after death; And he that will this health de ny, Down among the dead men, 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; May love and wine their rites maintain, While Bacchus' treasure crowns the board, YOUNG ELLEN LORAINE. 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 PPP ad lib. 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, And friends of gay fortune look cold on thy wane; O! speak not to me-in those eyes I discover Go, rest in the arms of a happier lover ; Go, lovely, but faithless, young Ellen Loraine ! Go, lovely, but faithless, young Ellen Loraine! tree: While roses are sleep-ing, And night-dews are weep-ing, And Ella is P 3 keep-ing her footsteps for me, Slentando. And Ella is keep-ing her footsteps for El-la's bright eyes A are beam-ing on me! Then, haste with thy light, La- dy of night! Shed thy soft beams o-ver streamlet and tree: While ro - ses are sleep-ing, And night-dews are weep-ing, And Ella is keeping her foot-steps for me! And Ella is Sten.. 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 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. Let gay ones and great make the most of their fate, From plea-sure to plea-sure they JENNY, GET YOUR OAT-CAKE DONE. O! Jenny get your oatcake done-my We anchor'd next morning close to shore- I went up a street, den turn'd to de right; One white man say I make such a fuss, 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, All London wid but one big gas ob a night Now, I tink I say enough 'bout my trabel, O! REST THEE, BABE. 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 |