When the bat, with beetle eyes,
Round the spiry turret flies;
Then I seek the willow grove,
Then I fly to meet my love!

When the light of day's departing,
And her beams bright Luna's darting;
When the raven journeys home,
And the heifers cease to roam;
When the merry pipe and tabor
Call the rustic swains from labour;
Then I seek the willow grove,
Then I fly to meet my love!

THE MICHAELMAS GOOSE.

66

A PARODY ON THE MISTLETOE BOUGH."

THE Michaelmas goose lay in Leadenhall,
On the outside of a poulterer's stall;
The poulterer's boys were blithe and gay,
Keeping of Leadenhall Market-day:
The poulterer, though his stock profuse,
Kept twigging with pride the Michaelmas goose;
Whilst she with her neck broke, seem'd to be
The best of all gooses that could be.

Oh! the Michaelmas goose,

Oh! the Michaelmas goose.

"I'm tired of walking," an old maid did cry, "I've walk'd to the market a goose for to buy: And poulterer be sure that you give me, I pray; The best of your gooses for Michaelmas day!" Then a thief ran by, and straight began, To finger the goose, and away he ran: And he the poulterer out loud did call, "Oh! I've lost the best goose in all Leadenhall !” Oh! my Michaelmas goose, &c.

They sought it that hour, they sought it all day,
They sought it in vain till the night passed away
The cleanest the dirtiest-the filthiest spot,
The old maid sought wildly, but found it not;
At length as onward she did roam,

She kept looking for the goose all the way she went home;

When the old maid appeared, oh! the children did cry, "Twig the old woman that went a large goose to buy!" Oh! the Michaelmas goose, &c.

The thief was caught at morning's light,
They searched his pockets, when oh! what a sight;
For a bit of a goose lay smoking there,

In the breeches pocket, the thief did wear:
The thief laugh'd aloud, and swore it was jest ;
But they took him before the Lord Mayor, 'cause he
knows best,

Who decided against him, so now laugh your fill!
For three months he was sent to step at the mill.
All through prigging a goose,
Oh! the Michaelmas goose.

FLOW ON, THOU SHINING RIVER.

FLOW on thou shining river,

But, ere thou reach the sea,
Seek Ella's bower and give her
The wreath I fling o'er thee.
And tell her thus, if she'll be mine,
The current of our lives shall be,
With joy's along their course to shine,
Like those sweet flowers on thee.

But if, in wandering thither,

Thou find 'st she mocks my prayer,
Then leave those leaves to wither,
Upon the cold bank there;

And tell her thus, when youth is o'er,
Her lone and loveless charms shall be
Thrown by upon life's weedy shore,
Like those sweet flowers from thee.

OH! London's the town

To gain wealth and renown,

If only good luck will your labours repay;
And none need despair

Of being made a Lord Mayor,

If he gets the good fortune to find out the way.
But, though highly we rate

All the splendour and state

Of those who are raised to the grand civic chair,
A man has no leisure

For taking his pleasure,

He's so much to do when he's made a Lord Mayor!
His troubles begin

Just before he's sworn in,

When he's doom'd through the streets in procession to crawl;

In a November fog,

('Stead of taking warm grog,)

He's forced to "take water" to Westininster Hall! And when he gets there,

He does nothing but "swear,"

And invite all the judges to eat city fare;
So he's really no leisure, &c.

Such numbers repair

To his Mansion-House chair,

And each with some grievance his Lordship acquaints: Thus he finds in condition

He's like a physician,

For he daily sits listening to people's "complaints."

In one room he receives

Beggars, paupers, and thieves,

So of course he's not breathing a very pure
Oh! a man has no leisure, &c.

He can no where approach
In his city state coach,

air ;

But tag-rag and bob-tail must all have a stare ;
Though a lord he is made,

And has left off his trade.

He still finds the "Compter" is under his care.
He attends Common Halls,

Goes in state to St. Paul's,

And they can't do without him at Bartlemy fair!
He has really no leisure, &c.

He's at Old Bailey Sessions,
And aldermen's sittings,

And all turtle eatings that's done at Guildhall;
All water excursions,
Swan-hopping diversions,

And feasting at Richmond, Gravesend, and Blackwall
Then, wherever he's dining,

The guests are repining,

If he does not keep "wining" with every soul there. Oh! how can he have leisure, &c.

His duties increasing,

He fags without ceasing,

One night at a banquet-the next at a ball;
Then to all folks appearing,

He must give a hearing,

Though but one year's allowed him for doing it all! Then the cabmen and drovers

Omnibuses-turnovers,

All bring to his lordship vexation and care;
And he's really no leisure, &c.

When fishwomen lark it

At Billingsgate market,

Or the fish with an improper "scent" are sent there ; Ere the boatmen have sold 'em,

They find Mr. Goldham

Takes all kinds of "queer fish" before the Lord Mayor.
Then he's thought such a rare man
For making a chairman,

And helping to carry each weighty affair
That he finds, 'stead of leisure

For taking his pleasure,

He works like a horse-all the time he's a " Mayor!'

THE CABIN BOY.

THE sea was rough, the clouds were dark,
Far distant every joy,

When forc'd, by Fortune, to embark,
I went as cabin boy.

My purse soon fill'd with Frenchmen's gold,
I hasten'd home with joy,

But wreck'd in sight of port behold,
A hapless cabin boy.

SLING THE FLOWING BOWL.

COME, Come, my jolly lads, the winds abaft,
Brisk gales our sails shall crowd;

Come, bustle, bustle, bustle, boys, haul the boat,
The boatswain pipes aloud:

The ship's unmoor'd

All hands on board,

The rising gale

Fills every sail,

The ship's well mann'd and stor❜d.