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nd why talk's fatiguing, and moisture is wanting By each spokesman, or else I'm no sinner; and to make us more thirsty, to hear we are all panting,

Next Monday's &c. &c.

Feasts on Thursday, and Friday, and Saturday follow;

On business 'tis always we dine;

Vell fed argument, folks say, your starv'd talks beats hollow,

When moistened with tongue oiling wine.

'hen who'd not be warden who breaths in his senses,

Fine pickings he'll find on the bone, very week day I feast upon parish expenses, And on Sunday I feast at my own. [Spoken.]-Because-why's why; and I takes are the parish shall come down a little, for I fear should come to the parish; and if I do, I knows That's what-and whose grinders would soon ave a holiday.

And none, &c.

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Cease your funning.
Force or cunning,

Never shall my heart trepan;

All these sallies,
Are but malice,

To seduce my constant man.
'Tis most certain,
By their flirting,

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Women oft have envy shown
Pleas'd to ruin,
Others wooing,
Never happy in their own.


Here's the bow'r she lov'd so much,
And here's the tree she planted:
Here's the harp she us'd to touch,

Oh! how that touch enchanted!
Roses now unheeded sigh,

Where's the hand to wreathe them?
Songs around neglected lie,


Where's the lips to breathe them?

Spring may bloom, but she we lov'd
Ne'er shall feel its sweetness;
Time that once so fleetly moved,
Now hath lost its fleetness;

Years were days when here she stray'd,
Days were moments near her;
Heaven ne'er form'd a brighter maid,
Nor pity wept a dearer.


Escap'd with life in tatters,
Behold me safe on shore,
Such trifles little matters,

I'll soon get togs galore;
For Poll swore, when we parted,
No chanee her faith would jar,

And Poll's too tender hearted,
To slight a ship-wreck'd tar.
Now Poll his course straight steering
He hastens on apace,
Poor Jack can't get a hearing-
She never saw his face ;
From Meg, and Doll, and Kitty,
Relief was just as far,
Not one had the least pity
For a poor shipwreck'd tar.

This, whom he thought love's needle,
Now his want and misery mocks;
And wants to find the beadle

To set him in the stocks;
Cry'd I, this is hard dealing,

The elements at war,
Than these had kinder feeling

They sav'd a ship-wreck'd tar.
But all their taunts and fetches

A judgment are to me,
I, for these harden'd wretches,
Dear Nancy slighted thee;
But see, poor Tray assails me,
His mistress is not far,
He wags
his tail and hails me,
Though a poor shipwreck'd war.

'Twas faithful love that brought him,
A lesson for mankind:

'Tis one, cry'd I, that taught him,
For one my constant mind
Thy image dear was given,
And now remov'd each bar,


My arms shall be a haven
For my poor shipwreck'd tar.
Heav'n and my love reward thee,

I'm shipwreck'd but I'm rich ;
And shall with pride regard thee,

Thy love shall so bewitch.
With wonder, each fond fancy,

That children near and far,
Shall lisp the name of Fancy,
That sav'd the shipwreck'd tar.


When we two parted,

In silence and tears,
Half broken hearted,
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek, and cold,
Colder the kiss!

Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of morning

Such chill on my brow,
It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame,
I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear ;

A shudder comes o'er me-
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee to well!
Long, long shall I rue thee
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met,

In silence I grieve,
That my heart would forget,
Thy spirit deceive!
If I should meet thee

After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears!


The mountain maid from her bower hired,
And sped to the glassy river's side,

Where the radiant moon shone clear and bright,
And the willows wav'd in the silver light,
On a mossy bank lay a shepherd swain,
He woke his pipe to a tuneful strain,
And so blithely gay were the notes he played,
That he charmed the heart of the Mountain Maid.

She stopp'd, with timid fear oppress'd,
While a soft sigh swells her, gentle breast,
He caught her glance, and mark'd her sigh,
And triumph laugh'd in his sparkling eye.
So softly sweet was his tuneful ditty,
He charm'd her tender soul to pity,
And so blithely gay were the notes he played,
That he gained the heart of the Mountain Maid,

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