With wine he replenished his veins,
And made his philosophy reel,
Then fancied the world, as his brains,
Turned round like a chariot-wheel.

Aristotle, that master of arts,

Had been but a dunce without wine,
For what we ascribe to his parts,
Is due to the juice of the vine.
His belly, some authors agree,

Was as big as a watering-trough,
He therefore leaped into the sea,
Because he'd have liquor enough.

When Pyrrho had taken a glass,

He saw that no object appeared Exactly the same as it was,

Before he had liquored his beard: For, things running round in his drink, Which, sober, he motionless found, Occasioned the sceptic to think

There was nothing of truth to be found.

Old Plato was reckoned divine,

Who, wisely, to virtue was prone But had it not been for good wine, His merit had never been known. By wine we are generous made,

It furnishes fancy with wings: Without it we ne'er should have had Philosophers, poets or kings.

THE WILLOW TREE.

DON'T you remember the vows so tender

You fondly pledged to me,

While the moon and the stars shone sweetly, Under a willow tree?

You vow'd you'd never deceive me,

So fondly I believed thee,

While the moon and the stars shone sweetly,'Twas under a willow tree

What made you say my lips were red,

And make them rosy pale?

But why did I, poor silly maid,

Believe thy flattering tale?

You vow'd you'd never deceive me,

So fondly I believ'd thee,

While the moon and the stars shone sweetly 'Twas under the willow tree.

DRINK TO ME ONLY WITH THINE EYES.

Music-at Chappell's, Bond Street, or Z. T. Purday's,

Holborn.

TRIO.

DRINK to me only with thine eyes.
And I will pledge with mine;

Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from my soul doth rise,
Doth ask a drink divine:

But might I of Jove's nectar sip,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
It would not wither'd be.

But thou thereon did'st only breathe,
And sent it back to me;

Since then, it grows and smells I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.

THE HINDOO WIFE.

Music at Messrs. Monro and May.

Do not, do not leave me,

By my tears thus falling;

Bitter thoughts will grieve me,
When thou art away.

Dark as night each day will be,
Wanting thee, wanting thee,
All my vows recalling;
My light! my life! oh! stay.
Fairer hands may press thee,
Richer lips may woo,

But there's none will love thee,
Like thine own Hindoo.

See, our boy smiling,
In his rosy slumbers,

If for me thou heedest not,

Yet for his sake stay!

Think how changed his lot may be,
Wanting thee, wanting thee,
What shall his mother say ?
If thou need'st must wander,
Let me wander too,
Pity and forsake not,

Thine own, thy poor Hindoo.

PADDY FROM CORK.

Composed by J. BLEWITT.

Music-at Z. T. Purday's, 45, Holborn.

DUBLIN'S a duck of a city,

"Tis built as you go to Ratnfarnham,

Limerick gloves are so pretty,

That Limerick lasses they darn 'em;

At Belfast they sell ready-made pork,

If they meet a mad bull they don't mind himI there met mad Paddy from Cork,

Who buttoned his coat behind him!

Irishmen all love the sod,

Tu ral ral la, &c.

Whisky will bother the toothe-ache, And love, tho' it sounds mighty odd,

Makes the hearts of the spalpens in truth ache: Shelah's mother cried, " Girl, never talk

Of that ugly pawdeen, but pray mind himThere's mischief in Paddy from Cork,

When he buttons his coat behind him!"

Now Pat of good looks didn' lack,

And his tongue it was tipt with the olarney,
Yet he hadn't a brogue to his back,
(Except two on his feet) from Killarney;
Upper leather, of wood, didn't balk,

He s eps, when a jig so inclin'd him-
Like a devil danced Paddy from Cork,

When his coat it was buttoned behind him!

At Ballanahinch on fair days,

When he threw down his modest snillaley, Devils cure to the soul! that said-Peace, He'd got Eringobrallagland gaily;

For hay or rump-steaks he'd a fork,

Work or meat to no limit confined him

Such a vourneen was Paddy from Cork,

When his coat it was buttoned behind him!

Pat spoke to his reverence--the priest,
Mistress Hogan grew vastly unruly,
And swore to kill all three at least,

Shelah, Paddy, and Father O'Dooley;

Then Pat set the noggins to work,

And Shelah, she swore that she'd blind himThen to church she led Paddy from Cork,

In the coat that was buttoned behind him!

ERE AROUND THE HUGE OAK. Music-at Leoni Lee's, Albemarle Street, and Duncomb's, Middle-Row, Holborn.

ERE around the huge oak that o'ershadows yon mill,
The fond ivy had dared to entwine;

Ere the church was a ruin that nods on the hill,
Or a rook built its nest on the pine;

Could I trace back the time, a far distant date,
Since my forefathers toiled in this field;
And the farm I now hold on your honour's estate,
Is the same which my grandfather till'd.
He, dying, bequeathed to his son a good name,
Which, unsullied, descended to me:

[shame;

For my child I've preserved it, unblemished with And it still from a spot shall be free.

THE FAITHLESS LOVER.

Music-at Duncomb's, Middle-Row, Holborn.

Far, far from me my lover flies—

A faithless lover he:

In vain my tears, in vain my sighs:

No longer true to me

He seeks another.

Lie still, my heart! no longer grieve,

No pangs to him betray,

Who taught you these sad sighs to heave,

Then, laughing, went away

To seek another.

THE LAST ADIEU.

Music-at Alcroft's.

FAREWELL, dearest! fare thee well!
And blessings with thee go;
May sunshine be upon thy path,
And flowers around thee grow.