To be sure, and it a'n't a sweet consort to love, And floats the fond heart like a ship in the deep.

Then, joy, never think,

But drink, honey, drink,

Till ill-humour's dead drunk, and suspicion asleep.

AS PEACEFUL AS AN INFANT'S SLEEP. (Sullivan.)

As peaceful as an infant's sleep,

The ocean's glassy surface lies;
No breath disturbs the silent deep,

Save the light zephyrs' gentle sighs.
With noiseless flight the sea-mew soars,
Or in the mild wave dips her wing;
No sound is heard along the shores,
But surges softly murmuring.

This holy rest our bosoms prove,

Till roused by passion's witching numbers; Thus sleep our hearts till waked by love,

As calm and waveless as their slumbers:
But when we feel love's magic spell,

They rave as wildly as the ocean
When the hoarse winds its bosom swell,
And heave its billows in commotion.

Air-" Oh! my Kitten, my Kitten.- (Cross.) JUST going to set up in trade,

I'd customers wish to make many, And hope they my charge wo'n't degrade, But three halfpence prefer to a penny. Though don't let me risk your applause; For when about price people bicker, I votes for three halfpence-because, You'll own it, the penny turns quicker. Fal lal, &c.

When first I nose took in hand,

An ague it seemed as if wrapped in,
But soon so my nerves could command,
Dared shave e'en a flash of a captain:
I lathered his lank cheeks with glee,
But not twice had flourished my carver,
Ere he fell to lathering of me-

You'll own now, that wasn't the barber.
Fal lal, &c.

If the cause of his anger you seek,
To give it I'll not a bit linger-
In plumping out kindly his cheek,

I near to the bone cut my finger.
I vexed was, but what could I do?
With reason he anger was put in :
Says I, Sir, I feel it like you;
Your sword never half was so cutting."
Fal lal, &c.

The best may mistake, we all knows,
But, when I grow wiser and graver,

The friends I salute by the nose,

Sha'n't call me a fool of a shaver: Then pray grant me custom galore,

And likewise as good price as any,

Because, as I told you before,
Three halfpence so quick turns the penny.
Fal lal, &c.

Come! no eye, intrusive glancing,

Threads the gloom of the beechen brake. Come! the wanton breezes woo thee; Come! the coy wave ripples to thee; Joyless visions-tasteless slumbersLeave to hearts that care encumbers; Souls like ours for bliss were madeLove delights in the twilight shade. Now, farewell! in the gush of the fountain The virgin blush of Aurora glows; Now, farewell! see, the dew-wreathed mountain Invites thee away to the downy repose. Dream away the day's young noon-beamsWake to bathe in eve's bright moon-beams; Their joyless visions-tasteless slumbersLeave to hearts that care encumbers; Souls like ours for bliss were made, Love delights in the twilight shade.

IN VINO VERITAS.
(Dibdin.)

COME, let the bottle go round,

A plague of dull fellows that think! In our wine will such virtues be found, Would you wish to drive misery and care from life's portal,

Take a trip up to Heaven and be dubbed an immortal?

You have nothing to do but to drink. Those who try in the lottery their fortunes to mena, To change money for blanks, all they can rap and rend;

Who gamble at starting, ten thousand to one, Rich as Croesus at day, and to-morrow undone. By advertisements gulled, who their pockets turn

hurled

On the foes of your country all over the world;
Who volunteer courage your rights to defend,
And who war, in a peace that your labours may
end,

As your country's true interest in clusters who cling,
From this chaos of strife that fair order may spring;
Come, let the bottle go round,

And fill every glass to the brink!

In our wine will such virtue be found, In the fall of the Dutch would ye gloriously revel, Beat the Spaniards, and kick all the French to the devil,

You have nothing to do but to drink.
And ye pretty Strephons, such torments who prove,
Who vanity cherish, and fancy it love,
Who think every folly's permitted to youth,
Who propagate lies, till you fancy them truth,
And yet, so does prudence make virtue its care,

Who are only despised by the honourable fair.
Come, let the bottle go round,

And f. every glass to the brink,
In our wine shall such virtue be found,
Would you fancy all those to whom nonsense
you've written,

SHADE.

(J. M. Bartlett.)

COME! the moon-beams, lightly dancing, Gambol o'er the glassy lake;

She.-Though time or place should intervene,

Still time, that changes ev'ry scene,

Would make me still more love thee.
Though far apart as pole from pole,
I still should feel thy love control,
While devoted constant soul
my
Would but exist to love thee.

Both-While my devoted constant soul
Would but exist to love thee.

ALAS! QUEEN ANNE.
Air-" Black Joke."

Alas! Queen Anne, she keeps no bed,
With piping her eye she's got mighty red,
With her sob, sigh, get out! oh, my!
She's health enough, an' if she choose,
To walk to Chertsey, wear out her shoes,
Of me she cannot bear the sigbt :-

:

But, hold in the stubble-ha!-Dido stops short :

Toho! Dido-gooa dog!-she points to the sport!

right,

With her sob, sigh, get out! oh fy!

But see, but see, my love appears,

With sighs I will melt her, and drown her with tears,

With my ram'em, cram'em, nothing like gam

mon.

"Tis true, my form may little move,
But a lover myself I will soon prove,
I'll wink and blink, and tip her the chink,
And, if she refuses, I'll ask her to drink,

And treat her to oysters and pickled salmon.

KATE! THE MAID WITH EYES SO BLUE. (Sir George Alley.)

THE sun's last beams had tinged the sky
With many a streak of golden dye,
And o'er the lake the breeze of eve
Stole many a softly-breaking wave ;-
Then, down the vale, as lone I strayed,
I met a lovely pensive maid,-
'Twas she whom all the village knew
As "Kate, the maid with eyes so blue."

Her cheek was pale: the hand of Care
Had left its sweet impression there;
Yet, by her soft expressive eye,
Love seemed to cause her bitterest sigh;
For first I spoke the tenderest bliss
That lovers feel when first they kiss;
And then methought her eye did beam
With fond-remembered pleasure's gleam.

But when I told the bosom's pain
That loves but is not loved again,
A falling tear, by memory brought,
Seemed in its silky curtain caught.
Dear gentle maid, didst thou but know,
My bosom also feels that woe;
That I have loved-alas! too true,
A face as fair, and eyes so blue;

Like thee-have vows of love believed,
And, like thyself, have been deceived.

KATE KEARNEY. (Miss Owenson.)

OH! did you not hear of Kate Kearney?
She lives on the banks of Killarney;
From the glance of her eye, shun danger, and fly
For fatal's the glance of Kate Kearney:
For that eye is so modestly beaming,

You ne'er think of mischief she's dreaming;
Yet oh! I can tell how fatal the spell
That lurks in the eye of Kate Kearney.
Oh! should you e'er meet this Kate Kearney,
Who lives on the banks of Killarney,
Beware of her smile, for many a wile
Lies hid in the smile of Kate Kearney.
Though sne looks so bewitchingly simple,
Yet there's mischief in every dimple;
And who dares inhale her sighs' spicy gale,
Must die by the breath of Kate Kearney.

Why, a poker to stir the fire,
As stout as a maid can desire;
A bellows without a nose,
That out of the hind part blows;
A table without any legs,

That stands upon three old pegs;
A comb that has never a tooth,

For I knocked them all out in my youth;
A pitcher that, 'stead of an ear,
Has a hole to let out the beer;
A Bible without any leaves;
A halter I've left for the thieves;
An almanack ten years old,
But a very good one I'm told;
A hen that has got the roop;

A razor made out of a hoop;

A pair of old shoes and a stocking,

With holes that would make you cry shocking;
A pair of old breeches, so darned
The colour can scarce be discerned;

A coat, so very threadbare,
Your back through it takes air;
A wig for to clean your shoes;
A frying-pan no one can use;
A hat, with a sky-light in it,

Which lets the rain through in a minute;
Some ruffles, as yellow as gold,
Embroidered with iron-mould;
Besides an old worn-out shirt,
A great deal the worse for dirt;
A candlestick and save-all;
And thus my goods you have all.

All these were left by my granny,

Who now in the church-yard lies sleeping; Then don't you think I have plenty of goods, To go into housekeeping?

I'll marry my sweetheart,

If she will marry me;

She has a pretty lot of goods as well as me :
She's got-
What?

A gold ring made of brass;

A piece of old looking-glass;
Some vinegar, least she should faint;

Some brick-dust, that serves her for paint;
A large lump of fine yellow soap;
Some onions hung up on a rope;
A song-book bound in grease;

Two gowns, worth a farthing a-piece;
Three shifts, but some one so tore 'em,
They'd be put to their shifts who wore 'em;
Some aprons as black as a cinder;
Two caps would serve nicely for tinder;
A neat piece of rope for a girdle;
A pig that's as thin as a hurdle;

Some dancing-shoes, though they are wooden;
With three or four yards of black pudding;
A bench, though split in four quarters,
Is nicely tied up with her garters;

A ricketty three-legged stool;
A pipkin for gooseberry fool;
A pot with a hole in its bottom,
Was made by the tinkers, 'od rot 'em ;
A tea-pot without any lid,

Which wo❜n't pour out though its bid;
A battered old deal bedstead,

With a log of wood for your head;

A silver penny in cotton,

A keepsake from one dead and rotten;
Some physic that never was taken;
With a fat piece of rusty old bacon.

All these were left by her granny,

Who now in the church-yard lies sleeping; Then don't you think she's got plenty of goods Το go into housekeeping?

I'll marry my sweetheart,

If she like me would kiss; We've a pretty stock of goods, We want but this.

We've not

What?

Why, a ladle-a cradle,

A skewer-a ewer,

A garden, well barred in,
An old tree-some poultry,
A barrel-apparel,

A bonnet, bow on it,
An apron, with tape run,
A jerkin, to work in,
Best coat-waistcoat,
Cocked hat, mocked at,
Locket-pocket,
Riches-breeches,
A cat-a mat,
A clock-a lock,
Grates-plates,
Jugs-mugs,
Pails-flails,
Nails-rails,
Box for backey,
Glass for jackey.

When we've these, as light as a feather,
We'll laugh at care and sorrow;
Put our little alls together,

And we'll be married to-morrow.

Come, Moses, the King!"
What a scandalous thing

Such a subject should be but a vicar!"
Fol de rol, &c.

Then Moses he spoke,-
"Sir, 'tis past twelve o'clock;
Besides, there's a terrible shower."

Why, Moses, you elf,

Since the clock has struck twelve, I'm sure it can never strike more.

Fol de rol, &c.

"Besides, my dear friend, To this lesson attend, Which to say and to swear I'll be bold, That the corpse, snow or rain, Can't endanger, that's plain, But perhaps you or I may take cold." Fol de rol, &c.

Then Moses went on,-
"Sir, the clock has struck one;
Pray, master, look up at the hand."
"Why, it ne'er can strike less;
"Tis a folly to press

A man for to go that can't stand."
Fol de rol, &c.

At length hat and cloak

Old Orthodox took,

But first crammed his jaw with a quid;
Each tipt off a gill,

For fear they should chill,

And then staggered away side by side.
Fol de rol, &c.