Right English ufage,-neat French wine,.
A landlady may thrive on.
At table d'hotte, to eat and drink,
Let French and English mingle,
And while to me they bring the chink,
Faith let the glaffes jingle;

Your rhino rattle, come
Men and cattle, come
All to Mrs. Cafey;
Of trouble and money,
My jewel, my honey,

I warrant I'll make you easy.

When dreft and feated in my bar,
Let fquire, or beau, or belle come,
Let captains kiss me if they dare,
It's, fir, you're kindly welcome!
On Shuffle, Cog, and Slip, I wink,
Let Rooks and Pigeons mingle,
And if to me they bring the chink,
Faith let the glaffes jingle.

Your rhino rattle, come, &c.

Let love fly here on filken wings,

His tricks I ftill connive at;
The lover who would fay foft things,.
Shail have a room in private.
On pleasures I am pleas'd to wink,
So lips in kiffes mingle,

For while to me they bring the chink,

Faith, let the glaffes jingle.

Your rhino rattle, come, &c.

SONG.

I'

SONG.

Sung by Mr. Edwin, in Fontainbleau.

N London my life is a ring of delight,

In frolicks I keep up the day and the night;
I fnooze at the hummums 'till twelve, perhaps later,
I rattle the bell, and I roar up the waiter;

Your honour, fays he, and he tips me a leg.
He brings me my tea, but I fwallow an egg;
For tea in the morning's a flop I renounce,

So I down with a glass of the right cherry bounce. With fwearing, tearing, ranting, jaunting, flashing, fmathing. fmacking, cracking, rumbling, tumbling;

Laughing, quaffing, fmoaking, joaking, swaggering, ftaggering;

So thoughtless, to knowing, fo green and fo mellow; This, this, is the life of a frolickfome fellow.

My phet'n I mount, and the plebs they all ftare,
I handle my reigns and my elbows I fquare;
My ponies fo plump, and as white as a lily.
Through Pall-Mall I spank it, and up Piccadilly;
Till lofing a wheel, egad down come I fmack,
So at Knightsbridge I throw myfelf into a hack;
At Tutterfall's fling a leg over my nag,

Thus vifit for dinner, then dress in a bag.

With fwearing, &c.

I roll round the garden, and call at the Rofe,
And then at both Play Houfes, pop in my nose ;
I lounge in the lobby, laugh, fwear, flide and fwagger,
Talk loud, take my money, and out again ftagger.
I meet at the Shakespear a good-natur'd foul,
Then down to our club at St. James's I roll';
The joys of the night are a thousand at play,
And thus at the finish begin the next day.

With fwearing, &c.

SONG.

FOR

SONG.

Sung by Mrs. Crouch, in the Heiress.

OR tenderness fram'd in life's earliest day, A parent's foft forrows to mine led away; The leffon of pity was caught from her eye, And ere words were my own, I fpoke in a figh.

The nightingale plunder'd, the mate-widow'd dove,
The warbled complaint of the fuffering grove,
To youth as it ripened gave fentiment new,
The object ftill changing, the fympathy true.

Soft embers of paffion, yet reft in the glow!
A warmth of more pain may this bread never know!
Or if too indulgent the bleffing I claim,
Let the fpark drop from reafon that wakens the flame.

HA

SONG.

Sung by Mrs. Wrighten, at Vauxhall.

ARK, hark! to the found of the sweet winding horn,

It invites to the chace and awakens the morn;

Hark, c

Diana leads forwards o'er mountains and plains, While echo enraptur'd repeats the blett ftrains. Diana, &c.

While Bacchus deprives us of reafon and wealth,
The fports of the field give pleafure and health;

Such

Such innocent paftimes enfure us all joys,
Where no bufinefs difturbs, no malice destroys.

Diana, &c.

SONG.

Sung by Mifs Romanzini, in Richard Cœur de Lion.

HE merry dance I dearly love,

TH

For then Collette thy hand I feize,
And prefs it too whene'er I please,

And none can fee, and none reprove :

Then on thy cheek quick blufhes glow,
And then we whisper foft and low,

Oh! how I grieve! you ne'er her charms can know.

She's sweet fifteen, I'm one year more,

Yet ftill we are too young, they fay,
But we know better, fure, than they,

Youth fhould not liften to threescore ;
And I'm refolv'd I'll tell her so,
When next we whisper foft and low,

Oh! how I grieve! you ne'er her charms can know.

M

S ON G.

The Brunette.

Sung by Mr. Incledon.

Y hearts foft emotions admit no difguife, To cheat the poor nymphs of the plain, For the paffion I feel is confefs'd by my eyes, And love fhews the wound of the fwain.

And love, &c.

Would

Would you know all the magic that lives in her mein,
By which my fond heart the has won ;

Go take (like the Grecians) each beauty that's feen,
And comprize all their graces in one;
Then wonder like me at the pleafure-fraught Bet,
And wear the foft chains of the lovely Brunette.

The wandering kidlings that sport on the hills
Leave their browfing to lift to her lay,
She charms the fwift courfe of the murmuring rills,
And arrells the bright chariot of day:
The winds ftop enraptur'd to lift to my Bet,
And gratefully fan the accomplish'd Brunette.

Had I all the wealth ftern avarice fought,
When he ravag'd the glittering mine;
Had I all the treasures that Craefus had bought,
The gems, my sweet girl, fhould be thine;
But trifles like thefe are defpis'd by my Bet,
For merit alone wins the lovely Brunette.

SON G.

Sung in the Carnival of Venice.

I flew;

'N my pleafant native plains,

Nature there infpir'd the ftrains,
Simple as the joys I knew ;
Jocund morn and evening gay
Claim'd the merry Roundelay.

Fields and flocks, and fragrant flow'rs,

All that health and joy impart,

Call'd for artless mufic's pow'rs,

Faithful echoes to the heart! Happy hours, for ever gay, Claim'd the merry Roundelay.

But