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Each parish resolution
I put in execution ;
At every vestry party,

With spirits gay and hearty,
I there rejoice with heart and voice.

God save the Queen ! Spoken.] I'm not one of your lazy, foolish officers, who walk about doing nothing ; no, no, I fills my hofishul campacity as it ought to be filld; because I considers as how I represents her Majesty, and therefore should always act with becoming dignity! I never objects to a fee, when it's a good one; I never takes up any person but when I expect to get something by it ; I never declines an invitation to a parish dinner! Oh, there's no gammon in me!

And when in my campacity,

I represent her Majesty,
With heart and voice I do rejoice,

God save the Queen !

God save the Queen!

my death I shall be loyal,
I'll feast, sing, and drink,
As beadles ought to do:

God save the Queen!
For she is my mistress royal,

God save the Queen!
And bless her subjects, too.

To ev'ry parish dinner
I'll go, as I'm a sinner ;
I'll gorge the best of pudduns,

But they must be good uns.
Both boil'd and roast I'll taste, then toast

God save the Queen ! Spoken.] Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes! Lost a churchwarden's appetite, supposed to have been taken from him by an over gorge at the last parish dinner. Whoever has found the same, and will return it safe and

sound to the owner, will be handsomely rewarded. N. B. If not returned within a fortnight previous to the next feast, it will be of no use to the said churchwarden. Now, young woman, what do you do here? I don't know. Why don't you go home ?-Acause I've got none.-Well, go to your mother's.—I haven't got one.--Go to your father, then.--I've not got a father.-Go to your brother's or sister's, then. I've not got any:—Well, go and get your dinner.— I haven't got a dinner.-What, got no father, no mother, no sisters, no brothers, no home, and no dinner? Here take this half-crown, and get out of the parish then.

So when in my campacity,

I represent her Majesty,
With heart and voice I do rejoice,

God save the Queen !


TUNE.---The Country Club,
COME listen to my story:
Now seated in my glory,

We make no longer stay ;
A bottle of good sherry
Has made us all quite merry

Let Momus rule the day:
We hearty all and well are,
Drive to the White Horse Cellar,

Get a snack before we go-
Bring me a leg of mutton,
I'm as hungry as a glutton-

Some gravy soup—hollo ! Spoken in different voices.] Why, waiter -Coming, sir.—Where is my gravy soup?—Just took off the gridiron.—Make haste, I shall lose my place.--I hope your honour will remember the poor ostler.--Are the beef-steaks ready ?-No, but your chops are. ---What a concourse of people are going in these coaches ;All fast behind. Hip! (Imitates the sound of the guard's horn.)

Then 'tis away we rattle,

Jolly dogs and stylish cattle,
Crack whip, and dash away.

What a cavalcade of coaches
On every side approaches !

What work for man and beast !
We must have a little drop, sir-
Then we'll gallop till we stop, sir-

And afterwards make haste.
I mount—the whip I crack now,
All bustle—what a pack now

On every side approach!
Now making sad grimaces,
All for the want of places,

They cry-I've lost the coach. Spoken in various voices.] How's this ?-I'm sure my name was booked.—No such thing, ma’am.—A lady and a parrot in a cage. That fare can't go inside, one parrot's enough at a time.—No room for two ladies?- None at all for females ; this is a mail coach. -Set me down at the butcher's shop ; I should not like to be seen getting out of a coach.—Tie a handkerchief round your neck, Billy ; you'll catch cold.-Yes ; good-bye, grandpapa ; give my love to grandmamma.-Hip! (Imitates the horn.)

Then 'tis away we rattle,

Jolly dogs and stylish cattle,
Crack whip, and dash away.

Four-in-hand from Piccadilly,

Snugly seated in the dilly,
Away we scamper all :

What merry wags and railers,
What jolly dogs and sailors,

Begin to sing and bawl.
From every place we start, sir,
Some company depart, sir,

And others come, no doubt ;
For plenty there's of room, now,
If they will only come, now,

Four inside and one out. Spoken in different voices.)-Are my boxes all safe ?-You have put my trunk in a wrong coach.Never fear, ma'am, we shall overtake it.--What a figure you cut in that Welch wig ?-Hold your tongue, sirrah, you've woke me out of a comfortable nap.Keep the windows shut; I have got a cold and a stiff neck-My little girl isn't well-Keep your feet in ; you've got you're leg between mine.— I don't mind it, if the gentleman don't.-Hip! (Imitates the horn.)

Then 'tis away we rattle,

Jolly dogs and stylish cattle,
Crack whip, and dash away.


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Now stood Eliza on the wood-crown's height,
O'er Minden's plain, spectatress of the fight ;
Sought with bold eye, amid the bloody strife,
Her dearer self, the partner of her life :
From hill to hill the rushing host pursued,
And view'd his banner, or believed she viewed,
Pleased with the distant roar, with quicker tread,
Fast by his hand one lisping boy she led;
And one fair girl, amid the loud alarm,
Slept on her 'kerchief, cradled by her arm :
While round her brows bright beams of honour dart,
And love's warm eddy circle round her heart.-
Near, and more near, the intrepid beauty pressid,
Saw through the driving smoke, his dancing crest :

Heard the exulting shout, “They run, they run!'
"Great God!' she cried, 'he's safe! the battle's won!--
A ball now hisses through the airy tides,
Some Fury winged it, and some Demon guides !
Parts the fine locks, her graceful head that deck,
Wounds her fair ear, and sinks into her neck ;
The red stream issuing from her azure veins,
Dyes her white veil, her ivory bosom stains.
• Ah, me!' she cried, and sinking on the ground,
Kissed her dear babes, regardless of the wound ;
Oh, cease not yet to beat, thou vital urn!
Wait, gushing life! on, wait my love's return.'
Hoarse barks the wolf, the vulture screams from far,
The angel Pity shuns the walks of war !
"Oh, spare, ye war-hounds, spare their tender age,
On me on me,' she cried, exhaust your rage !
Then with weak arms, her weeping babes carest,
And sighing, hid them in her blood-stain'd vest.

From tent to tent, th' impatient warrior flies,
Fear in his heart, and frenzy in his eyes ;
Eliza's name along the camp he calls,
‘ Eliza, echoes through the canvass walls ;
Quick through the murmuring gloom his footsteps

O'er groaning heaps, the dying and the dead.
Vault o'er the plain, and in the tangled wood,
Lo, dead Eliza, welt'ring in her blood.-
Soon hears his list’ning son the welcome sounds,
With open arms, and sparkling eyes he bounds-

Speak low,' he cries, and gives his little hand,
· Eliza sleeps upon the dew cold sand;'
Poor weeping babe, with bloody fingers prest,
And tried with pouting lips her milkless breast.
Alas, we both with cold and hunger quake ;
Why do you weep ?-mamma will soon awake.'
She'll wake no more,' the hopeless mourner cried.
Uprais'd his eyes to heaven, he clasp'd his hands and


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