Here's to the wife with a face full of woe,
And here's to the girl that is merry.

Let the toast pass, &c

Let her be clumsy, or let her be slim,
Young or ancient, I care not a feather;
So fill a pint bumper quite up to the brim,
And e'en let us toast them together.

Let the toast pass, &e.

THE BRITISH TRUE BLUE.

When the drum beats to arms each bold British tar,

Bids farewell to his girl, wife, or friend, Courageously flies to the dangers of war, His country and king to defend.

His heart burns for victory, for honour and gain, Determined his foes to subdue,

Thus flies to the bulwarks that sail on the main, None can equal the courage of true blue.

Now noble is the sight of the grand British fleet
As down Channel, their course they do steer,
Each true British tar longs his enemy to meet,
No storms nor no dangers does fear;

His heart burns for victory, honour, and gain,
Determined his foes to subdue,

Thus flies to the bulwarks that sail on the main,
None can equal the courage of true blue.

If our enemies should dare for to meet us once more,

Like lightning to our quarters we'll fly,

ke thunder in the air our great guns they shall

roar,

Determined to conquer or die;

ir officers and tars, they are valiant and brave; Our admirals are loyal and true,

ley die by their guns, Britons' right to maintain,

None can equal the courage of true blue.

yard arm and yard-arm alongside of our foes,
Our strong floating batteries should lie,
our enemies should sink and chance to go down,
To our boats then we instantly fly;
times of distress all assistance we give,
All dangers we eagerly pursue,

Our foes we save from their watery grave,
Nor can equal the courage of true blue.

hen our prize we have taken and made her our

own,

For some port our ship gloriously steers,

hen our harbour we've gained, and arrived at home,

We give our admiral three cheers,

e drink a good health to our kind loving wives, And each pretty girl that's constant and true; Now this is the way that we spend our lives, None can equal the courage of true blue.

GOD SPEED THE PLOUGH.

e me my plough and my song,

n the fields shall my time pass away;
Eh the larks and linnets among,
Will I eheerfully sing through the day.

About three I return to my stud,

And unharness my team for a time,
Cheer the lad with best praise for his load,
And then on sweet bacon to dine.

Full of health and good spirits I find,
Nor doth Care ever wrinkle my brow,
I've content and a sound peace of mind,
And a competence joined to my plough;
Still abroad, with the circling sun,

Let me breathe wholesome air to life's close And each night, when my labour is done, Have uninterrupted repose.

To my work when from home I repair,

List to the woodlark s soft note and the dove While the lad whisting, thinks not of care And the nightingales sing through the grove While the thrush, warbling loud from the tree And the blackbirds, melodiously sing, When the rooks all around me do play, What joys like the joys of the spring? When my masters to market will go, With the fruit of our industry joined, O'er a bowl of good liquor to show,

In return is good Providence kind;
His barns are well filled with good store,
And his cattle are healthy and strong,
No disaster is found all the world o'er,
To injure the praise of my song.

When bright Phebus each morn does arise
And cheers the day scene with his ray,
From my bed as I cheerfully rise,

And join in glad thanks for the day;

my health, my wealth, and my song, nd content, that smiles on my brow: lat night with my plough mates among,

'or my song sing "Good speed the plough!"

AR FROM HIS NATIVE MOUNTAINS.

Far from his native mountains torn
To swell the merchant's store,
The hapless Negro stands forlorn,
And views the dreadful shore,
So youthful maidens, doomed to wed
Where least their hearts desire,
Behold with mingled grief and dread,
The fatal convent's spire.

The bird, on fearless rapid wing,
Flies to the verdant grove,
There, with his happy mate, to sing
The joys of mutual love.

So youthful maidens, doomed to wed
Where most their hearts desire,
With light and airy paces tread,
To view the convent's spire.

HER MOUTH WITH A SMILE.

Her mouth with a smile,

Devoid of all guile,

Half open to view

Is the bud of the rose,
In the morning that blows,
Impearl'd with the dew.

More fragrant her breath,
Than the flower-scented heath
At the dawning of day:
The hawthorn in bloom,
The lily's perfume,

Or the blossoms of May.

IRISH PROVIDENCE.

My darling says Pat, to his spouse on his lap,
At this present moment we're not worth a rap,
With our faces so lean, and our duds on ou

backs,

Our cow and our pig, my dear Norah are dead,
Not a single potatoe is left us for bread,
The science of ploughing my father taught me,
So I'll e'en try the water and plough the salt sea-
With my Jill, sing Jack, sing Biblio whack,
Says Norah, when you're on the ocean, my life,
Sure Providence then will take care of your wife,

For no babies have we, not a Jill nor a Jack;But when Pat was away, what did Providence do,~ Made the squire build for Norah a cabin quite new He furnished it gaily, to dry up her tears,

And he peopled it too in the space of three years

With his Jill, and his Jack, sing Biblio whack. But when Paddy return'd how it gladdened his heart,

To see his dear Norah so fine and so smart, With her rings to her ears, and her silks on be back,

And who furnished for you this cabin, says Pat?