love,

Which from the world is hidden.
Go, pretty birds, and tell her so,
See that your notes strain not too low,
For still, methinks, I see her frown,
Ye pretty wantons, warble.

Go, tune your voices' harmony,

And sing I am her lover;

Strain loud and sweet, that every note With sweet content may move her; And she that has the sweetest voice, Tell her I will not change my choice; Yet still, methinks, I see her frown, Ye pretty wantons, warble.

Oh fly, make haste, see, see, she falls Into a pretty slumber;

Sing round about her

rosy bed,

That, waking, she may wonder. Say to her 'tis her lover true,

That sendeth love by you

and you,

And when you hear her kind reply,

Return with pleasant warblings.

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LOVELY WOMAN! CHARMING WOMAN.

(H. B. Code.)

WHEN to lovely woman's power
Man submits his raptured soul,
Then he culls fife's sweetest flower,
And his hours in pleasures roll.
Nor shall meaner ties invading
Tempt deluded man to stray,
Bliss alone, when love pervading,
Bends him to dear woman's sway.
Lovely woman!

Charming woman!
The best and dearest gift of life.
Earth contains no other treasure
That the truly wise should prize,
Life, no sweeter, dearer pleasure
Than when love beams from her eyes
He alone to heaven aspiring,

E'er can hope its joys to know, Who, no other heaven desiring, Worships woman here below.

Lovely woman! &c.

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Weep on! ah, when I'm absent mourn; But, on the wings of Rapture borne, Hoard all thy smiles for my return.

Farewell, my love.

But think not, sweet, though doomed to go,
I wish thy days to pass in woe;
Say, could you smile?—that tear says no.
Farewell, my love.

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THE QUEER LITTLE MAN.

A QUEER little man, very "how came you so,"
Went home on a dingy night;

It was past twelve o'clock-he'd a long way to go,
And he walked like a crab left and right.
At the corner of a lane, quite a lonely retreat,
He saw something tall, and as white as a sheet;
He shook and he shivered,

His teeth chattered and lips quivered; And with fear, as well as fuddling, he staggered to and fro, This little man, who'd a long way to go. queer This queer little man then he fell on his knees, With fright you'd suppose half dead; And as on it he looked it o'ertopped the trees, And had two saucer-eyes in its head:

When a very death-like voice said, in a very drear tone,

"With me you must go, for your grave's nearly done :"

He shook and he shivered,

His teeth chattered and lips quivered:

When he cried, "O, good hobgoblin, I pray you mercy show

A queer little man who's a long way to go."
This queer little man, he fell flat as a flail,
A great explosion heard he,

And jumped up in a crack-for a cracker at his

tail

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AWAKE! ON YOUR HILLS,-ON YOUR ISLANDS, AWAKE!

(Sir Walter Scott.)

AWAKE! on your hills-on your islands, awake! Brave sons of the mountain, the firth, and the lake! "Tis the bugle,-but not for the chase is the call; 'Tis the pibroch's shrill summons,-but not to the hall.

"Tis the summons of heroes for conquest or death, When the banners are blazing on mountain or heath;

They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe, To the march and the muster, the line and the charge.

Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire! May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire!

Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore,

Or die like your sires, and endure it no more.

A PLAYHOUSE OF LIQUOR.
(G. Colman.)

A PLAYHOUSE of liquor, 'tis found,

Reminds us-I've instances twenty; Some plays much in spirits abound;

And then we have melo drams plenty. A manager's draught we all know, When business runs dry, is no thumper; But let all his house overflow, He cries, "D-me, to-night I've a bumper." Rum ti iddity, &c.

Many actors are certainly rum,

And folks, in the critical line, Say comedians are given to mum, And tragedians are given to wine.

Then Juliet, 'tis plain has her bier,

To the family vault ere they've brought her,
Fair Ophelia alone 'tis we hear,
Who, poor creature, had too much water.
Rum ti iddity, &c.
King Lear, in the midst of his court,
Inquires which way Burgundy went;
And Richmond, though just come to port,
Soon rouses King Dick from his tent.
While black strap Othello the shock

Of jealousy feels through his brain;
Iago sticks close to his hock,

And tips him a dose of sham pain.
Rum ti iddity, &c.

Thus a theatre, waving dry facts,
Is a tavern for critic spectators,
And when they are slow 'twixt the acts,
The audience, alas! are the waiters
Plays, like wines, are some sour and some sweet;
They please and disgust various throttles :
The plays that succeed are called neat,
And damn'd pieces are all the cork'd bottles.
Rum ti iddity, &c.

LOVE TAUGHT MY SOUL TO BROOK

CONTROL.
(T. Moore.)

LOVE taught my soul to brook control,
Till then I scorned submission:
To woman now I kneel-I bow,

Her charms extort confession.
How cold to love that heart must prove,
That warms not at her beauty:
Her very look is nature's book,

And teaches man his duty.

Her sparkling eyes, where doubtless lies
The gem of all perfection,
Illume the mind with bliss refined,

And claim of man protection.
Then proud I'll wear, for thee, my fair,
The chain that binds for ever
My fate to thine, and ne'er repine,
Fond woman! never, never.

SANDY AND ALICE.
(G. S. Carey.)

YOUNG Sandy was pressed from his Alice's side,
As they strayed to converse in the dale,
And Sandy was wooing the maid as his bride,
When the gang stopped his amorous tale.
They tore him away, though she fell on her knee,
And implored them to spare her dear swain,
For the wretches were deaf to her heart-rending
plea,

And they hurried him off to the main.
She stood all alone, a pale statue of grief,
Till at length the tears burst from her eyes,
No friend was there near to afford her relief,
And the damsel applied to the skies.
The night-cheering moon was absorbed in a cloud,
And the winds sudden rose in the north;
The flocks, on the mountains, too, bleated aloud,
And the waves roared and foamed in the Forth.
At that instant the galley was making its way,
With the heart-swelling Sandy on board;
Who spied, at a distance, the ship, where she lay,
In the mouth of the Forth firmly moored.
But the sea with the mountains determined to vie,
For each wave left a valley below;
Be steady, be steady, good lads! was the cry,
Or down, down to the bottom we go!

This no sooner was said, than a turbulent wave
Rendered useless the skill of each oar;
For they all sunk, at once, in a watery grave!
All but one, who was washed on the shore :
"Twas Sandy, for whom the kind fates interfered,
As a token that nought should remove
The bondage of faith, while it strictly adhered
To the dear hallow'd mandates of love.

He fled to his Alice, who mourned to despair,
But when she her Sandy beheld,

His presence soon vanquished her visiter, Care,
And the vapours of Sorrow dispelled.

To the mountains they fled, far away from the

main,

Where no rude assailants engage:

No ruffian to part the fond lovers again,
Till old Time shall intrude with old Age.

THE MAGPIE.
(Upton.)

THE maid to the magpie said, "pretty mag, mag'
I'd not for the world injure you;"

Which made it to answer, or rather to brag,
"You are loved by a lad kind and true.'
"Ah! now, saucy bird," she exclaimed, "were

it so,

To kiss you I wouldn't long lag."

"Then do," cried the bird," and the truth you shall know,

As sure as I'm mag, pretty mag."

The maid kiss'd the magpie, and mag kiss'd the maid,

Which caused her in fondness to say,

"Little prater, you talk like the men, I'm afraid,
Who flatter, to win and betray."

"O, no," said the magpie, and flutter'd his wing,
"Believe what I say is not brag';
Thy bosom shall never feel perjury's sting,
Ås sure as I'm mag, pretty mag."

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The maid press'd the talker with joy to her heart,
And vow'd he should feed on the best!

Yet hoped that the tongue which such bliss could
impart,

Would never turn hope into jest.

"O, no," said the magpie, "I speak, and speak

truth,

Though some may be given to brag;

And see! to confirm it, here comes the dear youth,
As sure as I'm mag, pretty mag."

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I'm prodigiously better;-you are a good soul, Wash it down with some negus.-Well, give me the bowl.

And now the gay dance to the supper gives place, The guests take their seats, and the parson says grace.

SPOKEN.] I move that every gentleman sits next his partner.-Come, Miss Clack, what shall I help you to ?-Shall I add a little to your abundance?-Now, you think I have a great deal of tongue. Oh, no, my love, I meant brains.-Miss Jazey, the Doctor drinks your health.-Lord! how could you do so, pulling me by the sleeve, I have thrown the mustard into the gooseberry tart. Thank you, Doctor.-Pray, sir, is there any pub

SPOKEN.] Let me look at the pretty creature. Oh, bless his innocent heart: mammy's eyes and daddy's nose to a T.-I never saw such a little sensible creature in my life.-Why, yes, I think he'lllic news?-I tell you it's all a parcel of nonsense make a very good match for my Georgina Carolina Helena Virgina Gridelina Cosmopolita Maria Mopsey-Lad, madam, why what a vast quantity of children you must ha' got.-Goth Vandal and Hottentot.-What's that more of 'em?-No, no, neighbour, that's my wife's only daughter. What! with all that string? why, if I was a girl, and people were to go through such a catalogue with me, I wish I may die, if I shouldn't think they were calling me names. Liddle, liddle. liddle, liddle! Oh, the dear little creature! Oh, I wish I was married, and had such a sweet little child as you.

So at it go the clacks, not a tittle heard that's spoke,

And he's the greatest wit that can crack the loudest joke:

All talking away, and nobody listening,

Who's so merry and so cherry as people at a christening?

Now the fiddles are tuning, and up stands the throng,

Miss calls a cotillion her Ma alamong;

In a jig, Madam Lump wants her limbs to reveal
And Alderman Ninepin would fain take a reel.
Widow Hobble a minuet begs she may walk,
Thus they glide, and they hop, and they skip, and
they stalk,

Till silence, there! silence, they twenty times
bawl,

And a country-dance quickly reconciles all.

SPOKEN.] Stay, stay, stay; before the dance begins, I move that all the gentlemen salute the ladies.-Lad! now, what a parcel of nonsense! how can you be so stupid? I beg you wo'n't come near me.-Well, then, better give a fool a kiss than be troubled with him.-My dear Miss, shall I have the inexpressible and indescribable pleasure, honour, felicity, delight, and satisfaction?-No, sir; I desire you'll go about your business; I didn't know I came here to be affronted.-Lad! Miss, how can you be so frumpish? the Captain only asked for a civil salute: I assure you I shall not make such a fuss about it.-Places! places!

Figure in hands across right and left, and now hey,

So they skip, and they jump, and they foot it away!

and stuff: eighteen thousand men killed! for my own part, I have too much charity to believe it.— Well, these are excellent puffs.-Oh, sir, the newspapers are full of them.-Upon my word, ma'am, you make capital punch.-I propose a toast. Here's the young Christian's health, and may he give us as good punch as this at the christening of his first boy, and as handsome a fee. That of course.- And now, Doctor Drencher's health and song.-I'll give you, gentlemen, Death and the Lady. And thus the song, and the glass, and the jest go round,

Till in-Old Care, begone-Hearts of Oak-Derry

down

And if Love's a Sweet Passion, their cares they all drown;

Singing, bellowing, and laughing, and nobody listening,

Who so merry and so cherry as people at a christening?

BUT SHOULD SHE FALL, FAREWELL AT
ONCE TO LIFE.

A BRAVURA.

(C. E. Walker.)

THE bolt has burst! the cloud that hung
So long in air suspended
Hath now abroad its terrors flung,

Hath now, in fiery storm, descended!
And hark! the Moslem trumpet calls,-
Haste, haste, to man the fortress-walls.
Soldiers of Heaven! who burn to shed
Heaven's vengeance on the unfaithful head,
Oh, shrink not, since no mortal power
Can haste or stay Death's certain hour.
No more let Alla nerve my hand,
And be our battle-word,
Destruction to yon impious band,-
The Koran or the sword!
Yet be some hov'ring spirit near,

To shield Amanda through the doubtful strife;
Right onward, dauntless, then I'll bear,

But, should she fall,-farewell at once to life!

Nor to fiddles, nor themselves, nor anything lis- O, LET ME HUSH THY TENDER FEARS.

tening,

Who so merry and so cherry as people at a chris

tening?

Now the fans and the handkerchiefs soon go to pot:

I'm all in a muck ;—I'm prodigiously hot ;—

(Lady Morgan.)

O, LET me hush thy tender fears

That prophecy our love's decay,
And kiss away those stealing tears
That all my timid doubts betray.j

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