It made him forget all the cares of old age, It bloomed in his face, and made happy his soul. While here, then, we're found, push the bowl around, "Tis the liquor of life no care can control, This jovial philosopher taught that the sun Was thirsty, and oft took a swig from the main. The planets would tipple as fast as they run, The earth, too, was dry, and would suck up the rain, While here, then, we're found, push the bottle around, "Tis the liquor of life, pray who can refrain? IT CHANCED THAT CUPID, ON A SEASON. (From the French. Sir W. Scott.) IT chanced that Cupid, on a season, He loved them both in equal measure; And Folly brought to bed of Pleasure. ....... THE IRISH HAYMAKER. (Upton.) AND did you ne'er hear of an Irish haymaker, Who cry, but don't mean it, "Pat, leave me alone." Then, for whiskey, I an't, joy, eternally swigging, By my soul, from my cradle I've sucked it, I own. Then, what d'ye think of an Irish haymaker? Sing up and down frisky, and fire away whack. There's Judy M'Brawn, and I ne'er will forsake her, For, faith, we are tied, so I can't get away; Then, she sings like an owl, when the maggot does take her, And growls, bites, and scratches, the long sum. mer's day. Then her friend, as she calls him, one Teddy O'Shafferty, To be sure she don't hug him as puss did the mouse, While he fondles, and calls her his sweet Mrs. Rafferty. What a blessing to have such a friend in a house! Then, what d'ye think, &c. Then, do what I will, or wherever I'm walking, By my soul, I am watched, night and day, out of sight, Nor the devil a word they believe when I'm talking, As if I was given to swear black is white. One day, to be sure, I looked into a kitchen, And saw the pot boiling, but not for poor Pat; But for love and for thieving I'd always an itching, So I took out the mutton and popped in the cat. Now, what d'ye think, &c. Och, luck to sweet summer, the fields, and the lasses, For sure we don't frisk it up hill and down daleAnd then the dull hours so merrily passes, When we can't catch the pig for the grease on his tail. But the best joke of all, and it's joy past expressing, E'en the thought of it now makes me burn with delight, Is Shelah's soft lips, when I give her a blessing, While we roll in the hay on a sun-shiny night. Now, what d'ye think, &c. JOHN APPLEBY was a man's name, and he lived near the sign of the Kettle, His wife was called Joan Quiet, because she could scold but a little; John to the alehouse would go, Joan to the tavern would run, John would get drunk with the women, and Joan would get drunk with the men. Sing tol de rol lol, &c. John would spend his own two-pence, and Joan would spend her groat; Joan would pawn her best jacket, and John would pawn his best coat; John set the porridge-pot by, Joan sent the brass kettle to sell, The money came readily in, and they merrily spent it in ale. Sing tol de rol lol, &c. Thou art a base hussey, says John, for selling my pewter and brass; And thou art a cuckold, says Joan, for thy ears are as long as an ass. I'll bang thy back, hussey, says John, if you give me another cross word, And for thy fury and vapours, I tell thee, I care not a Sing tol de rol lol, &c. John he was no great eater, and Joan she was no glutton, And for to tickle their maws they bought them a shoulder of mutton. John, in an angry mood, took the mutton in his hand, And out of the window he threw it, but Joan she was at a stand. Sing tol de rol, &c. Joan she was at a stand, but of it she made no matter, Immediately took in her hand, and after it threw the platter; An old woman coming by, and seeing the mutton lay, Caught up the platter and mutton, and with them she ran away. Sing tol de rol lol, &c. The neighbours came running in, and thinking to end the quarrel, But, before they had half done, they left ne'er a drop in the barrel; They banged the barrel about, pulled out the spig got, too; We'll all get drunk to-night, for what have we else to do? Sing tol de rol lol, &c. WILT THOU BE MINE, FAIR CAROLINE? (T. E. Hook.) WILT thou be mine, fair Caroline? Young Edward sighed, and, kneeling, cried, The smile divine, fair Caroline I will be thine, blushed Caroline ;- The morn appears, their bosoms cheers- A fatal dart soon pierced his heart; GOOD DEEDS ARE NEVER ILL A LITTLE boy, a Savoyard, With cold and hunger almost dying, Among the rocks and mountains left, For parents, house, and home, was crying; A stranger, from the distant road, Who heard him weep, and saw him wander, No longer suffered him to saunterGood deeds are never ill bestowed. He gave the little boy his hand, And dried his tears, and hushed his sorrow, And said such tender things and kind, I could not tell them by to-morrow; He brought him to his lost abode, His mother dear, whose heart was breaking, And left his with friendly greetingpurse, Good deeds are never ill bestowed. ILL TEMPER AND GOOD NATURE. From that a charm can borrow: And, through ill temper, fades away Of all the curses known below, 'The worst, and much too common, Are those which from ill temper flow, Especially in woman. Ill temper to Suspicion joined And where an angel man should find, Ill temper made poor Abel fal! And when she's jealous, loud, and bold, No reason guides the creature. The fairest female, if she dare With man to cope and wrestle, Should in remembrance always bear That she's the weaker vessel. Then cease, ye fair, mankind to vex, And, though their questions may perplex, THE BEAUTIFUL MAN. Air-" Ballinamori Orah."—(Beuler.) But I was determined they should see I purchased whip, gloves, and a large quizzingglass, Revolving-heel boots, and bright spurs of brass; Wigs, whiskers, and wrist-bands, and neat pair of stays, A high-mettled racer, and high-seated chaise : I put on my stays, and soon I was drest And made me appear quite the dandy, Now friends quizzed my pigeon-toes and pigeon chest, That is my pigeon-tailed coat, padded full at the breast, And said, if 'twere not for my whiskers and eyes, At balls, concerts, and plays I now did appear, Where I talked, roared, and laughed-that no one might hear; I ogled the girls with my beautiful eyes Pinched in at the sides and the middle, And sighed, what a beautiful man! I was courting a lady of exquisite mien, She'll call me a beautiful man." Arrived at the door, I gave a loud double rap, Which made the street echo like a great thunderclap; The maid opened the door, and up stairs she ran, Crying out," My dear ma'am, here's a beautiful man!" When I was introduced to the lady, She admired me much, for she asked me to dine divine; I sat down to dine, when my spurs, cursed fates! Caught the cloth, and I fell, with pies, puddings, and plates: With plum pie my face was soon painted, I couldn't get up, so I fainted; OH, SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM. (Byron.) Oн, snatched away in beauty's bloom, Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, Fond wretch, as if her step disturbed the dead. Away; we know that tears are vain, That Death nor heeds nor hears distress; Will this unteach us to complain, Or make one mourner weep the less? And thou-who tell'st me to forgetThy looks are wan-thine eyes are wet. She bade the honest lad good day, She bade the nuns good night. Tenderly she listened to all he had to say, Then jumped into his arms, and so they ran away, And they sung sweetly, smalilou, &c. ........ YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. Air-"Ye Gentlemen of England.” (T. Campbell.) YE mariners of England, That guard our native seas, Whose flag has braved a thousand years, Your glorious standard launch again, And sweep through the deep, While the stormy tempests blow, While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy tempests blow. The spirit of fathers Shall start from every wave, No towers along the steep, Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, With thunders from her native oak When the stormy tempests blow, When the storm has ceased to blow, ........ THE NEWCASTLE WEDDING. Blind Willy's to play on the fiddle, Blind Willy's to play on the fiddle. Of sausages there will be plenty, A room they say there is provided For us at the Old Jacob's Well, The bridegroom he went there this morning, Blind Willy's to play on the fiddle. There's sure to be those things I mentioned, Blind Willy's to play on the fiddle. Whose mother oft strove to persuade And, there will be Sandy, the cobbler, To display her white stockings and leg A sixpence, they say, wo'n't refuse, She cursed when her father got drowned Because he had on his new shoes. Blind Willy's to play on the fiddle. And there will be Sam, the quack doctor, That call" mugs and doubler's wives." But. neighbours, I'd almost forgot The dinner will be on the table, And music will play till it's done; When you'll be all heartily welcome Of this merry feasting to share': But if you wo'n't come at this bidding, Why then, you may stay where you are. Blind Willy's to play on the fiddle. pillow; And all for my true love, my true love, O! When bleak blows the wind, and tempests are beating, I'll count all the clouds, as I mark them retreat- Maids, come in pity when I am departed, Sing all for my true love, &c. When dead, on the bank, I am found, brokenhearted, And all for my true love, &c. Make me a grave, all while the wind's blowing, TANTIVY, tivy, tivy, tivy, high low! When Ringwood, and Rockwood, and Jowler, and Spring, And Thunder and Wonder, made all the woods ring, And horsemen and footmen, hey ding a ding ding, Who envies the pleasure and state of a crown? Then follow, follow, follow, follow, jolly boys, Keep in with the beagles now whilst the scent lies, The fiery-faced god is ready to rise, Whose beams all our pleasure controls, Whilst over the mountains and vallies we roll, And Wat's fatal knell in each hollow we toll, And in the next cottage tope off a full bowl, What pleasure like hunting can cherish the soul? MURDOCK M'LAREN AND MOLLY OR, THE PIPER'S PEREGRINATIONS. COME, lend your attention, and listen awhile, With the bagpipe so nately concealed in his plaid, In search of Miss Molly M'Ghie. Now Miss Molly M'Ghie you might quickly descry, She'd no teeth in her head, but two specks in her |