L

ET'S home, my brave boys, to tell all our joys,
While now with our vict'ry we burn;

We'll laugh and we'll sing, for conquest we'll bring,

And full of our pleasure return.

Let's loudly proclaim the joys of the game;
The dangers and perils we spurn:
How sportsmen so gay, chase sorrow away,
And full of their pleasure return.

Let poor powder'd fops-your dainty milk sops,
For their Chloes and Emilys mourn;
We act braver parts, nor feel Cupid's darts,
But full of our pleasure return.

Sing bravo!-look there!—our victim, our hare,
Till to-morow then let us adjourn :
To-morrow! and then we'll hunt it again,
And full of our pleasure return.

WH

HILE high the foaming surges rise,
And pointed rocks appear,

"Loud thunders rattle in the skies,

Yet sailors must not fear,

In storms, in wind,

Their duty mind,
Aloft, below,

They cheerful go,

To reef, or steer, as 'tis design'd;

No fears or dangers fill the mind.

The

The signal for the line is made,
The haughty foe's in sight,
The bloody flag aloft display'd,
And fierce the dreadful fight.
Each minds his gun,

No dangers shun,
Aloft, below,

They cheerful go;

Though thunders roar, yet still we find,
No fears alarm the sailor's mind.

The storm is hush'd, the battle's o'er,
The sky is clear again;

We toss the can to those on shore,
While we are on the main.
To Poll and Sue,
Sincere and true,
The grog goes round,

With pleasure crown'd;

In war or peace alike you'll find,
That honour fills the sailor's mind.

HA

ARK! away! 'tis the merry ton'd horn Calls the hunters all up with the morn, To the hills and the woodlands we steer, To unharbour the out-lying deer.

And all the day long, this, this is our song,

Still hollowing and following, so frolic and free, Our joys know no bounds, while we're after the

hounds:

No mortals on earth are so jolly as we.

Round

Round the woods when we beat, how we glow,
While the hills they all echo hollo!

With a bounce from his cover the stag flies,
Then our shouts long resound. through the skies.
And all the day long, &c.

When we sweep o'er the valleys, or climb
Up the health-breathing mountain sublime,
What a joy from our labours we feel!
Which alone they who taste can reveal.

And all the day long, &c.

IWINNA marry ony mon but Sandy o'er the

I winna marry ony mon but Sandy o'er the Lee. I winna ha the Dominee, for gude he canna be; But I will ha my Sandy lad, my Sandy o'er the

Lee;

For he's aye a kissing, kissing, aye a kissing me, He's aye a kissing, kissing, aye a kissing me.

I winna ha the minister, for all his godly looks: Nor yet will I the lawyer ha, with all his wily

crooks.

I winna ha the ploughman lad, nor yet will I the

miller:

But I will ha my Sandy lad, without one penny

siller;

For he's aye a kissing, &c.

I winna ha the soldier lad, for he gangs to the war;
I winna ha the sailor lad, because he smells of tar;
I winna ha the lord nor laird, for all their
mickle gear:

But I will ha my Sandy lad, my Sandy o'er the meir;

For he's aye a kissing, &c.

THE wind was hush'd, the storm was over,
Unfurl'd was ev'ry flowing sail!

From toil releas'd, when Dick of Dover
Went with his messmates to regale.
All dangers o'er, cried he, my neat hearts,
Drown care, then, in the smiling can;
Come, bear a hand! let's toast our sweethearts;
And first I'll give my buxom Nan.

She's none of they that's always gigging,
And stem and stern made up of art;
One knows a vessel by her rigging,

Such ever slight a constant heart.
With straw-hat, and pink streamers flowing,
How oft to meet me has she ran;
While for dear life would I be rowing,
To meet with smiles my buxom Nan.

Jack Jollyboat went to the Indies,

To see him stare when he came back!
The girls were so all off the hinges;
His Poll was quite unknown to Jack.

Tant

Tant-masted all, to see who's tallest;
Breast-works, top-ga'nt-sails, and a fan!
Messmate! cried I, more sail than ballast;
Ah! still give me my buxom Nan.

None on life's sea can sait more quicker,
To show her love, or serve her friend;
But hold, I'm preaching o'er my liquor—
This one word, then, and there's an end;
Of all the wenches whatsomdever,

I

say, then find me out who can,

One half so true, so kind, so clever,

Sweet, trim, and neat as buxom Nan:

AS

S health,rosy health,from cheerfulness flows,
And sloth draws old age on a-pace;

To avoid sad disease, and such mortal foes,
By cheerfully joining the chase,

To the wood, then, let's haste-Diana invites,
And thus does the goddess report,

"If you wish to gain health, with much joy and delight,

"Mount your coursers and follow the sport.""

For Nature, gay Nature imparts, in the chase, Those charms which but hunters enjoy ; There we see a strong picture of life's eager race, In a pastime that never can cloy.

Then at night when the chase has bestow'd all its charms,

And they're snug o'er the joy-giving bowl; To repose we retire in beauty's soft arms,

Where transports envelope the soul.

THEN,