Away hand in hand to the chapel they went,
Nor appear'd in her vifage the least difcontent;
None but death could the conjugal knot have unty'd:
For cross-legg'd together they fat 'till they dy'd.
Derry down, &c.

SONG.

Sung by Mr. Darley, in the Choice of Harlequin.

A

S you mean to fet fail for the land of delight, And in wedlock's foft hammock to fwing every night,

If you hope that your voyage fuccefsful fhould prove, your fails with affection, your cabbin with love. Fill your fails, &c.

Fill

Let

your heart, like the main maft, be ever upright, And the union you boaft, like your tackle, be tight; Of the fhoals of Indiff'rence be fure to keep clear, And the quickfands of jealousy never come near. And the quickfands, &c..

If husbands e'er hope to live peaceable lives,
They must reckon themselves, give the helm to their

wives;

For the evener we go, boys, the better we fail,
And on fhip-board the helm is ftili rul'd by the tail.
And on fhip-board, &c.

Then lift to your pilot, my boy, and be wife;
If my precepts you fcorn, and my maxims deipife,
A brace of proud antlers your brows may adorn,
And a hundred to one but you double Cape Horn.
And a hundred, &c.

SONG.

A

SONG.

The Jolly Waterman.

ND did you not hear of a jolly young waterman,
Who at Black-friars Bridge us'd for to ply?
He feather'd his oars with fuch skill and dexterity,
Winning each heart, and delighting each eye;
He look'd fo neat, and row'd fo leadily,

The maidens all flock'd in his boat fo readily;
And he ey'd the young rogues with fo charming an air,
That this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.

What fights of fine folks he oft row'd in his wherry;
'Twas clean'd out fo neat, and fo painted withal!
He was always first oars, when the fine city ladies
In a party to Ranelagh went, or Vauxhall.
And oftentimes would they be giggling and leering.
But 'twas all one to Tom, their gibing and jeering;
For loving or liking, he little did care,

For this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.

And yet, but to fee how ftrangely things happen;
As he row'd along, thinking of nothing at all,
He was ply'd by a damfel fo lovely and charming,
That the famil'd, and fo ftraightway in love he did

fall.

And would this young damfel but banish his forrow,
He'd wed her to-night, before it was morrow;
And how fhould this waterman ever know care,
When he's marry'd and never in want of a fare.

SONG.

The Prief's Advice.

Sung by Mr. Wilson.

OU know I'm your Prieft, and your

Y is mine;

confcience

But if you grow wicked, its not a good fign,
So leave off your raking, and marry a wife,

And then, my dear Darby, you're fettled for life.
Sing Ballynamono, oro,

A good merry wedding for me.

The banns being publish'd, to chapel we go,
The bride and the bridegroom in coats white as fnow;
So modeft her air, and fo fheepish your look,
You out with your ring, and I pull out my book.
Sing Ballynamono, oro,

A good merry wedding for me.

I thumb out the place, and I then read away,
She blushes at love, and fhe whispers obey.
You take her dear hand to have and to hold,
I fhut up book, and I pocket your gold.
Sing, &c.

That fnug little guinea for me.

AIR.

Sung by Mr. Edwin, in the Castle of Andalufia.

A

Mafter I have, and I am his man,
Galloping dreary dun,

And he'll get a wife as faft as he can.

With a haily,
Gaily,

Gambo raily,
Giggling,
Niggling,

Galloping galloway, draggle-tail dreary dun.

I faddled his steed, fo fine and fo gay,
Galloping dreary dun;

I mounted my mule, and we rode away,
With our haily, &c.

We canter'd along until it grew dark,
Galloping dreary dun;

The nightingale fung inftead of the lark,
With her haily, &c.

We met with a Friar, and afk'd him our way,
Galloping dreary dun;

By the Lord, fays the Friar, you are both aftray,
With your haily, &c.

Our journey, I fear, will do us no good,
Galloping dreary dun;

We wander alone, like the babes i'the wood,
With our haily, &c.

My mafter's a fighting, and I'll take a peep,
Galloping dreary dun;

But now I think better-I'd better go fleep,
With my haily, &c.

D

SONG.

Good-Morrow to your Night-Cap.
Sung by Mr. Edwin.

EAR Kathleen, you, no doubt,
Find fleep how very fweet 'tis ;

Dogs bark, and cocks have crow'd out,
You never dream how late 'tis.

Beneath the honey-fuckle,

"The daify and the vi'let

Compofe fo fweet a truckle,

"They'll tempt you fure to fpoil it. "Sweet Sall and Bell

"I've pleas'd so well

"But hold, I muft'nt kifs and tell, "So here I've rid

Along, to bid

"Good-morrow to your night-cap."

SONG.