For treasure, I've my seamen's love,
And if the foe intends
To venture forth, he soon may prove
The value of such friends:
For while, together, thus we sail,
Britons, united, must prevail.
MY SPIRITS ARE MOUNTING.
Music-at Duncomb's, Middle-Row, Holborn.
My spirits are mounting, my heart's full of glee,
Sweet hope, like a rose, on my bumper I see:
My cares are all coloured with joy as they pass,
And my joy is all sunshine when lit by my glass.
Away from my view fly the world and its strife,-
The banquet of fancy's the seat of my life:
All love's melting energies meet in my soul,
And the fountain of bliss is let loose in my soul.
You ask why I drink, and my reason is plain,-
To gild with bright colours life's picture again;
From the cold track of care my warm heart to remove,
And revel, transported with nature and love.
The fairer I fill still the clearer I think,
Mine is not a clay that grows muddy with drink:
The bubbles that rise in gay colours are dressed,
And love, the soft sediment, lies at my breast.
My spirits in bursts of wild sympathy start, [heart:
And friendship's kind current flows pure from the
With the glow of affection my bosom is fraught,
And I curse the cold maxims dame Prudence has
taught.
What joy-soothing god, when thou bring'st to my view
Those scenes of wild softness my bosom once knew,
I gaze as fond memory's vision goes by,
And double the bliss through the tear in my eye.
Then give me, great gods, but a friend with my wine, Whose heart has been heated and softened like mine: In social effusion we'll cherish each soul,
And spare the wild magic that lies in the bowl,
THE COVE WOT SINGS.
No doubt a song you've heard,
How greatly it delights!
It comprises, in a word,
The luck of a cove wot writes!
Now I've a song so true,
(My mind to truth it clings :)
And I am going to tell you
The luck of a cove wot sings.
Tol de rol, &c.
In a garret I show'd my nob,
In Earl-street, Seven Dials,
My father was a snob,
My mother dealt in wials:
But my mind took higher flights,
I hated low-life things!
Made friends with a cove wot writes,
And now I'm a chap wot sings.
Tol de rol, &c.
When at singing I made a start,
Some said my voice was fine:
I tried a serious part,
But turned to the comic line.
I found out that that was best,
Some fun it always brings:
To the room it gives a zest,
And it suits the cove wot sings.
Tol de rol, &c
To a concert, ball or rout,
Each night I'm asked to go:
With my new toggery I go out,
And I cut no dirty show:
Goes up to the music, all right,
At the women 1 sheep's-eyes flings,
Gets my lush free all the night,
Because I'm the cove wot sings.
If I go to take a room,
There needs no talk or stuff:
'Bout a reference they don't fume,
My word is quite enough.
For my money they don't care a sous,
The landlady kind looks flings:
She's proud to have in her house
A gentleman wot sings.
Each day so well I fare,
On each thing good so fine:
In the grub way well I share,
For I always go out to dine.
And those who ask me so free,
Plenty of their friends brings:
They come for miles, d'ye see?
To hear the chap wot sings.
Tol de rol, &c.
While strolling t'other night,
I dropped in at a house, d'ye see?
The landlord so polite,
Insisted on treating me:
I called for a glass of port,
When half-a-bottle he brings;
SPOKEN.]" How much to pay, landlord?" said I
Nothing of the sort,"
Says he," you're a cove wot sings."
Tol de rol, &c.
Now my song is at an end,
My story through I've run;
And all that I did intend,
Was to cause morsel of fun:
If I succeed, that's right,
There's a pleasure pleasing brings;
And I'll try some other night,
The luck of a chap wot sings.
THE CHARITY-BOY.
Music-at Duncomb's, Middle-Row, Holborn,
No doubt you wonders who I is,
And at my figger you may quiz:
At once your doubts, then, to destroy,
I'm Bobby Miles, the charity boy.
Tho' some folks says as I'm a fool,
I'm a teacher in the charity-school;
And 'cause I am six feet to view,
I'm reckoned the head scholar too.
Oh! vot a pleasure larning is!
For tho' the folks may jeer and quiz,
I'm mammy's pet and daddy's joy;
So, vot d'ye think of the charity boy?
My talent I did quickly show:
At twelve years old, vy, you must know,
Pot-hooks and hangers I wrote free,
'Asides I knowed my A, B, C.
My rising genius not to pass,
They promoted me to the fust class;
And vhen master my school-fellows did vhɛck,
I'd the onner to take 'em on my back.
To be quite punctual is my rule,-
I alvus is the fust in school.
To encourage me, my mother drops
The browns, to buy me lollipops;
Then as to school my vay I drags,
On hard-bake I blows out my bags.
Stale tarts and buns, too, it is plain,
And a spanking piece of allecampane.
Oh! vot, &c.
I'm so accomplished, you must see,
At miveys none can play like me:
At buttons, too, I comes it stout,
I beats my playmates out and out.
My larning, too, no one denies,
As this here proof vill quite suffice:
You hear as I can spell quite pat,
C, A, T, dog, and D, O, G, cat.
Oh! vot, &c.
Vun afternoon I played the vag,
And to the fields my way did drag
To get cock-sorrel: the place I know,
And butter-cups, and daisies, too.
Next day the master scolded me,
And threatened that I horsed should be;
But vhen he made the first attack,
Vy, I vollop'd master like a sack.
On boxing-day my joys increase,
Vor vhen I shows my Christmas-piece,
I gets sich lots o' money then,
'Cause I so vell can use my pen.
And vhen ve has our breaking up,
Oh, crickeys! don't I eat and sup:
To cut avay, 'tis then the time;
O, jigger me tight! it is so prime.
Oh! vot, &c.
So thus you see how blest I are ;-
In larning I bangs Byron far:
With a mind content vhere'er I goes,
And dress'd in these here handsome clo'es,
I ever bless the fate, I'm sure,
Vhich made me humble,-made me poor; For, oh! you can't conceive the joy
It is to be a charity-boy.
Humpty dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty dumpty had a great fall:
I'm mammy's pet and daddy's joy,
So, vot d'ye think of the charity-boy?
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