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when he ought to have a rod, and we have one in | He pined for Beauty's balmy sigh,
pickle for him, my lud.' So he went on for half
an hour.

In law, if you hav'n't, you'll be a lame duck,
A good cause, a good counsel, good purse, and
good luck.

The counsel argued long,

With mutual contradiction:
Facts for both were strong;
Each statute and case

Was brought face to face :

Each pleader proved his case was right,
And that his learned friend could cite

No plea for his but fiction.

SPOKEN.] Plaintiff's counsel said, I contend, my lud, that my client is of age; though my learned brother calls him an infant. If so, he is the finest full-grown infant I ever saw; six feet four inches without his shoes, my lud: but speaking of infants, this is no child's play, my lud. My learned brother talks of a rod in pickle, but he is preparing it for his own back; for, according to his argument, my client cannot be twenty-one till he is eighty-four, which is against common sense, a term not to be found in my learned brother's lawdictionary, my lud; but to which, as it is to my purpose, I shall cling, my lud; and though he thinks we hav'n't a leg to stand upon, we shall run him off of his legs, and play with our rattle in spite of

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SPOKEN.] Gentlemen of the jury, the case before us reminds me of one in which a man was born of a Sunday, which being no day in law, it was contended the man was never born at all: the reply remarked, the man being then present in court was a proof he had been born; the rejoinder argued, if he was born, being a day unknown to the law, he must be illegitimate, and could have no claim in law: but it being proved he was born in lawful wedlock, this plea was overruled. However, it was decided, that being born on a Sunday, and that day being no day in law, the law had nothing to do with him, and so the action fell. In the action before us, plaintiff is born on a bona fide day, which comes but once in four years; but if he is to reckon four years for one, he has four times the claim of any other man, and consequently, it is four to one in his favour.-The jury were of the judge's opinion, and gave a verdict accordingly. In law, &c.

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But finding her fled, he sought a grove, Where who of all the world should die, But Love! sweet Love!

A JOLLY AND TRUE-HEARTED FELLOW, WITH my pipe in one hand and my jug in the other,

I drink to my neighbours and friend;
All my care in a whiff of tobacco I smother;
For life, I know, shortly must end:

For whilst Ceres most kindly refills my brown jug,
With good liquor I'll make myself mellow;
In an old wicker chair I'll seat myself snug,
Like a jolly and true-hearted fellow.

I'll ne'er trouble my head with the cares of the nation,

I've enough of my own for to mind;

For the cares of this life are but grief and vexation,

To death we must all be consigned.

Then I'll laugh, drink, and smoke, and leave nothing to pay,

But drop like a pear that is mellow;

And when cold in my coffin, I'll leave them to say,

He's gone, what a hearty good fellow.

ALDERMAN GOBBLE.

Air--" Heigho! says Rowley."-(H. Siddons.) TOM GOBBLE was a grocer's son,

Heigho! says Gobble;

He gave a ven❜son dinner for fun,
And he had a belly as big as a tun,
With his handy dandy, bacon and gravy,

Ah, ha says Alderman Gobble.

The servant ushered the company in,
Heigho! says Gobble,

The dinner is ready, quoth Tom, with a grin,
So he tucked a napkin under his chin,
With his handy dandy, bacon and gravy,

Ah, ha! says Alderman Gobble.

Then Betty, the cook, she gave a squall,
Heigho says Gobble;

Poor John, the footman, has had a fall,
And down stairs tumbled, ven'son and all, ́
With his handy dandy, bacon and gravy,
Alas! says Alderman Gobble.

So down the Alderman ran in a fright,
Heigho! says Gobble,

And there sat John in a terrible plight,
Astride on the ven'son bolt upright,
With his handy dandy, bacon and gravy,
Dear me! says Alderman Gobble.
Was ever man so cruelly put on ?

Heigho! says Gobble,

Get off from the meat you rascally glutton, You've made my ven'son a saddle of mutton, With your handy dandy, bacon and gravy,

Good lack! says Alderman Gobble.

Lord! sir, says Betty, what a splash,

Heigho! says Gobble,

'Tis a monstrous bad rumbusticle crash,
But to-morrow I'll tickle it up in a hash,
With my handy dandy, bacon and gravy,
Ay, do! says Alderman Gobble.

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OLD MURMUR was a peevish blade,
Aye, a cross old soul was he;
To growl and grumble was his trade,
Nor would he happy be!
Wife, daughters, and one son he had,
Beside a monkey and a cat;
To whom his temper was so bad,

That none could find what he'd be at,

But grumble, grumble, grumble.

Of Murmur, grumble, sigh, and groan,
His wife grew sick and weary;
Her heart he broke with peevish moan,
She died and left her deary;
Though she was gone, he grumbled more,
His daughters then began t' fidget,
He grumbled Martha out of door,

A little drummer married Bridget.

Still grumble, grumble, grumble.
Of wife and daughters thus bereft,
He grumbled like a devil;
His son, and cat, and monkey left,
Yet nought could make him civil;
The son and cat for peace are gone,
After puss the monkey flies;
And now old Murmur, all alone,

Has none to close the grumbler's eyes,
But grumble, grumble, grumble.

REMEMBRANCE.

(T. W. Kelly.)

LOVED girl! when thou from me art flown,
From one whose heart so long hath known
What heaven it is to dwell

Upon thy magic dimpling smiles,
Thy cheek, thy lip, that still beguiles
The soul with secret spell;
Then, dearest, then remember one,
Who, by thy sweet enchantment won,
Gave heart and soul to thee!
And oh! when other lips shall press
That cheek, that lip, in warm caress,
Then, love, remember me!

And when, in converse by thy side,
Another's glance shall meet, with pride,

Thy smile, that wakes love's glow; Then think there's one whose eyes could tell They were Affection's fontinel,

The font of Love's own woe.

And when his blood, perchance, beats high, And all his soul is fervency,

Then, haply, thou may'st say,That, though his glance be warm, my dear, He loves not with that truth sincere

As one that's far away.

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WINE AND WOMEN WE DELIGHT IN. Air-"Life's like a Sea, in constant Motion." (E. J. B. Box.)

PUSH round the heart-enlivening bowl, boys,
Full tone give to the jovial song;
To mirth the first awakes the soul, boys,
The second its delights prolong.
While here, with joyous friendship glowing,
Each face arrayed in mirth appears,
Still keep the smiling goblet flowing,
Whilst Harmony salutes our ears.

Still keep the smiling goblet flowing, &c.
Thus to life's joys good souls devoted,
When met, to moisten well their clay,
The hour of night have never noted,
Till Time brought round his book next day!
And though Time then the hour might point out,
At the old codger still they laughed,
Bade him pass on, nor slip the joint out
"Twixt Mirth and Friendship, while they quaffed
Bade him pass on, nor slip the joint out, &c.
Let not that foe to all good fellows

Here with our friendship interfere;
Nor when of Mirth's full chimes grown jealous
With his dull signals din our ear.
While round our circling glass goes cheerly,
Here vainly Time his hour-glass brings,
Or if he urge his flight unfairly,

To our own length we clip his wings!

Or if he urge his flight unfairly, &c. We have no leisure here for thinking,

All that we leave to vulgar minds;
The nobler reason reigns in drinking,

And there a floating sceptre finds.
When at the plenteous board carousing,
Where royal red the bowl hath crowned,
Mirth in our cups, true Joy espousing,
Shows Care is at the bottom drowned!

Mirth in our cups, true Joy espousing, &c

O, THE PATH OF LIFE IS ROUGH AND DREAR.

Air--" Love's young Dream."-Miss Bryant.)

O THE path of life is rough and drear
When hope is gone,

And Sorrow, with a passing tear,
Looks sadly on!

Though many bowers

Are decked with flowers,

And all may still look green;
Yet, in a day,

They fade away,

In life's dark scene.

Though Love may smile, and Joy adorn
Our youthful days,

Still fleeting love oft bears a thorn,
Its power decays!

For, like a ray
Of beauteous day,
He sheds a heavenly light!
But soon the beam
Is but a gleam,
And all is night.

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IK BEN LIDERLYCK;

OR, DE BEST TRADE OF ALL BE A DUTCHMAN. Of all what strive to live and to thrive,

And by cunning to overreach men, Whether trade bin dead, or trade bin alive,

De best trade of all be a Dutchman;

De world he fish what he can get,
But, all bin fish in the Dutchman's net;

Ik ben liderlyck, du bist liderlyck,
Snick snack liderlyck a ly—te.

We trade wid the Yankey, we deal wid the Scot,
And cheaten de tain and de tiether,

We cheaten de Jew, aye and better dan dat,
We cheaten well ein aniether,

And at Amsterdam, when hy com dere,
We cheaten de devil, dat's all fair;

Ik ben liderlyck, &c.

Mynheer can drinkt, for drunk by chaunce,
Mynheer by chaunce can caiper,

But ik never take mine frow to daunce,
Till somebody pay de pieper;
And when een koopman hold his haund,
I puff mine pipe, and I nicht fersteun;
Ik ben lyderlyck, &c.

De stranger comt for de fish dat's nice,
And he looken as sharp as donder,
I praice mine goods, and I take mine price,
And I sells him stinking flounder.
Den he call dief, and I say yaw,
Wid mine haund to de gelt comme sa;
Ik ben liderlyck, &c.

LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY.
BENEATH the earth, in her lonely caves,
And across the unsheltered moor,
Above the rocks where the tempest raves,
And along the wide watered shore;
And by tangled forest, and craggy hill,
The haunts where the tigers prey,
Through pain and peril, undaunted still,
Love will find out the way!

You may think him timid, so fast he flies,
And speaks with a tone so mild;

You may deem that darkness has veiled his eyes,
Or believe him a simple child!

But if she, whose beauty is love's delight,
Be concealed from the beam of day,

Set a thousand guards on that lady bright,—
Love will find out the way!

Without a guide, and without a clue,

Through the realms of unmeasured space, Where the dove herself, that returns so true, Would be lost in her airy race;

Though the night-wind sweep, or the chill rain fall,

Or the sun dart his fiercest ray,

Oh! love, unconquered, will speed through all,
Love will find out the way!

........

THOUGH I AM NOW A VERY LITTLE LAD.

Air-" The White Cockade."-(O'Keefe.)

THOUGH I am now a very little lad,
And fighting men cannot be had;
For want of a better I may do,

To follow the boys with a rat tat too;

I may seem tender, yet I'm tough,

And though not much of me, I'm right good stuff;
Of this I'll boast, say more who can,

I never was afraid to face my man.
I'm a chickabiddy see,

Take me now now now,
A merry little he,

For your row dow dow.

Brown Bess I'll knock about, oh! that's my joy,
With a knapsack on my back like a roving boy.

In my tartan plaid a young soldier view,
My philibeg, and dirk, and bonnet blue;
Give the word and I'll march where you command,
Noble serjeant, with a shilling then strike my hand.
My captain when he takes his glass,
May like to toy with a pretty lass;
For such a one I've a roguish eye,
He'll never want a girl when I am by.

I'm a chickabiddy see, &c.

Though a barber has never yet mowed my chin,
With my great broad sword I long to begin;
Cut, slash, ram, dam, oh! glorious fun;
For a gun pip-pop, change my little pop-gun,
The foes should run like geese in flocks;
Even Turks should fly like Turkey cocks :
Wherever quartered I shall be,
Oh! zounds! how I'll kiss my landlady.
I'm a chickabiddy see, &c.

YES; A TRUER LOVE AT HOME. (Translated from the Spanish by Mr. Bowring.)

My love no more to England,
To England now shall roam,
For I have a better, sweeter love,
Yes! a truer love at home.

I want no fair-cheeked damsel there
To bind me in love again;
To seek a cold and distant fair
Were time employed in vain :
So then in search of Cupid

I'll not to England roam,
For I have a better, sweeter love,
Yes! a truer love at home.

Though Fortune cheat me as she will,
Some pleasures will remain ;

Though she trifle with the sun and moon,
Yet in her treacherous train

I'll go no more to England

In search of a kinder doom;

For I have a better, sweeter love,

Yes! a truer love at home.

If I should visit England,

I'll hope to find them true :

For a love like mine deserves a wreath,
Green and immortal too.

But O they are proud, those English dames,
To all who thither roam,

And I have a better, sweeter love,
Yes! a truer love at home.

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Around my ivied porch shall spring

Each fragrant flower that decks the dew; And Lucy at her wheel shall sing,

gown

and

apron

blue.

In russet
The village-church among the trees,
Where first our marriage-vows were given,
With merry peals shall swell the breeze,
And point with taper spire to heaven.

LAWYER GRUFTYKOTZ, HIS WIFE,

Fair ladies, when often you're scornful, and frown, (And such things, you know, have been laid to

your sex,)

What is it?-why only poor man to bring down,
And show, now and then, you can cruelly vex.
But, prithee, be kind, to your pow'r more blind,
And since you can chain us whenever you like,
When love is sincere, let mercy appear,

And the colours of fickleness speedily strike.
Sweet woman! dear woman! &c.

Fair ladies, we can't live without you, 'tis true,
Nor you without us-that I'll frankly reveal;

MAID, AND THE WONDERFUL DOCTOR. Nay, do not deny it, or else if you do

Siddons.

LAWYER Gruftykotz, of our town,
Married a beauty of high renown.
A gentle loving soul;

To gain her heart all ways he tried,
And soon he got on her blind side,-
She was blinder than a mole!

The lawyer had a maid called Grace;
He ogled Grace before her face,

For a month away he hies.
A travelling doctor passing through,
Came Madam Gruftykotz to view,

And he couched my lady's eyes.
When Lawyer Gruftykotz came back,
He gave his maid a gentle smack:
You brute, my lady cries,-
Mr. Gruftykotz, no longer think
Upon your naughty ways I'll wink,
You'll find I've got my eyes!

Ye married men, take warning straight,
From lawyer Gruftykotz's fate,

If married joys you prize;
And do not have so little Grace,
To kiss the maids before her face,
Lest your wife should find her eyes.

I SAW THEE WEEP.
(Lord Byron.)

I SAW thee weep-the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue,
And then, methought, it did appear
A violet dropping dew:

I saw thee smile-the sapphire's blaze
Beside thee ceased to shine;
It could not match the living rays
That filled that glance of thine.
As clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow dye,
Which scarce the shade of coming eve
Can banish from the sky;

Those smiles, unto the moodiest mind,
Their own pure joy impart ;
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind,
That lightens o'er the heart.

THE LADIES' PHYSICIAN.
(Upton.)

FAIR ladies, I am a physician by trade,

A doctor, M.D. and of hearts, if you please,
Not a quack, 'pon my honour, but regular made,
And have a diploma to prove my degrees.
So, prithee, beware, for truly I swear

I know all your cases, complaints, and disease;
And if you'll attend, I'll act like a friend,
And ask in return but your smiles for my fees.
Sweet woman! dear woman!

The joy of our lives.

I'll tell all I know, for your pulses I feel.
But come, come, I see to the truth you agree,

And now my advice, as your doctor, I'll give-
When you're loved, and that true, let us find it in

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THE BOATSWAIN CALLS.
(Dibdin.)

THE boatswain calls, the wind is fair;
The anchor heaving,

Our sweethearts leaving,
We to our duty must repair,
Where our station well we know.
Cast off halliards from the cleets,
Stand by well, clear all the sheets;
Come, my boys,

Your handspikes poise,
And give one general huzza.
Yet sighing as you pull away,
For the tears ashore that flow,
To the windlass let us go,
With yo! heave ho!

The anchor coming now a-peak,
Lest the ship, striving,

Be on it driving,

Then we our tap'ring yards must seek,
And back the fore top-sail well we know,
A pleasing duty, from aloft

We faintly see those charms where oft,
When returning,

With passion burning,

We fondly gaze those eyes that seem
In parting with big tears to stream.
But come, lest ours as fast should flow,
To the windlass once more go,

With yo! heave ho!

Now the ship is under weigh,
The breeze so willing
The canvas filling,

The prest triangle cracks the stay,
So taught to haul the sheet we know;
And now in trim we gaily sail,
The massy beam receives the gale;
While freed from duty,

To his beauty,

Left on the less'ning shore afar,
A fervent sigh heaves every tar,
To thank those tears from him that flow,
That from his true love he should go,
With yo! heave, yo!

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