While as old Vulcan's Cyclops did the anvil bang To forge Jove's thunderbolts, their ponderous hammers clang;

And, till its fire's extinct, the monstrous mas they beat,

To save from adverse winds and waves the gal lant British fleet.

ASCOT RACES.

With spirits, then, Dickey mounts, since all are in their places,

So gaily drest in Sunday's best, dash off for Asco

races;

Yet, ere I go, I think I'll show we're but the fashion gracing,

For high and low, and belle and beau, and all the world are racing.

Some run the right road, some the wrong,
Some crooked and some level;

The parson races to the sky,

The lawyer to the devil.

Young ladies race after dress, their lovers, and the fashion,

Young men they race after them, and often madly dash on ;

The bucks runs after curricles, low waist and high shirt collars,

The tailor races after them, and soon the bailiff follows.

Some men race after health,

Some after pleasure funny;

While other men race after fame,

But all race after money.

The doctor races after fees, in many cases,
And death, and Mr. Sexton, always after doctor

races,

The British soldiers race the foe, who always run before them,

And singers often run away, for the audience to encore them.

Then to the races now I'll race,

Zounds! I've no brains about me; For, while that I've been singing here, They have raced without me,

THE COTTAGE ON THE MOOR. My mam is no more, and my dad s in his grave, Little orphans are sisters and I sadly poor; Industry our wealth, and no dwelling we have But yon neat little cottage that stands on the

moor.

The lark's early song does to labour invite,

Contented, we just keep the wolf from the door, And the sun when declining trips home with delight.

To our neat little cotrage that stands on the moor. Our meals are but homely, mirth sweetens the cheer,

Affection's our inmate the guest we adore

And heart's ease and bearth make a pal cappear, Of our neat little cot age that stan is on the moor,

THE BOAR HUNTERS.

A Woodla d lie amid the bills
We hunters sweetly pass away;

P

Bounding over rock and rills,
From dawn to set of day.

Oh, sweet it is, at dewy morn,

To chase the savage boar,
And hear the echoes of the horn
Mingled with the roar.

HARK AWAY, 'TIS THE MERRY TONED
HORN.

Hark away! 'tis the merry toned horn
Calls the hunters all up in the morn,
To the hills and the woodlands we steer,
To unharbour the outlying deer;

And all the day long, this is our song

Still hallooing and following so frolic and free; Our joy knows no bounds, while we're after the hounds,

No mortals on earth are so jolly as we.

Round the woods, when we beat, how we glow,
While the hills they all echo, hollo,

With a bounce from his lair the stag flies,
Then our shouts long resound through the skies.
Then all the day long, &c.

When we sweep o'er the valleys, or climb
Up the hearth blooming mountain sublime
What a joy from our labours we feel,
Which alone they who taste can reveal.

And all the day long, &c.

THE RAPTURES OF LOVE.
Bacchus, Jove's delight, boy,
Gen'rous god of wine and joy,
Still exhilarates my soul,

With the raptures of the bowl.
Then with feathered feet I bound,
Dancing in the festive round;
Then I feel in sparkling wine,
Transports delicate, and divine.
Then the sprightly music warms,
Songs delight, and beauty charms;
Debonair, and light, and gay,
Thus I dance the hours away.

POLL OF HORSELYDOWN.

Ye landsmen and ye seamen, be ye a head or astern, Come listen unto me, and a story you shall learn ; It's of one Captain Oakum, that you shall quickly hear,

Who was the bold commander of the Peggy privateer;

And he his colours never struck, so great was his

renown,

To never no one soul on earth but Poll of Horselydown.

Miss Polly was a first rate, trick'd out in flabby geer,

And Captain Oakum mct her as to Wapping he did steer,

And as he stood viewing her, and thinking of no

hurt,

A porter passing with a load, capsised him in the

dirt;

Then, taking out his 'bacco box, that cost him half a crown,

He took his quid, and heav'd a sigh to Poll of Horselydown.

He soon found out Poll's father, and dress'd in rich array,

He got permission for to court, and so got under weigh.

Miss Polly he received him all for a lover true, And quite inaniourated of her he quickly grew; He squard and convey'd her all over London town,

Until the

down.

y was fix'd to wed Poll of Horsely

But Poll, she was a knowing one, as you shall quickly find,

And this here Captain Oakum, why love had made him blind;

One morning in Ler chamber he found a cockney lout,

So Capra n shov'd the window up, and chuck'd

my gem man out,

Then cocid is a as a kimbo, and looking with a frown,

He took a quid, and bid good bye to Poll of Horselydown.