But tell me, lovers of liquor divine,

Did ye e'er see a frown in a bumper of wine?
Her lilies and roses were just in their prime,
But lilies and roses are conquer'd by time;
But in wine, from its age, such a benefit flows,
That we like it the better the older it grows.
They tell me my love would in time, have been
cloy'd,

And that beauty's insipid when once 'tis enjoyed;
But in wine I both time and enjoyment defy,
For the longer I drink the more thirsty am I.
Let murders, and battles, and history prove
The mischiefs that wait upon innocent love;
But drinking, than Heaven, no rival contends,
For the more we love liquor, the more we love
friends.

She, too, might have poison'd the joy of my life
With nurses and babies, and squalling and strife:
But my wine neither nurses nor babies can bring,
And a big bellied bottle's a might good thing.
We shorten our days when with love we engage,
It brings on diseases and hastens old age;
But wine from death can its votaries save,
And keep out t'other leg when there's one in the

grave.

Perhaps like her sex, ever false to their word,
She had left me to get an estate or a lord;
But my bumper, re,arding not title or pelf,
Will stand by me when I can't stand by myself.
Then let my dear Cloe no longer complain,
She's rid of her lover and I of my pain;
For in wine, mighty wine, many comforts I spy,
Should you doubt what I say, take a bumper, and

try.

ALLY CROAKER.

There liv'd a man in Balenocrazy,
Who wanted a wife to make him uneasy:
Long had he sigh'd for dear Ally Croaker,
And thus the gentle youth he bespoke her,
Will you marry me dear Ally Croaker.

This artless young man just come from the schoolery,

A novice in love and all its foolery;
Too dull for a wit, too grave for a joker,
And thus the gentle youth he bespoke her,
Will you, &c.

He drank with the father, he talked with the mother,

He romp'd with the sister, he gam'd with the brother;

And gam'd till he pawn'd his coat to the broker, Which lost him the heart of his dear Ally Croaker. Oh the fickle &c.

To all you young men who are fond of gaming,
And losing your money while others are saving,
Fortune's a jilt, the devil may choke her,
A jilt more inconstant than dear Ally Croaker.
O the inconstant &c.

THE HOPE THAT GUIDES TO MORrow.

When fait ful lovers meet

Ere the hour of sorrow,
Hope's radiant or will prove

The sun that knows no morrow;
But when their bosoms beat

With purest throbs of pleasure,

More dear than wealth possessed
In nature's boundless treasure.
Grief stole the early rose

From Beauty's cheek for ever,
But grief and absence strove,

In vain their hearts to sever.
Once more the lovers meet,

Past the hour of sorrow,
Friendship and love unite

The hope that guides to morrow.

SURE I AM A HEBREW MAN.
Sure I am a Hebrew man,

And well known in Duke's Place,
Vere, since honesty's my plan,

I can boldly show my face:
Vat, though monish I lends out,

'Tis but vat my neighbours do,
Den I never sheets the needy,
Upon my vord 'tis true;
No; I'm content vith vat I gets,
Sir, in an honest vay:
My debts I never once forgets,
But cheerfully dem pay;
And though the Christians flout,
And call me heathen Jew,
Why I know I'm acting right,
Vy, 1 minds not vat they do.

Spoken.] No, no; though I say it myself, I have a heart so tremblingly alive to the mistor tunes of my fellow creatures, dat it is only when am relieving their wants I can sing, Tol de lol &c.

If ven valking through the street
Some poor creature meets my eye,
Who naked, cold, and hungry,
Implores my charity;
I never tinks to ask

His religion or his name,
No; he's a brother, and in want,
Sure that's sufficient claim
Upon my purse to help his need,
And save him from distress,
Whilst I do this I shall succeed
And Providence me bless.
Den let the vorld still flout,

And call me heathen Jew,
Whilst I know I'm acting right,
I minds not vat they do.

Spoken.] No, no; for it is de vay of de vorld to make ill natured remarks a top of those who do better den themselves, but vhilst I have a clear conscience, their scorn will not hinder me from singing

Tol de lol, &c.

Let misers hoard up money
And hide it from the day,
Let parents stake their children's bliss,
That ne'er shall be my vay;

I'm rich, 'tis true, but should my son
To vife a beggar take,

Let virtue be her portion,

I'll never dem forsake.
True love should ever join our hands,
And interest kick the beam,

For bliss dwells not where gold commands,
Though they may happy seem.
Would men these maxims keep,
Whether Christian, Turk or Jew,
Upon my vord 'tis true.

Spoken.] Aye, aye, ven a man can clap his hand a-top of his heart, and say he has done no one an injury, he need not be afraid to sing with me,

Tol de lol, &c.

THE DEIL'S AWA WI' THE EXCISEMAN.
The deil cam fiddling through the town,
And danc'd awa wi' the exciseman,
An ilka auld wife cried, Auld Mahoun,
We wish you luck o' the prize, man.

6

We'll mak our maut, and brew our drink,

We'll dance and sing, and rejoice, man: And mony thanks to the muckle black deil,

That danc'd awa wi' the exciseman. There's threesome reels, and foursome reels,

There's hornpipes and strath speys, man; But the ae best dance e'er came to our lan', Was the deil's awa wi' the exciseman. We'll mak, &c.

THE CHESAPEAKE AND SHANNON.

At Boston one day as the Chesapeake lay,
The captain his crew thus began on :