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There was little Tom Linstock of Dover

Got kill'd, and left Polly in pain,
Poll cry'd ; but her grief was soon over,
And then she got married again.

Then drink, &c. Jack Junk was ill-used by Bet Crocker,

And so took to guzzling the stuff, Till he tumbled in old Davy's locker, And there he got liquor enough.

Then drink, &c. For our prize-money then to the proctor,

Take of joy while 'tis going our freak ; For what argufies calling the doctor, When the anchor of life is a-peak?

Then drink, &c.

THE CHAPTER OF GOOD THINGS.

A Glass is good, and a lass is good,

And a pipe to smoke in cold weather ; The world is good, and the people are good,

And we are all good fellows together. A bottle it is a very good thing,

With a good deal of very good wine in it ; A song is good, when a body can sing,

And to finish, we must begin it. A table is good, when spread with good cheer,

And good company sitting round it ; When a good way off, we are not very near, And for sorrow the devil confound it.

A glass is good, &c. A friend is good, when you're out of good luck

For that's a good time to try him ;
For a justice good, the haunch of a buck,

With such a good present you buy him.

A fine old woman is good when she's dead,

A rogue's very good, for good hanging,
A fool is good, by the nose to be led,
And my good song deserves a good banging.

A giass is good, &c.

FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE ARE DIVINE. LET fame sound the trumpet, and cry to the war,'

Let glory re-echo the strain ;
The full tide of honour may flow from the scar,

And heroes may smile on their pain.
The treasures of autumn let Bacchus display,

And stagger about with his bowl ;
On science, Let Sol beam the lustre of day,

And wisdom give light to the soul.
Let India unfold her rich gems to the view,

Each virtue, each joy to improve ;
Oh give me the friend that I know to be true,

And the fair that I tenderly love !
What's glory but pride ? A vain bubble is fame,

And riot the pleasure of wine ;
What's riches, but trouble ? and title's a name,

But friendship and love are divine !

WE MEET NO MORE, OH! THINK ON ME.
We meet no more, Oh! think on me,

Tho' lost to sense for ever,
Yet faithful mem'ry's record dear

Whispers we shall not sever.
No, by the lip of richest sweets,

Oh! never press'd by me,
No, by that soft eye's humid fires,

I must remember thee.

Each passing object's casual light,

Shall oft revive its power,
Even yon pale beams shall wake the thought,

They lit our parting hour.
And then I think I see that form,

In ardent beauty glowing,
And at the thought a tear shall wake,

As fond as now 'tis flowing.

I COULD NEVER CRY FOR LAUGHING.

Luck in life, or good or bad,

Ne'er could make me melancholy, Seldom rich, yet never sad,

Sometimes poor, yet always jolly ; Fortune in my scale, that's poz,

Of mischance put more than half in, Yet, I don't know how it was,

I could never cry for laughing, Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha !

I could never cry for laughing. Monstrous grave are men of law,

(Law knows no end, when once beginning) Yet those dons I never saw,

But their wigs would set ine grinning ; Once when I was very ill,

Seven doctors came-such quizzes ! Zooks! I thought they would me kill

With laughing at their comic phizzes. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

With laughing at their comic phizzes. After that, in love I fell,

(Love creates a deal of trouble,) But my courtship strange to tell,

Only made my mirth redouble ;

I laughed-she frowned-I laughed again,

Till I brought her to her tether,
Then she smiled-we wed—since then

We mean to laugh through life together,
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

We mean to laugh through life together.

THE DEATH OF MOORE.

YE British patriots whose breasts can feel,

Who venerate the martial warrior's name, Whose manly hearts beat for your country's weal,

Dear as your blood should flow the chieftain's fame. 'Twas not to grace an Eastern minion's pride,

Nor to destroy a brave, but weaker foe; 'Twas in defending Nature's rights he died,

In Freedom's cause he met the fatal blow. Of’t when the tiger chas'd by des'prate hands,

Slow from the hounds the hunter's shout recedes ; His onset, should he turn, not one withstands,

But safety seeks in flight, or breathless bleeds.
Thus as the Gallic chief, his myriads pour'd

From Egypt's shore, terrific visions rise ;
The fiend of rapine sheathes his reeking sword,

And shuns the vetran Moore, who conqu’ring dies. As when a whirlwind deluge, threat'ning storm,

Bursts in loud thunders o'er the trembling plains, The mercy-charter'd bow displays its form,

And nature's Egis cheers the fear-struck swains. Thus when the hero's mem'ry claims our tears,

(His country's glory, and her army's pride,) Like the celestial arch his face appears,

We view his virtues, and forget he died.

LIFE AFFORDS NO JOY BUT DRINKING,

What is life ? a fickle ocean !

What is joy ? a transient ray!
What is love ? a youthful notion !
Wine alone drives Care

away.
Why, then, murder time by thinking ?

Fill my goblet, fill with wine !
Life affords no joy but drinking ;

That alone makes man divine.
What's the bigot warmed by praying ;

What's the advent'rous seaman's gain ?
What's the soldier's zeal? a saying!

Wine can only fire the brain.
To all ills I bid defiance,

And, though mortal, prove divine ;
With the gods I claim alliance ;

They quaff nectar-I drink wine.

ALL'S WELL,
DESERTED by the waning moon,
When skies proclaim night's cheerless noon,
On tower, or fort, or tented ground
The sentry walks his lonely round ;
And should a footstep haply stray
Where caution marks the guarded way,
Who goes there ? Stranger, quickly tell ;
A friend-the word. Good night; all's well
Or sailing on the midnight deep,
When weary messmates soundly sleep,
The careful watch patrols the deck,
To guard the ship from foes or wreck ;
And while his thoughts oft homewards veer,
Some friendly voice salutes his ear-
What cheer ? brother, quickly tell ;
Above--below. Good night, all's well.

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