All ranks and degrees of the quality,
To all my routs I'll invite;
And have, with true inhospitality,

Public breakfast at seven at night.

(Spoken.)-It will be pretty expensive, and I may over-run the constable; but to pay debts is unfashionable, so when a dun knocks at the door, I shall look out of the window and say, Call again to-morrow,

Can't you?

Call again to-morrow.

I'll then, to support my indignity,
My hand to some heiress expose;
Then, with all proper pride and benignity,
On old friends I'll turn up my nose.

(Spoken.)-Conscience may tease me a little, but it is all dicky with that in the new school; common sense and common honesty may do for common folks, but with us people of superogatory rank its all Call again to-morrow,

Can't you?

Call again to-morrow.

The Brown Jug.

DEAR Tom, this brown jug, which now forms with mild ale,

Of which I now drink to sweet Kate of the vale,

;

Was once Toby Philpot, a thirsty old soul,
As e'er crack'd a bottle, or fathom'd a bowl
For in boozing about 'twas his pride to excel,
And amongst jolly topers he bore off the bell.

It chanc'd as in dog-days he sat at his ease,
In his flower-woven arbour as gay as you please,
With a friend and a pipe, quaffing sorrow away,
And with bonest old stingo sit soaking his clay,
His breath door of life on a sudden was shut,
And he died full as big as a Dorchester butt.

His body, when long in the ground it had lain,
And time into clay had dissolv'd it again,
A potter found out in its covert so snug-
And with part of fat Toby he form'd this brown jug.
Now sacred to friendship, to mirth, and mild ale,
I'll drink to my lovely sweet Kate of the vale.

Within a Mile of Edinburgh.
TWAS within a mile of Edinburgh town,
In the rosy time of the year,
Sweet flowers bloom'd, and the grass was down,
And each shepherd woo'd his dear:
Bonny Jockey, blithe and gay,
Kiss'd sweet Jenny making hay:
The lassie blush'd, and frowning cry'd,
No, no, it will not do ;

I canno, canno, wonno, wonno, mauno buckle too.

Jockey was a wag that never would wed,
Tho' long he had follow'd the lass,
Contented she earn'd, and eat her brown bread,
And merrily turn'd up the grass:
Bonny Jockey, blithe and free,

Won her heart right merrily,

Yet still she blush'd and frowning cry'd,
No, no, it will not do,

I canno, canno, wonno, wonno, manno buckle too,

But when he vow'd he woo'd make her his bride,
Tho' his flocks and herds were not few,
She gave him her hand and a kiss beside,
And vow'd she'd for ever be true;
Bonny Jockey, blithe and free,
Won her heart right merrily,

At church she no more frowning cry'd,
No, no, it will not do,

I canno, canno, wonno, wonno, manno buckle too.

When in War on the Ocean.

WHEN in war on the ocean we meet the proud

foe,

Though with ardour for conquest our bosoms may

glow;

Let us see on their vessels old England's flag wave, They shall find British sailors but conquer to save,

See their tri-colour'd ensigns we view from afar, With three cheers they are welcom'd by each British tar;

While the Genius of Britain still bids us advance, Our guns hurl in thunders defiance to France.

But mark the last broadside; she sinks, down she goes;

Quickly man all your boats, they no longer are focs;
To snatch a brave fellow from a wat'ry grave,
Is worthy of Britons-who conquer to save,

Ye Gentlemen of England.

YE gentlemen of England, who live at home at

ease,

Ah! little do you think upon the dangers of the seas: Give ear unto the mariners, and they will plainly show,

All the cares and the fears,

When the stormy winds do blow.

If enemies oppose us when England is at wars With any foreign nations, we fear no wounds or

scars;

Our roaring guns shall teach them our valour for to know,

Whilst they reel on the keel,

When the stormy winds do blow.

Then courage, all brave mariners, and never be

afraid;

Whilst we have bold adventurers, we ne'er shall want a trade;

Our merchants will employ us to bring them wealth we know ;

Then he bold, work for gold,
When the stormy winds do blow,

Death of the Fox.

WHEN Sol from the east had illumin'd the sphere, And gilded the lawns and the riv❜lets so clear, I rose from my tent, and, like Richard, I call'd For my horse, and my hounds, too, loudly I bawl'd. Hark forward, my boys! Billy Meadows he cried; No sooner he spoke, but old Reynard he spied. Over-joy'd at the sight, we began for to skip ; Tantaron went the horn, and smack went the whip.

Tom Bramble scour'd forth, when, almost to his chin,

O'erleaping a ditch-by the Lord he leap'd in;
When just as it hap'd, but the sly master Ren
Was sneakingly hast'ning to make to his den.
Then away we pursu'd, brake, covert, and wood;
Nor quickset, nor thickset, our pleasure withstood:
So ho! master Reynard-Jack Rivers he cried,
Old Ren you shall die-Daddy Hawthorne replied