Μ' SONG. Sung in the Camp. Y Nancy leaves the rural train, All other ills the can fuftain, But living from her love : Yer, deareft, tho' your foldier's there, To mark the hardships you must share, Dear Nancy of the Dale! Dear Nancy, &c. Or, fhould you, love, each danger scorn, Ah! how fhall I fecure Your health-'midft toils which you were born To footh-but not endure: A thousand perils I muft view, A thoufand ills affail; Nor muft I tremble e'en for you, Dear Nancy of the Dale. Dear Nancy, &c. SONG. What a Charming Thing's a Battle. Sung by Mr. Bannister. HAT a charming thing's a battle; WH W Trumpets founding, drums a beating; Crack, crick, crack, the cannons rattle; With what pleasure are we fpying, E. Heads Heads and limbs, and bullets flying! While the mufkets, prittle prattle; Lie confounded; What a charming thing's a battle! But the pleafant joke of all, All go to't; Kill's the word, both men and cattle Blood and thunder. SONG. Sung by Mr. Johnstone, in the Poor Soldier. EAR Sir, this brown jug that now foams with DE De mild ale (In which I will drink to sweet Kate of the vale) It chanc'd, as in dog-days he fat at his ease, His body, when long in the ground it had lain, And with part of fat Toby he made this brown jug: SON G. Sung by Mr. Doyle, in the Medley, or Harlequin Evey Where. IVE round the word, difmount, difmount, GWhile echoed by the fprightly horn; The toils and pleasures we recount Chorus. 'Twas glorious fport, none e'er did lag, The hounds were out and fnuff'd the air, 'Tavas glorious Sport, &c. And now o'er yonder plain he fleets, The deep-mouth'd hounds begin to bawl, And echo note for note repeats,. While fprightly horns refound a call. 'Twas glorious Sport, &c. E 2 And now the ftag has loft his pace, And while ware-haunch the huntfman cries, His bofom fwells, tears wet his face, He pants, he ftruggles, and he dies. 'Twas glorious Sport, &c. SONG. The Storm. EASE, rude Boreas, bluft'ring railer; Meffmates, hear a brother failor Sing the dangers of the fea : To the tempeft troubled ocean, Where the feas. contend with skies. Hark, the boa fwain hoarfely bawling, The lee top-fail fheets let go ; Now, all you on down beds fporting, The top.fail-yards point to the wind, boys; See all clear to reef each courfe; Let Let the fore-fheet go, don't mind, boys, Now the dreadful thunder's roaring, All above us one black sky; The fore-maft's gone, cries ev'r tongue out, While o'er the fhip wild waves are beating, Both chain pumps are choak'd below: For only that can fave us now. On the lee beam is the land, boys! The leak we've found, it can't pour faft t; E-3 We've |