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Oh! cruel vas the engagement, in which my true love

fought, And cruel vas the cannon-ball that knocked his right

eye out; He used to leer and ogle me, with peepers full of fun, But now he looks askew at me, because he's only one.

Too rol, too rol, &c. My love he plays the fiddle well, and vanders up and

down, And I follows at his helbow through all the streets in

town ; We spends our days in harmony, and wery seldom

fights, Except when he's his grog aboard, or I gets queer at nights.

Too rol, too rol, &c. Now, ladies, all take varning, by my true love and me, Though cruel fate should cross you, remember con

stancy. Like me, you'll be revarded, and have all your heart's

delight, With fiddling in the morning, and a drop of max at night.

Too rol, too rol, &c.

O, WHERE is my lover, so fickle and frail !

He'vow'd he'd be constant to me;
Yet haply, now tells to another the tale,

Oft whisper'd near yonder lov'd tree.
Those dew-sprinkled branches by nature must fade,

Those blossoms will soon wither'd be ;
But affection once plighted to man, or to maid,

Should prove firm as the root of a tree.


A BELLE and beau would walking go,

In love they both were piping ;
The wind in gentle gales did blow,

An April sun was shining.
Though Simon long had courted Miss,

He knew he'd acted wrong in
Not having dared to steal a kiss,
Which set her quite a-longing.

Tololol. It so occurred, as they did walk,

And viewed each dale so flow'ry, As Simon by her side did stalk,

Declared the sky looked show'ry ; The rain came to her like a drug,

When loudly he did bellow, “Look here, my love, we can be snug, I've brought an umbrella.”

Tol ol ol. Quick flew the shelter over Miss ;

Now Simon was a droll one,
He thought this was the time to kiss,

So from her lips he stole one.
She blush'd ;-the rain left off, and he

Th’ umbrella closed for draining ;
“Oh! don't,” says she, “I plainly see
It hasn't left off raining.'

Tol ol ol. Now Simon, when he smok'd the plan,

The umbrella righted ;
He grew quite bold, talk'd like a man,

And she seem'd quite delighted.
Their lips rung chimes full fifty times,

Like simple lovers training,
Says she, “These are but lovers' crimes ;
I hope it won't cease raining."

Tol ol ol, He kiss'd her out of her consent,

That she'd become his bride; hence
To buy the ring was his intent,

And then to get the license.
They parted, but he took much pains

Where they should meet to tell her,
Says she, “I'll meet when next it rains,
So bring your umbrella."

Tol ol ol.

The wedding morn, no time to waste,

He arose before 'twas yet day ;
And just as if to please her taste,

It was a shocking wet day.
They married were,

had children dear,
Eight round-faced little fellows
But strange to state, the whole of the eight,
Were mark'd with umbrellas.

Tolol ol.


In Britain, the soil which true liberty yields,
Where the lads of the chase leave repose for the fields,
The hunter, so happy bestrides his gay steed,
While distanee and danger but add to his speed-

Who dashing along,

Gives Echo the song, She, blithely returns it the whole of the day, With, hark! the merry horn calls us away. By exercise braced, every bosom must warm, And health, joy, and mirth, each assume a new charm; Dian, Bacchus, and Venus, by turns, take a place, And day and night's

joys are the fruits of the chase ! Which, dashing along, Give Echo the song, &c.


THE GIRL OF MY HEART. How sweet is the breeze at eve's modest hour,

When it murmurs yon lime trees among,
When the blackbird and thrush so enchantingly pour

Their melodious sweetness of song !
When slowly adown from the warm glowing west

The bright sun is seen to depart,
When all passions but love are hush'd into rest;

I fly to the girl of my heart.
My Anne is gentle, is loving, and kind;

Her bosom true sympathy warms;
Enchanting alike are her person and mind,

Each possesses a portion of charms ;
For a maiden so lovely, a charmer so bright,

Who uses no coquettish art,
I resign all the trifles that others delight,

And fly to the girl of my heart.
Her eyes, that so languidly speak soft desire,

Her cheeks that so rival the rose,
In my bosom the softest emotions inspire,

And charm my fond heart to repose;.
And when her sweet accents enraptur'd I hear,

Thro' my soul they so thrillingly dart,
Oh! what sounds of sweet melody strike my 'rapt ear,

When I meet the girl of my heart !

Forget me not-forget me not,

But let these little simple flowers
Remind thee of his lonely lot

Who lov'd thee in life's purest hours:
When hearts and hopes were hallowed things,

Ere Gladness broke the lyre she brought ;
Then, oh! when shivered all its strings,

Forget me not-forget me not!

We met, ere yet the words had come

To wither up the springs of youth ;
Amid the holy joys of home,

And in the first warm blush of youth ;
We parted, as they never part,

Whose tears are doom'd to be forgot !
Oh! by that agony of heart,

Forget me not--forget me not !
Thine eye must watch these flow'rets fade,

Thy soul its idols melt away ;
But oh! when flowers and friends lie dead,

Love can embalm them in decay:
And, when thy spirit sighs along

The shadowy scenes of hoarded thought,
Oh! listen to its pleading song--

Forget me not-forget me not !


I am the laughing-stock of all,

No rest nor peace have I ;
The young, the old, the great and small,

All at me have a shy.
I thinks it wery, wery hard,

And so vould you, no doubt,
If they cried vhene'er you valk'd abroad,

“Does your mother know you're out ?'
My station is respectable,

There's nothing about me
In the slightest vay detectable,

Of the apeing wain cockney.
I keeps my oss, I dresses vell,

But as I rides about,
The cry is—“Ho! my precious svell,

Does your mother know you're out ?"

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