So told me slap

She's have him with one eye meant. The object I lov'd

I fondly hop'd to marry it,
But hope false prov'd

So I lost pretty Harriet.
All you meet

In woman that can funny be,
From sweet to sweet

She wanders like a honey bee.

My bosom it burn'd

With passion's hottest ecstacy; But it was spurn'd,

Which I was very vext to see, She by him, one day,

To the church was ask'd to go;

She didn't say nay,

So they did to the pastor go. From me he fish'd,

My prize, and off did carry it,

And I was dish'd

For I lost pretty Harriet.

I'm now like a fish

All you meet, &c.

Out of water, such as jack or eel; And as on a switch

You've seen dangling a mackerel, On some large tall tree

I'll dangle precious high, sir: Or in a dish of tea

I'll take a dose of poison, sir. This resolve I'll keep,

And in the end will carry it,

And in death's cold sleep
Forget my woes and Harriet.

He's a flat, &c.

THE CASTILIAN MAID.

Oh, remember the time, in La Mancha's gay shades”
Where the moments so blissfully flew,
When you called me the pride of Castilian maids,
And I blush'd to be call'd so by you.

When you taught me to warble the gay seguidill,
Or to dance to the light castanet:

Ah never, dear youth, let you roam where you will,
The delight of these moments forget.

They tell me ye lovers of Erin's green isle,
Too soon a new passion may feel;
And soon in the light of some lovelier smile,
You'll forget the poor maid of Castile.
But they know not how brave in the battle
you are,
Or they never could think you would rove,
For 'tis always the spirit most gallant in war,
That's fondest and truest in love.

YOU DON'T EXACTLY SUIT MÈ,

A youth to me a wooing came,
For pity did implore me,

And hop'd I ne'er could slight or blame
The lad that must adore me.

I lik'd him much, but hid my plan,
To see how he'd requite me,iga 37 8
So frowning oried, don't tease, young man,
You don't exactly suit me.

He seem'd confounded, vex'd, he star'd,
Then vow'd he'd ne'er deceive me,
Says I, your presence can be spar'd,
If you please. Sir, you may leave me.
To leave you love I never can,

I swear by all your beauty:

Now pray, says I, don't tease, young man,
You don't exactly suit me.

He started, sigh'd, hung down his head,
Which prov'd I'd fairly caught him,
O haste, my love, to church he said;
You see to what I'd brought him.
Dear Sir, says I, if that's my fate,
To wed's a woman's duty,
Let's fly, or we shall be too late,
You now exactly suit me.

THE GARDEN GATE.

The day was closed, the moon shone bright,
The village clock struck eight,
When Sylvia hastened with delight,
To open the garden gate;

Be sure, as if to drive her mad,

The gate was there but not the lad,
Which made poor Sylvia, grieving, cry,
Was ever maid so used as I?

She paced the garden here and there,
The village clock struck nine,
When Sylvia cried, in wild despair,
He sha'n't, be sha'n't be mine!
Last night he vowed the garden gate
Should find him there, this eve, at eight;

But this I'll let the creature see,
He ne'er shall make a fool of me.

She ceased, a noise her ear alarms,
The village clock struck ten;
When William caught her in his arms,
And ne'er to part again;

He show'd the ring, to wed next day,
He'd been to buy, a long, long way:
How, then, could Sylvia cruel prove,
To one that did so truly love!

MAID OF ATHENS.

Maid of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh! give me back my heart,
Or since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest,
Hear me vow before I go,
Zoe mou sas agapo.

By those tresses unconfin'd,
Floating on th' Ægean wind;
By those lids whose jetty fringe,
Kiss thy soft cheeks blooming ringe,
By those wild eyes like the roe,
Zoe mou sas agapo.

By that lip I long to taste,

By that zone encircled waist,

By all the token flowers that tell,
What words can ne'er speak so well,
By love's alternate joy and woe,
Zoe mou sas agapo.

Maid of Athens, I am gone,

Think of me, sweet! when alone:

Though I fly to Istamboul,
Athens holds my heart and soul,
Can I cease to love thee? no!
Zon mou sas agapo.

THE LAST SHILLING.

As pensive one night in my garret I sate,
My last shilling produced on the table;
That adventure, cried I, might a history relate,
If to think and to speak it were able.
Whether fancy or magic 'twas played me the freak,
The face seemed with life to be filling;
And cried, instantly speaking, or seeming to speak,
Pay attention to me-thy last shilling.

I was once the last coin of the law a sad limb,
Who in cheating was ne'er known to falter;
Till at length brought to justice, the law cheated him
And he paid me to buy him a halter;

A Jack tar, all his rhino but me at an end,
With a pleasure so hearty and willing,
Though hungry himself, to the poor distressed friend
Wished it hundreds-and gave his last shilling.
'Twas the wife of his messmate, who glist'ning eye,
With pleasure ran o'er as she view'd me;

She changed me for bread, as her child she heard

And at parting with tears she bedewed me. But I've other scenes known, riot leading the way, Pale want their poor families chilling;

Where rakes in their revels, the piper to pay, Have spurned me-their best friend and last shilling.