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after death; And he that will this health de ny, Down among the dead men,

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down a-mong the dead men, down, down, down, down, down a-mong the dead men let him lie.

Let charming beauty's health go round.

In whom celestial joys are found;

And may confusion still pursue

The senseless women-hating crew;
And they that women's health deny,
Down among the dead men let them lie.

May love and wine their rites maintain,
And their united pleasures reign!

While Bacchus' treasure crowns the board,
We'll sing the joys that both afford!
And they that won't with us comply,
Down among the dead men let them lie.

YOUNG ELLEN LORAINE.
Composed by Alexander Lee.

When I part-ed from E-rin, heart-bro-ken to leave thee, I dream'd not of falsehood, young

El-len Lo-raine! I thought, though but wo- man, thou wouldst not deceive me,—Ah!

why art thou faith -less, young El-len Lo-raine? I lov'd thee in sor-row, I

sought thee

in danger, And dear was the pe- ril, and sweet was

the pain; But

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now is thy look as the look of a stranger,-Ah! why art thou faithless, young El-len Lo-raine !

O! thou wert the vision that brighten'd my pillow,
The star of my darkness, young Ellen Loraine;
As the bloom to the rose, as the sun to the billow,
Thou cam'st to my slumber, young Ellen Loraine!
Thou'lt think of me yet, when the false world de-
ceives thee,

And friends of gay fortune look cold on thy wane;
When the sheen of thy cheek like the summer-light
leaves thee,
[raine !
Thou'lt think how I lov'd thee, young Ellen Lo-

O! speak not to me-in those eyes I discover
The wrongs thou hast done me, young Ellen Lo-
raine!

Go, rest in the arms of a happier lover ;

Go, lovely, but faithless, young Ellen Loraine !
The moments of rapture, the vow and the token,
They thrill in my bosom, and burn in my brain!
Go, false one, and laugh at the heart thou hast
broken ;-

Go, lovely, but faithless, young Ellen Loraine!

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tree: While roses are sleep-ing, And night-dews are weep-ing, And Ella is

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keep-ing her footsteps for me, Slentando.

And Ella is keep-ing her footsteps for

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El-la's bright eyes

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are beam-ing on me! Then, haste with thy light, La- dy of night!
ritard.
a tempo.

Shed thy soft beams o-ver streamlet and tree: While ro - ses are sleep-ing, And night-dews are

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weep-ing, And Ella is keeping her foot-steps for me! And Ella is Sten..

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Pray, Goody, please to mo-de-rate the ran-cour of your tongue; Why flash those sparks of

fu - ry from your eyes? Re-mem-ber, when the judg-ment's weak, the prejudice

strong,-A stran -ger why will you des-pise ?

Ply me, try me, Prove e'er you de-ny me:

If you cast me off, you will blast me, never more to rise. Pray, Goo-dy, please to

mo de rate
·

the

ran cour of your tongue; Why

flash those sparks of

fury from your eyes? Re - mem- ber, When the judg-ment's weak, the

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FILL, FILL, TILL THE GLASS RUNS O'ER.

The Bacchanalian Song from Weber's Opera of Der Freyschutz; the Poetry by George Soane, A.B.
Published by Davidson.
Allegro Feroce.

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Let gay ones and great make the most of their fate, From plea-sure to plea-sure they

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JENNY, GET YOUR OAT-CAKE DONE.

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O!

Jenny get your oatcake done-my
A mighty storm dare came one night,
Which put poor nigger in a fright;
De lightning slip all about de sky,
Just like a blind horse dat's broke his thigh.
O! Jenny, &c.

We anchor'd next morning close to shore-
I thought it a dream, or little more-
Dey took me in a boat, I landed at de pier,
But ole nigger could'nt stand, he felt so queer.
O! Jenny, &c.

I went up a street, den turn'd to de right;
I stepp'd just as high as a cow in a fright;
My feet felt so funny, I cut such a figure,
Dat all de folks say,' Dare's a mighty rum nig-
ger!'
O! Jenny, &c.

One white man say I make such a fuss,
So he took me straight to de Mansion-house :
And dare de mayor would'nt let me go,

lady

Jenny get your oatcake done. Till I play'd Lucy Long on my ole banjo. O! Jenny, &c. Now I felt much pleas'd wid all I saw, So I question de mayor 'bout de corn law: And he told me dey mean to repeal it as soon As Hanson goes up in his steam-balloon O! Jenny, &c.

Next I ax'd de mayor, if all was true,
'Bout London smoke going all up one flue:
He say it is propos'd, and dey soon mean to
light

All London wid but one big gas ob a night
O! Jenny, &c.

Now, I tink I say enough 'bout my trabel,
All ober de sea, dry land, and grabel; [know-
Bot dare's one ting, white folks, I wish you to
Dare's no music like dat of de ole banjo.
O! Jenny, &c.

O! REST THEE, BABE.
Composed by John Whittaker.

Andantino

O! slum-ber, my dar-ling, Thy sire is a knight; Thy mo-ther,

a la-dy, so

lovely

and bright! The hills and the dales from the tow'rs which we

see, They

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