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Oh what a snug little Island!
Some were shot dead,
Some of them tied,
Then a very great war-man,call'dBillythe Norman,
And live on yon beautiful Island!
Hop, skip, and jump,
There he was plump,
But party deceit, help'd the Normans to beat;
The Spanish Armada set out to invade her;
Quite sure if they ever come nigh land,
They couldn't do less, than tuck up Queen Bess,
And take their full suing in the Island.
Oh the poor Queen and the Island!
The drones came to plunder the Island!
But snug in the hive,
The Queen was alive,
c 2 Thece
S These proud puff'd up cakes, thought to inaka
ducks and drakes Of our wealth; but they scarcely could spy land, Ii'er our Drake had the luck to make their pride
duck, And stoop to the lads of the Island. Huzza for the lads of the Island 1 The good wooden walls of the Island! Devil or Don, Let 'em come on, But huw would they come off at the Island?
Then Freedom and Neptune have hitherto kept
tune, In each saying this shall be my land; Should the Array of England, or all they could
BON'T you see that as how, I'm a Sportsman in style, All sokickish, so slim, and so tall! Why I've search'd after game, and that many's the mile, And seed no bit of nothing at all.
My My license I pockets, my pony I strides,
And T pelts through the wind and the rain; And if likely to Call, sticks the spurs in the sides;
Leaves the bridle, and holds by the main. Tobe snredadat homekicksup no In tie strife;
But dubby, what's that—en't itfashion and life? And at sporting I never was known for to lag;
I was also in danger the first: When atEpping last Easter, they tum'd outastag,
I'm the lad that was roll'd in the dust. Then they calls meanincom ! why over the fieldsThere a little beyond Dulwich Common, I a chick and a goose tumbled neck over heels;
And two mudlarks, besides an old woman. Then let miserly dad kick up sorrow arid strife; I'm the lad that's genteel, and knows fashion and
life. But don't go for to thiak, I neglects number one!
Often, when my companions with ardour Are hunting about, with the dog and the gun,
I goes and I hunts in the larder. Therel springs me a woodcock, or flushes a quail,
Or finds puss, as she sits under cover; Then so-ho, to the barrel, to start me some ale.
And when I have din'd, and fed Rover, Pays my landlord his shot as I ogles his wife; While the daughter cries out—Lord, what fashion
and life! Thenlbnysme somegamc,a!l as homeward we jog,
And when the folks—ax how I got 'em; Though I shoottd but once, iind then kili'd the poor dog,
I swears, and then stands to't, I've shot 'em.
c3 So So come round me, ye sportsmen, that's smart, and what not, All stylish and cutting a flash, When your piece won't kill game, pharg'd with powder and shot, To bring 'cm down—down with your cash! And if with their jokes and their jeers, folks are
rife, Why dabby, says you, en't it fashion and life?
BY the gaily circling glass,
How the waning night grows old.
Drives us from our sport away.
By the silence of the owl;
By the chirping on the thorn, By the butts that empty roll,
We foretell the approach of morn. Fill then, fill the vacant glass,
Let no precious moment slip;— Flout the moralizing ass:
Joys find entrance at the lip.
BRIGHT chanticleer proclaims the dawn,
The lark springs from the corn;
Fleet Towler lends the cry,
This day a stag must die!
The cordial takes its merry round,
The laugh and joke prevail;
The dogs snuff up the gale.
O'er fields, through brakes, they fly;
This day a stag must die,
With a hey, ho, &c.
Toor stag, the dogs thy haunches gore,
The tears run down thy face;
His joys were in the chase.
To win the blooming fair;
They each become his care.
With a hey, ho, ccc.