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GIN ye meet a bonny lassie,
Gie 'r a kiss, and let her gae;
But if ye meet a dirty hussy,

Fy gar rub her o'er with strae.
Be sure ye dinna quit the grip

Of ilka joy when ye are young,
Before auid age your vitals nip,
And lay you twafauld o'er a rung.

Sweet youth 's a blithe and heartsome time;

Then lads and lasses, while 'tis May, Gae pu' the gowan in its prime,

Before it wither and decay. Watch the salt minutes of delight,

When Jenny speaks beneath her breath, And kisses, laving a' the wyte

On you if sfie keeps ony skaith.

Haith ye're ill-bred, she'll smiling say,

Ye'll worry me, ye greedy rooky Syne frae'vour anus she'll rin away,

And hide hersel in some dark nook. Her laugh will lead you to the place

Where lies the happiness ye want, And plainly tell you to your fare

Nineteen na says are half a grant.

Now to her heaving bosom cling,

And sweetly toollie for a kiss: Upon her finger woop a ring,

As token of a future bliss.

o 3 These

These bennisons, I'm very sure,
Are of the gods indulgent grant:

Then, surly carles, whisht, forbear
To plague us with your whining cant.

A WOMAN is like to—bilt stay—
What woman is like, who can say?
There's no liviugwithar without one—>
Lwe bites like a fly,
Now an ear, now au eye,
Bits, buz, always buzzing about one.
When she's tender and kind,
She is like to my mind,
(And Fanny was so, I remember-)
She's like to—O dear!
She's as good very near
As a ripe melting peach in September.
If she laugh, and she chat,
Play, joke, and all that,
And with sinilR and good, humour she met me,
She is like a rich dish
Of ven'son or tish,
That cries from the table come eat me!
But she'll plague you, and vet you,

Distract and perplex you, and vex you,
False hearted and ranging,
Unsettled and changing,
What then do you think she is like?
Like a sand? like a rock?
Like a wheel? like a clock?
Aye, a clock that is always at stride.

Her head's like the island folks tell on,
Which nothing bat monkiescan dwell on;
Her heart's like a leinon—so nice
She carves for each lover a slice;
In truth the '* to me
Like the wind, bke the sea,
Whose raging will hearken to np man;
Like a mill, like a pill,
Like a null, like a whale,
Li!;o an ass, like a glass,
Whose image is constant to no man;
Like a iiow'r, like a show'r,
Like a fly, like a pie,
Like a pea, like a flea,
Like a thief, like—in brief,
She's like nothing on earth but a woman I

HOWsweet in the woodlands, with fleethound
and horn,
To waken shrill Echo, and taste the fresh morn!
But hard is the chase my fond heartinust pursue,
For Daphne, fair Daphne, is lost to my view!

Assist me, chaste Dian, the nymph to refrain,
More wild than the roebuck, and wing'd with

disdain; *

In pity o'ertake her, who wounds as she flies: Though Daphne's pursu'd, 'tisMyrtillo who dies!

IAM

-

I AM a friar of orders grey,
And down the vallies I take my way:
I pull not blackberry, baw, or hip,
Good store of ven'son does fill my scrip;
My long bead roll I merrily cliaunt,
Where'er I walk no money I want;
And why I'm so plump, the reason I'll tell
Who leads a good life is sure to live well.
What baron or 'squire,
Or knight of the shire,
lives half sd well as a holy friar?

After supper of heav'n I dream,;

But that is fat pullen and clouted cream.
My self, by denial, I mortify—
With a dainty-bit of a warden pie:
I'm cloth'd in sackcloth, for my sin:
With old sack wine I'm liu'd within:
A chirping cup is my mattin song,
And the vespers' bell is my bowl, ding dong,
What baron or 'squire,
Or knight of the shire,
Lives half so well as a holy friar?

ISAIL'D from the Downs in the Nancy,
My jib, how she smack'd thro' the breeze I
She's a vessel as tight to my fancy,

As ever sail'd on the salt seas.
Then adieu to the white cliffs of Britain,
Our girls and our dear native shore, .
For if some hard rock we should split on,
We ne er should see them any more.

But "But sailors arc born for all weathers,

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Great gups, let it blow high, blow low, Our duty keeps us to our tethers,

And whtire the gale drives we must Ko.

When we cnter'd the gut of Gibraltar,

I verily thought she bad 6unk; For the wind so begau for to alter,

She yau'd just as though she was drunk. The squall tore the main-sail to shivers;

Helm a-weather! the hoarse boatswain cries, Brace the foresail athwart! see, she quivers,

As through the rough tempest she flies.

But sailors, &p.

The storm came on thicker and faster;

As black just as pitch was the sky; When truly a doleful disaster

Befel three poor sailors and I, Ben Buntline, Sara Shroud, and Dick Handsail,

By a blast that came furious and hard, Just while we were furling the main-sail,

Were every soul swept from the yard.

But sailors, &c.

Poor Ben, Sum, and Dick, cry'd peccavf;

As for I, at the risk of my neck,
While they sunk down in peace to old Daw,

Caught a rope, aud so landed on deck.
Well, what would you have, we were stranded,

And out of a fine jolly crew,
Of three hundred that sail'd never landed

But I, audi think, twenty-two.

But sailors, &c.

After

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