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And vhen master my school-fellows did vhack, I'd the onner to take 'em on my back.

To be quite punctual is my rule,
I alvus is the fust in school.

Oh! vot, &c.

To encourage me, my mother drops
The browns, to buy me lollipops;
Then as to school my vay I drags,
On hard-bake I blows out my bags.
Stale tarts and buns too, it is plain,
And a spanking piece of allecampane.
Oh! yot, &c.

I'm so accomplished you must see,
At miveys none can play like me;
At buttons too I comes it stout,
I beats my playmates out and out.
My larning, too, no one denies,
As this here proof vill quite suffice,
You hear as I can spell quite pat,
C, A, T, dog, and D, O, G, cat.

Oh! vot, &c.

Vun arternoon I play'd the vag,
And to the fields my way did drag-
To get cock sorrel, the place I knew,
And butter-cups and daisies too.
Next day the master scolded me,
And threatened that I horsed should be,
But vhen he made the first attack,
Vy, I vollop'd master like a sack.

Oh! vot, &c.

On boxing day my joys increase,
For vhen I shows my Christmas piece,
I gets sich lots o' money then,
'Cause I so vell can use my pen.
And vhen ve has our breaking up,
Oh crickeys! don't I eat and sup;

To cut avay 'tis then the time,
O, jigger me tight! it is so prime.

So thus you see how blest I are,
In larning I bangs Byron far,

Oh! vot, &c.

Vith a mind content vhere'er I goes,
And dress'd in these here handsome clo'es!

I ever bless the fate I'm sure

Vhich made me humble-made me poor,
For oh, you can't conceive the joy,
It is to be a charity boy.

"Humpty dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty dumpty had a great fall;
I'm mammy's pet and daddy's joy,
So, vot d'ye think of the charity boy?

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BELLS UPON THE WIND.

THAT heavenly voice, that heavenly voice,
When every joy has fled,

In accents soothing brings relief,

When all, save hope, is dead.

Those melting sounds, those melting sounds,

Alone can calm the mind,

Like dying sunbeams gild the scene,

Or bells upon the wind.

Bells upon, &c.

Those mellow tones, those mellow tones,

The soul desponding cheer,

Reviving joys the bosom fill,

Fresh budding hopes appear,
The drooping heart, the drooping heart,
In friendship's voice shall find

A balm, whose cheering accents thrill
Like bells upon the wind.

Bells upon, &c.

THE ROSE-BUD OF SUMMER.

WHEN the rose-bud of summer its beauties bestowing, On winter's rude blasts all its sweetness shall pour, And the sunshine of day in night's darkness be glowing.

Oh, then, dearest Ellen, I'll love you no more.,

When of hope the last spark, which thy smile loves to cherish,

In my bosom shall die, and its splendour be o'er, And the pulse of that heart which adores you sha}} perish,

Oh, then, dearest Ellen, I'll love you no more.

I NEVER SAYS NOTHING TO NOBODY

WHAT a shocking world this is for scandal!
The people get worse every day,
Every thing serves for a handle

To take folk's good name away.
In backbiting vile, each so labours,
The sad faults of others to show body;
I could tell enough of my neighbours,
But I never says nothing to nobody.

'Tis a snug little house I reside in,

And the people who're living next door,
Are smother'd completely, such pride in
As I never met with before.

But outside of doors they don't roam,
A large sum of money they owe body,
Folk call but can't find them at home,
I never says nothing to nobody.

The butcher so greasy and fat,
When out he does nothing but boast,
Struts as he cocks on his hat,

As if he supreme ruled the roast.
Talks of his wealth and his riches,
Consequence always does show body;
His ugly old wife wears the breeches,
But I never says nothing to nobody.

The baker lives quite in great style,
His wife is, oh, Lord! such a fright,
New dresses she's got a great pile,
They sleep out of town every night,
Country cottage completely in state,
Determin'd not to be a low body;

He's been pull'd up three times for short weight,
But I never says nothing to nobody.

The publican thriving in trade,
With sorrow is now looking down;
His sweet little pretty bar-maid,

Has a little one just brought to town.
He's not to be seen much about,

His wife is a deuce of a shrew body, The beadles are on the look out,

But I never says nothing to nobody.

A methodist parson of fame,

I see very often go by;

His heart is fill'd full of love's flame,
He visits a girl on the sly;
Although this daily I see,

And surely he's but a so-so body,
Of course, as 'tis nothing to me,
I never says nothing to nobody.

I could tell, if I lik'd, such a tale,

Of neighbours all round great and smail; That surely I think without fail,

Would really astonish re all.

But here now my short ditty ends,
I don't want to hurt high or low body;
I wish to keep in with my friends,

So I never says nothing to nobody.

THERE WAS A JOLLY MILLER.

THERE was a jolly miller once lived on the river Dee, He danc'd and sang from morn till night, no lark so blithe as he,

And this the burden of his song for ever us'd to be, "I care for nobody, no not I, if nobody cares for me."

I live by my mill, God bless her! she's kindred, child, and wife,

I would not change my station for any other in life: No lawyer, surgeon, or doctor, e'er had a groat from

me,

I care for nobody, no not I, if nobody cares for me.

When spring begins his merry career, oh! how his heart grows gay,

No summer's drought alarms his fears, nor winter's cold decay;

No foresight mars the miller's joy, who's wont to sing and say,

"Let others toil from year to year, I live from day to day."

Thus, like the miller, bold and free, let us rejoice and sing,

The days of youth are made for glee, and time is on the wing;

This song shall pass from me to thee, along the jovial

ring,

Let heart and voice, and all agree, to say "Long live

the king."

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