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Behold him in the dreadful scene,

Where heroes fall to rise no more ; He braves his fate with dauntless mien,

And bids the thund'ring cannons roar, No fears appal his manly mind ;

Or, if perchance he heaves a sigh, 'Tis for a girl he left behind :

A sailor never fears to die.
In honour's deathless page enroll’d,

Conspicuous shines the sailor's name,
The guardian of his native land,

Whose bosom nobly pants for fame. On them the British fair bestow

The choicest smiles, their favours sweet, When crown'd with laurels from the foe,

They lay their wreaths at beauty's feet.

THE COVE WOT SINGS.

No doubt a song you've heard,

How greatly it delights ;
It comprises, in a word,

The luck of a cove wot writes !
Now I've a song so true

(My mind to truth it clings :)
And I am going to tell to you,
The luck of a cove wot sings.

Tol de rol, &c.
In a garret I show'd my nob,

In Earl-Street, Seven Dials,
My father was a snob.

My mother dealt in wials;
But my mind took higher flights,

I hated low-life things!
Made friends with a cove wot writes,
And now I'm a chap wot sings.

Tol de rol, &c. When at singing I made a start,

Some said my voice was fine ; I tried a serious part,

But turned to the comic line ;
I found out that that was best,

Some fun it always brings-
To the room it gives a zest,
And it suits the cove wot sings.

Tol

de rol, &c.

To a concert, ball, or rout.

Each night I'm asked to go, With my new toggery I go out,

And I cut no dirty show; Goes up to the music, all right,

At the women I sheep's eyes flings, Gets my lush free all the night, Because I'm the cove wot sings.

Tol de rol, &c.

If I go to take a room,

There needs no talk or stuff ;
'Bout a reference they don't fume,

My word is quite enough,-
For my money they don't care a sous,

The landlady kind looks flings,
She's proud to have in her house,
A gentleman wot sings.

Tol de rol, &c.

Each day so well I fare,

On each thing good so fine; In the grub way well I share,

For I always go out to dine ; And those who ask me so free,

Plenty of their friends brings, They come for miles, d'ye see, To hear the chap wot sings.

Tol de rol, &c.

While strolling t'other night,

I dropped in at a house, d'ye see,
The landlord so polite,

Insisted on treating me ;
I called for a glass of port,

When half-a-bottle he brings ;
SPOKEN.)—“How much to pay, landlord,” said I-
“Nothing of the sort,”
Says he, “you're a cove wot sings.”

Tol de rol, &c.

Now my song is at an end,

My story through I've run ;
And all that I did intend,

Was to cause a morsel of fun ;
If I succeed, that's right,

There's a pleasure pleasing brings ;
And I'll try some other night,
The lack of a chap wot sings.

Tol de rol, &c.

1

LOVE'S RITORNELLA.

GENTLE Zitella, whither away?
Love's ritornella, list while I play.
No, I have linger'd too long on my road, -
Night is advancing, the Brigand's abroad.
Lonely Zitella hath too much fear ;
Love's ritornella she may not hear :
Charming Zitella, why shouldst thou care ?
Night is not darker than thy raven hair.
And those bright eyes if the brigand should sety
Thou art the robber, the captive is he.
Gentle Zitella, banish thy fear ;
Love's ritornella, tarry and hear.

Simple Zitella, beware, ah, beware!
List ye no ditty, grant ye no prayer.
To your light footsteps let terror add wings,
"Tis Massaroni himself who now sings.
Gentle Zitella, banish thy fear,
Love's ritornella tarry and hear.

RETURN, O MY LOVE. RETURN, O my love! and we'll never part,

While the morn her soft light shall shed, I'll hold thee fast to my virgin heart,

And my bosom shall pillow thy head. The breath of the woodbine is on my lips,

Impearl'd in the dews of May; And no one but thou of its sweetness shall sip, Or steal its honey away.

Then return, &c.

FOUR FEET HIGH.
What a misery it is to be just four feet high,

I'm sure you all feel for my case :
For when but an infant, the gossips would cry,

My growing they never could trace.
To see me so little, 'tis truth, that's poz,

Gave father and mother much pain ; But in short, why short I all my life was, And in short, why short I remain.

Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh, hapless misfortune-I feel it—that I, Should never grow taller than four feet high. My school I went through, and some years passed

away, And although I looked but a boy ; With other lads taller I scorn'd to play,

For I thought myself hobble-de-hoy.

Fate cut my prospects, and sternly decreed

Stinted my growth, so that I
Did reach four-and-twenty years old, and indeed,
Before I was four feet high.

Oh dear! Oh dear!
Oh, hapless misfortune-I sob and I sigh,
To think I'm not more than four feet high.
I then fell in love, and a courting I went,

A beautiful damsel so fair ;
Who was just six feet tall, but she would not

consent, And all my hope turn’d to despair. To

gaze on her charms put me all in a stir,

I felt my poor heart was not free; Imploring her pity I look'd up to her, With scorn she look'd down upon me.

Oh dear! Oh dear!
Too short to be married—I sob and I sigh,
Because I'm not more than four feet high.
The refusal from her filled my heart full of woe,

Oh, love gave my valour a twist;
I made up my mind for a soldier to go,

And boldly I went to enlist.
But corporal, sergeant, and all-nine or ten-

At my resolution did laugh,
And told me they only took good siz'd men,
And I was too little by half.

Oh dear! Oh dear!
Too short to be shot at-I sob and I sigh,
My greatest misfortune is—four feet high.
As I walk through the streets I feel some alarm

To see every tall person come ;
Whose looks plainly say, “Come under my arm,

You wee little hop o'
And each gawkey boy, my walk who comes near,

Seems but to act by one plan;
For all of them cry, “ Companions, look here,

Look at the queer little man.

my thumb.”

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