Thinks I to myself, thinks I, Be govern'd by knaves, Thinks I to myself, thinks I, www GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O! GREEN grow the rashes, O! The warly race may riches chase, Gie me a canny hour at e'en, Green grow, &c. For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, Green grow, &c. Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears' AGAIN THE BALMY ZEPHYR. AGAIN the balmy zephyr blows, Ye gentle warblers hither fly, HOW HAPPY COULD I BE. How happy could I be with either, THE COOK SHOP. I KNEW by the smoke that so greasefully curl'd, From a kitchen below that a cook-shop was near, And I said if a gorge's to be found in the world, The man that is hungry might hope for it here. Ev'ry plate was at rest, And I heard not a sound, But the knives and forks rattling, And here in this snug little box would I sit, With a joint that was lovely to nose and to view, With a sirloin of beef, a turkey and chine, How bless'd could I live, and how calm could I dine. Ev'ry plate, &c. By the side of yon dustman whose black muzzles dip, DEEPLY STILL. DEEPLY still, without a motion, But heaven grows brighter, LOVE'S FLOWERY FETTERS. For, ah! to doating lovers More joys than liberty. Tho' charms of form or feature The heart retains its bloom; Strikes on the wind perfume, VILLAGE MAIDS. WHILST with village maids I stray, "TWAS in the merry month of May, And talk'd of wounds, honour, and glory. "Twas in the merry month, &c. Roger swore he'd leave his plough, He'd leave it all and follow the drum. "Twas in the merry month, &c. The cobler he threw by his awl, When all were glad, he'd ne'er be glum, No more at home he'd be a slave, But take his seat amid the brave; In battle's seat none should be prouder, 'Stead balls of wax he'd have balls of powder. 'Twas in the merry month, &c. The tailor he got off his knees, And to the ranks did boldly come; But follow the rest, and follow the drum. "Twas in the merry month, &c. Three old women-the first was lame, The second was blind, and the third nigh dumb; To stay behind was a burning shame, They'd follow the men, and follow the drum! Our wills are good, but lack-a-day, To catch the soldiers we will try for it; For, where there's a will, there's always a way, "Twas in the merry month, &c. THE CELEBRATED TRIO IN DER FRIESCHUTZ. EACH sorrow repelling, Once more in my breast, This heart been a stranger, To peace and repose, Still fancies new danger, Still dreads new repose. Though fate long has bound us, |