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My daughter Isabel and thee shall be a wedded pair, For thou art bravest of the brave, and she the fairest fair."

"For thou art bravest," &c.

And then they bound the holy knot, before Saint Mary's shrine,

That makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and hands combine;

And every lord and lady bright that were in chapel there,

Cried, "Honour'd be the bravest knight, belov'd the fairest fair."

Cried, "Honour'd be," &c.


Ben Block was a veteran of ancient renown,
And renown was his only reward;

The Board still neglected his merits to crown,
For no interest had be with the lord.
Yet staunch as old Benbow was honest old Ben,
He'd laugh at the cannon's loud roar,
When death dealing broadsides makes worms'-
meat of men,

And the scuppers ran streaming with gore.
Nor could a lieutenant's poor stipend provoke
Honest Ben to refuse scanty prog,

His biscuit he'd break, turn his quid, crack his joke
And drown care in a jorum of grog

Thus year after year, in a subaltern's state,
Ben fought for his country and bled,
Till time had unthatch'd all the roof from his pate,
And the hair from his temples had fled.

́t happen'd he met (since his pate it was bare) The First Lord of the Admiralty, once; Honest Ben," quoth his lordship, "you've lost all your hair,

Since the last time I peep'd at your sconce." "Why, my lord," replied Ben, "it with truth may be said,

The bare poles I long have stood under; When so many young captains walk over my head, To see me quite scalp't 'twere no wonder."

When Vulcan forged the bolts of Jove,
In Ætna's roaring glow,
Neptune petition'd he might prove
Their use and pow'r below;
But finding in the boundless deep,

Such thunders would but idly sleep,
He with them arm'd Britannia's band,
To guard from foes her native land.
Long may she hold the awful right,
And when thro' circling flame,
She darts her vengeance in the fight,
May justice guide her aim!
While if assail'd in future wars,

Her soldiers brave, and gallant tars Shall launch her fires from every hand, On every foe to Britain's land.

THE ROBIN'S PETITION. When the leaves had deserted the trees, And the forests were chilly and bare;

When the brooks were beginning to freeze, And the snow waver'd fast through the air, A robin had fled from the wood,

To the snug habitations of man;
On the threshold the wand'rer stood,
And thus his petition began;
"The snow's coming down very fast,
No sbelter is found on the tree;
When you hear this unpitying blast,
I pray you take pity on me.

"The hips and the haws are all gone, I can find neither berry nor sloe ; The ground is as hard as a stone,

And I'm almost buried in snow. My dear little nest, once so neat,

Is now empty, and ragged, and torn ; On some tree, should I now take my seat,

I should be frozen quite fast before morn. Then throw me a morsel of bread,

Take me in by the side of your fire,
And when I am warmed and fed,
I'll whistle without other hire.
"Till the sun be again shining bright,
And the snow is all gone, let me stay;
O! see what a terrible night,

I shall die if you drive me away:
And when you come forth in the morn,
And are talking and walking around,
O! how will your bosom be torn,

When you see me lie dead on the ground. Then pity a poor little thing,

And throw me a part of your store, I'll fly off in the first of the spring,

And never will trouble you more.”


dds blood! what a time for a seaman to skulk Under gingerbread hatches ashore; What a d-d bad job that this batter'd old hulk Can't be rigg'd out for sea once more. But the puppies as they pass. Jocking up their squinting glass, Thus run down the old commodore; That's the old commodoreThe rum old commodoreThe gouty old commodore!-He! Why the bullets and the gout Have so knock'd his bull about, That he'll never more be fit for sea.

Here am I in distress, like a ship water-logg'd,
Not a tow-rope at hand, or an oar;
and may I be flogged

I am left by my crew,
But the doctor's a son of a w-e.
While I'm swallowing his slops,
How nimble are his chops,
Thus queering the old commodore:
A bad case, commodore-
Can't say, commodore-
Mustn't flatter, commodore, says he,
For the bullets and the gout
Have so knock'd your hull about,
That you'll never more be fit for sea.

What no more to be afloat? blood and fury! they lie !

I'm a seaman, and three score;

And if, as they tell me, I'm likely to die,

Gadzooks! let me not die on shore.

As to death, its all a joke,
Sailors live in fire and smoke,

So, at least, says the old commodore,
The rum old commodore-
The tough old commodore-
The fighting old commodore ;-He!-
Whom the devil, nor the gout,
Nor the French dogs to boot,
Shall kill till they grapple him at sea.

I'VE KISS D, &c.

I've kiss'd and I've prattled to fifty fair maids, And chang'd them as oft d'ye see;

But of all the fair maidens that dance on the green, The maid of the mill for me.

There's fifty young men have told me fine tales, And call d me the fairest she;

But of all the gay wrestlers that sport on the green Young Harry's the lad for me.


Her eyes are as black as the sloe on the hedge, Her face like the blossom in May,

Her teeth are as white as the new-shorn flock, Her breath like new made hay.

He's tall and he's straight as the poplar tree,
His cheeks are as fresh as the rose,
He looks like a squire of high degree,
When dress'd in his Sunday clothes.


The sapling oak lost in the dell,
Where tangled brakes its beauties spoil,

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