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At night, my good friends of the vine,
Rosy health, &c,
THE SUN THAT LIGHTS THE ROSES.
Though dimpled cheeks may give delight,
The sun that lights the roses.
A Jew, they called him Isaac Mo,
But dragged him through the dirt, O !
Grunting, pulling all the way, A week! a week! his cry, sirs, And Isaac cried, Ma Cot! ma! I'm sure that I shall die, sirs. Now when the pig was satisfied, And when he had done his play sir, Says Isaac, come here. Mr. Pig, I have a word to say, sir. Will you come and live with me? Come for how long will you stop sir? The pig cried, Week! and Isaac soon With piggy marched away, sir. Grunting, pulling, &c.
Mo took the pig for piggy's week;
A week! a week! he cried, sirs,
I'm Simon Bore, just come from college,
Though some, perhaps, may call me quiz,
So you all must acknowledge, O, I've made good use of college O, Whilst I was there, completely bare, I stript the tree of knowledge, O. Hay is brought to town in carts,
Ham sandwiches ar'nt made of tin: They don't feed cows on apple tarts,
Nor wear gilt spurs upon the chin: Bullocks don't wear opera hats,
Fiddles are not make of cheese,
Boil'd salmon does not grow on trees.
Putty is not good to eat,
Frying pans ar'nt made of gauze; Penny rolls are made of wheats
Straw bonnets, too, are made of straws; Horses don't wear Hessian boots,
The Thames is not mock turtle soup, A child can't eat an iron hoop,
And pigs don't play the German flute.
Kittens are but little cats,
Mousetraps are not county jails; Whales are full as large as sprat,
They don't stuff geese with copper nails; A German waltz is not an hymn,
The French are mostly born in Frances
Fishes arn't afraid to swim,
Twenty turnips make a score,
They don't make wigs of bamboo cane;
A cabbage cannot dance a jig;
Fifty pounds of yellow soap
Weigh more than twenty five of cheese; An oyster cannot chew a rope,
Poor people have a right to sneeze; Pigs don't read the Morning Post,
Watch chains are not roasting jacks; They don't make boats of butter'd toast, Red herrings don't pay powder tax.
THE HEART THAT CAN FEEL FOR
Jack Steadfast and I were both messmates at sea,
And the boast of a tar, wheresoever he sails,
Is the heart that can feel for another.
When often suspended 'twixt water and sky,
Convinced we must brave one and t'other; And like jolly sailors in life's chequer'd game, Give the heart that can feel for another, Thus smiling at peril at sea or on shore, We box the old compass right cheerly; Toss the can, boys, about—and a word or two more, Yes, drink to the girls we lov'd dearly; For sailors, pray mind me, tho' strange kind of fish, Love the girls just as dear as their mother; And, what's more, they love, what I hope you all
'Tis the heart that can feel for another.
The Woodman's life, tho' doom'd to toil,
That bids him independent live,
That frowns upon his humble lot,
The cheerful song that swells around; 'Tis sweetest music to the ear,
To list the falling axe around.