when he ought to have a rod, and we have one in | He pined for Beauty's balmy sigh, In law, if you hav'n't, you'll be a lame duck, The counsel argued long, With mutual contradiction: Was brought face to face : Each pleader proved his case was right, 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 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. 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; For whilst Ceres most kindly refills my brown jug, 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, Ah, ha says Alderman Gobble. The servant ushered the company in, The dinner is ready, quoth Tom, with a grin, Ah, ha! says Alderman Gobble. Then Betty, the cook, she gave a squall, Poor John, the footman, has had a fall, So down the Alderman ran in a fright, And there sat John in a terrible plight, 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, OLD MURMUR was a peevish blade, That none could find what he'd be at, But grumble, grumble, grumble. Of Murmur, grumble, sigh, and groan, A little drummer married Bridget. Still grumble, grumble, grumble. Has none to close the grumbler's eyes, REMEMBRANCE. (T. W. Kelly.) LOVED girl! when thou from me art flown, Upon thy magic dimpling smiles, And when, in converse by thy side, 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. 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, Still keep the smiling goblet flowing, &c. Here with our friendship interfere; 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; And there a floating sceptre finds. 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 And Sorrow, with a passing tear, Though many bowers Are decked with flowers, And all may still look green; They fade away, In life's dark scene. Though Love may smile, and Joy adorn Still fleeting love oft bears a thorn, For, like a ray 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, Ik ben liderlyck, du bist liderlyck, We trade wid the Yankey, we deal wid the Scot, We cheaten de Jew, aye and better dan dat, And at Amsterdam, when hy com dere, Ik ben liderlyck, &c. Mynheer can drinkt, for drunk by chaunce, But ik never take mine frow to daunce, De stranger comt for de fish dat's nice, LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY. You may think him timid, so fast he flies, You may deem that darkness has veiled his eyes, But if she, whose beauty is love's delight, Set a thousand guards on that lady bright,— 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, ........ THOUGH I AM NOW A VERY LITTLE LAD. Air-" The White Cockade."-(O'Keefe.) THOUGH I am now a very little lad, 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; I never was afraid to face my man. Take me now now now, For your row dow dow. Brown Bess I'll knock about, oh! that's my joy, In my tartan plaid a young soldier view, I'm a chickabiddy see, &c. Though a barber has never yet mowed my chin, YES; A TRUER LOVE AT HOME. (Translated from the Spanish by Mr. Bowring.) My love no more to England, I want no fair-cheeked damsel there I'll not to England roam, Though Fortune cheat me as she will, Though she trifle with the sun and moon, 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, But O they are proud, those English dames, And I have a better, sweeter love, 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 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 the colours of fickleness speedily strike. Fair ladies, we can't live without you, 'tis true, MAID, AND THE WONDERFUL DOCTOR. Nay, do not deny it, or else if you do Siddons. LAWYER Gruftykotz, of our town, To gain her heart all ways he tried, The lawyer had a maid called Grace; For a month away he hies. And he couched my lady's eyes. Ye married men, take warning straight, If married joys you prize; I SAW THEE WEEP. I SAW thee weep-the big bright tear I saw thee smile-the sapphire's blaze Those smiles, unto the moodiest mind, THE LADIES' PHYSICIAN. FAIR ladies, I am a physician by trade, A doctor, M.D. and of hearts, if you please, I know all your cases, complaints, and disease; The joy of our lives. I'll tell all I know, for your pulses I feel. And now my advice, as your doctor, I'll give- THE BOATSWAIN CALLS. THE boatswain calls, the wind is fair; Our sweethearts leaving, Your handspikes poise, The anchor coming now a-peak, Be on it driving, Then we our tap'ring yards must seek, We faintly see those charms where oft, With passion burning, We fondly gaze those eyes that seem With yo! heave ho! Now the ship is under weigh, The prest triangle cracks the stay, To his beauty, Left on the less'ning shore afar, |