THE NIGHTINGALE-CLUB.

Air-" Shadrack, the orangeman."-(Knight.) THE Nightingale-Club in a village was held, At the sign of the Cabbage and Shears, Where the singers, no doubt, would have greatly excell'd,

But for want of taste, voice, and ears; Still between every toast, with his gills mighty red, Mr. President thus with great eloquence said

SPOKEN.] Gentlemen of the Nightingale-Club, you all know the rules and regulations of this society; and if any gentleman present is not aware of them, if he will look over the fire-place he will And them chalked up :-That every gentleman must sing a volunteer song, whether he can or no, or drink a pint of salt and water; therefore, to make a beginning of this evening's harmony, I shall call upon Mr. Snuffle.- Sir, I have an extreme bad cold, but with your permission I'll try to do my best.'- Sir, that's all we wish, for, if you do your best, the best can do no more.'Permit me to blow my nose first, and I'll begin directly.'-(Singing, snuffling.)

A master I have, and I am his man,
Galloping dreary dall,

And he'll get a wife as fast as he can,
With his haily gaily gall-bo-rayly,
Higelty, pigelty, gigelty, nigelty,
Galloping dreary dall.

Bravo! bravo!

well very

sung,

Jolly companions every one.

Thus the Nightingale-Club nightly kept up their

And were nightly knocked down with the Presi

clamour,

dent's hammer.

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6

SPOKEN.] Mr. President, I think it's time we had a toast or a sentiment.'-Certainly, whose turn is it to give one?'- Mr. Mangle, the surgeon.' Sir, I'll give you-Success to the Royal Union.' And now, Mr. Dismal, we'll thank you for a song,' Sir, I shall give you something sprightly.'

Merry are the bells, and merry do they ring,
Merry is myself, and merry will I sing.'
Bravo! bravo! very
well sung,

Jolly companions every one.

Thus the Nightingale-Club, &c. Lilly Piper, some members called Breach of the Peace,

Because all his notes were so shrill,

Shrieked out like the wheel of a cart that wants grease,

Deeper and deeper still.'

Mr. Max, who drinks gin, wished to coo like a dove,

Murmur'd sweetly, Oh! listen to the voice of love,

Which calls my Daphne to the grove.'

SPOKEN.] Mr. Double-lungs, the butcher, was next called on, who had a kind of a duetto voice,

my eye,' says the Watchman, and, since you are all up so late, I must take you down to the watchhouse.' Then the row began, Mr. Tug knocked out the Charley's teeth, Drybones smothered him in gin and water, Billy Piper shoved the tobaccobox down his throat, Double-lungs gave him a bellygofuster, Snuffle broke his nose, Max bunged up both his eyes, and the whole affair ended with Bravo! bravo! very well sung, Jolly companions every one.

Thus the Nightingale-Club, &c.

THE UGLY OLD WIDOW OF ESTRAMADURA. (Planche.)

RECITATIVE.

THERE was an old widow lived some time ago in Estramadura,

She fell very ill at the death of her first husband and thought nothing but a second would cure her.

But her phiz was so funny, that, though she had plenty of money, she staggered all who came to her;

Mr. Double-lungs, we wish to hear your song.' --Sir, I'll sing with all my heart, liver, and lights; I'll sing you the echo song out of Comus, with my own accompaniments, for when a man accompanies himself, he's sure to do it in the right key. 'Sweet echo, sweet echo,' Bravo! bravo! very well sung, Jolly companions every one.

Thus the Nightingale-Club, &c.

ADDITIONAL VERSE.

made up his mind to woo her.

AIR.

So he ogled and he sighed,

Till he made her his bride,

Though the neighbours declared he must hate her;

For she squinted and she limped,
And her face brown and crimped,
Looked much like an old nutmeg-grater.
But thought he, wise enough,
I'm in want of the stuff,

And a beggar must not be a chooser;

"Tis true that a glutton

Might prefer lamb to mutton,

But there's too much mint-sauce to refuse her.

RECITATIVE.

But to silence all jokes, and the jeers of the folks, he full-length her picture had painted, at the first sight of so horrid a fright, the sparing no cash, to the gilder's slap-dash it poor artist had nearly fainted.

toe, he will favour us.

'Mid pleasure and solitude, wherever we roam, Let us go where we will, there is no place like

home.'

No, you blackguard,' says his wife, it appears there is no place like home to you, for your home seems to be the public-house.'- Gentlemen,' says Mr. Flash, why is Mr. Shivertoe like corn in a highway? Because he is seedy,' says the tailor. - No, it is not, now, it is because he is sure to be henpeck'd.' That's a good joke,' says Mr. Bantem, bring me a glass of brandy and water and put it down to the other ten I've had.'• That's no joke,' says the landlord. It's not a y joke, at all events,' says Drinkall.-' I want

e spirit,' says the actor.- So you may, but what do you owe me?'-(Sings) Sweet gratitude! sweet gratitude!'- O damn your gratitude, *welve pence in copper is worth twelve pounds of gratitude. But don't I patronize your house, sir? Hav'n't I given you more than ever you can return to me? Yes, you have given me the liver-complaint through drinking your raw spirits. I've an inflammation on the lungs through swallowing your spirits of wine, and the dropsy through drinking your mixed liquors; I've been drinking for the last two years to try if you had a drop of anything good in the house. I can't quench my thirst; I'm dry, the company are dry, their songs are dry, their okes are dry, and my pockets are dry.'-' That's all

was sent, and a fine frame put to it, And the next time 'twas said, what the deuce made you wed? he took them up-stairs to view it,

AIR.

The neighbours agree,
""Tis as like as can be,

As old and as ugly as sin, sir!"
But they quickly exclaim,
"What a beautiful frame!

It atones for the picture within, sir!"
Good friends, you are right,
Said the cunning young wight,

It was thus that I judged by the dame, sirs;
Though ugly and old,

She was rolling in gold,

So I married my wife for the frame, sirs.

MARY, LIST, AWAKE
(Hunt.)

MARY, dear Mary, list, awake!
And now like the moon thy slumbers break.
There is not a taper, and scarcely a sound,
To be seen or be heard in the cottages round,
The watch-dog is silent, thy father sleeps,
And love, like the breeze, to thy window creeps.
The moonlight seems list'ning all over the land,
To the whispers of angels like thee;

lift, but a moment, the sash with thine hand, And kiss but that hand to me,

My love, Mary'

Kiss but that hand to me!

Gently awake, and gently arise!
Oh, for a kiss to unclose thine eyes;
The vapour of sleep should fly softly the while,
As the breath on thy looking-glass breaks at thy
smile!

And then I would whisper thee never to fear,
For Heaven is all round thee when true love is near.
Just under the woodbine, dear Mary, I stand,
Still looking and list'ning for thee;

O lift, but a moment, the sash with thy hand,
And kiss but that hand to me,

My love, Mary!

Kiss but that hand to me!

Hark! do I hear thee?-Yes, 'tis thou,
And now there's thy hand, and I see thee now;
Thou look'st like a rose in a crystal stream,
For thy face, love, is bathed in the moolight gleam!
And, oh! could my kisses like stream-circles rise,
To dip in thy dimples and spread round thine eyes!
How sweet to be lost in a night such as this,

In the arms of an angel like thee!

Nay, stay but a moment-one moment of bliss,
And smile but forgiveness to me,

My love, Mary!
Smile but forgiveness to me.
Nobody, sweet, can hear our sighs,

Thy voice just comes on the soft air and dies.
Dost thou gaze on the moon? I have gazed as I

a mystery,

If, besides in caps and laces long, I deal a bit in history,

The times to display, we now will try, of worthy old Queen Bess, sir,

Whose virtue and whose mem'ry posterity will bless, sir.

O the days of good Queen Bess,

The very merry,

Hey down derry,

Days of good Queen Bess.

Queen Bess can twang the bowstring, and hunt a pack of hounds, sir;

While her courtiers play at quarter-staff, and dance the Cheshire rounds, sir.

And when her foes, with mighty blows, prepare to beat and stripe her, too,

She leads both France and Spain a dance, and makes them pay the piper, too. O the days, &c.

Then her buxom dames of honour, with collars about their necks fast,

They gobble up beef-steaks and mutton-chops for breakfast.

THE PEREMPTORY LOVER. Tune-" John Anderson, my Joe." "Tis nor your beauty nor your wit That can my heart obtain, For they could never conquer yet Either my breast or brain; For if you'll not prove kind to me, And true as heretofore, Henceforth I'll scorn your slave to be, Or doat upon you more.

Think not my fancy to o'ercome

By proving thus unkind;

No smoothed sight, nor smiling frown,
Can satisfy my mind.

Pray, let Platonics play such pranks
Such follies I deride;

For love at least I will have thanks,
And something else beside.
Then open-hearted be with me,
As I shall be with you,

And let our actions be as free

As virtue will allow.

If you'll prove loving, I'll prove kind; If true, I'll constant be;

If fortune chance to change your mind. I'll turn as soon as ye.

Since our affections, well ye know,

In equal terms do stand,

'Tis in your power to love or no,
Mine's likewise in my
hand.
Dispense with your austerity,
Inconstancy abhor;
Or, by great Cupid's Deity,
I'll never love you more.