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At night, my good friends of the vine,
We sing to the sports of the field.

Rosy health, &c,


Though dimpled cheeks may give delight,
Where rival beauties blossom,
Though balmy lips to love invite
To ecstacy the bosom;
Yet sweeter far yon summer sky,
Whose blushing tint discloses,
Give me the lustre beaming eye.

The sun that lights the roses.
The voice of love is soft and clear,
Exciting soft emotion;
How sweet it sounds upon the ear,
Like music on the ocean;
Yet dearer far to lover's sight,
The eye that truth discloses,
Surpassing with its splendid light,
The sun that lights the roses.


A Jew, they called him Isaac Mo,
Along the road did go, sirs,
And swaggered most ungraciously,
Into a ditch of snow, sirs.
A pig was journeying that way,
Who caught him by the skirt, O!
And wouldn't let poor Isaac lay,

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;
Then, like a knowing elf, sirs,
Says he, your pigship now I'll keep
Just for one week, myself, sir;
But he was caught, was tried, and hang'd
Just after he was taken:
And this said Jew, for stealing pig
Was hang'd as dead as bacon,
Grunting, pulling, all the way,

A week! a week! he cried, sirs,
The drop it fell, 'tis known full well,
And poor Mo Isaac died, sirs.


I'm Simon Bore, just come from college,
My studies I've pursued so far-
I'm call'd, for my surprising knowledge,
The walking Cyclopædia;

Though some, perhaps, may call me quiz,
Their jeers I value not a jot,
In art and nature, all that is,
I tell you-aye, and that's not.

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,
Nor pigeon pies of water rats-

Boil'd salmon does not grow on trees.
So you must all, &c.

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.
So you must all, &c.

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,
And turkeys seldom learn to dance.
So you must all, &c.

Twenty turnips make a score,
Dustmen rarely drink champaign;
A cow's tail rarely grows before,

They don't make wigs of bamboo cane;
Dutchmen sometimes lay in beds,

A cabbage cannot dance a jig;
Grass doth not grow on ladies heads,
A bull dog need not wear a wig.
So you may all, &c.

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.


Jack Steadfast and I were both messmates at sea,
And plough'd half the world o'er together,
And many hot battles encounter'd have we,
Strange climates and all kind of weather.
But seamen, you know, are inured to hard gales,
Determined to stand by each other;

And the boast of a tar, wheresoever he sails,

Is the heart that can feel for another.


When often suspended 'twixt water and sky,
And death yawn'd on all sides around us,
Jack Steadfast and I, scorn'd to murmur or sigh,
For dangers could never confound us,
Smooth seas and rough billows to us were the

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,
Is bless'd beyond what wealth can give :
And dear to him his native soil,

That bids him independent live,
And if a care the morning knows,

That frowns upon his humble lot,
How swee. at eve the calm repose
That smiles upon the woodman's cot;
At early dawn he loves to hear

The cheerful song that swells around; 'Tis sweetest music to the ear,

To list the falling axe around.

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