HY droops my Nan, and why those tears!

Cheerful, my girl, dispel those fears;
Cast grief aside, while from you far,
Tumultuous billows rock your tar :
While howling winds around him blow,
Let none your bosom ache with woe:
A pow'r benignant from above,
Will guard me for my dearest love.

go, my Nan, my country's friend,
We're dar'd by foes, we must contend;
Glory and honour both invite
The youth to fix his native right:
One cheering smile before we part,
Wipe off those drops that sink my heart;
Where'er I go, I'll think of you,
One kiss, sweet girl, and then adieu.

WHO better knows the

world than I, A newsman is my calling, And in all weathers, wet or dry,

Rare news I'm always bawling;
And when the folks I want to buy,

My papers to enhance,
Here's dreadful news I loudly cry,

But just arriv'd from France !
Thus when to queer the folks I choose,
I blow my horn, and cry, rare news!


Search round the world, you'll find 'tis true,

The one half of mankind,
The plan of puffing do pursue,

The other half to blind :
Yon Doctor, who so rich and gay,

Drives on thro' lite so cheerly,
Puffs off his pills, and tells you they

Some thousand folks cure yearly;
Thus when to queer the folks they choose,
Each puffs his praise, and'cries, rare news!
Your money-lenders advertise,

And puff their schemes so fair;
They tell us us'ry they despise,

Then trap the rich man's heir. Others, to catch the fair, will puff

for ladies faces;
Fine Turkish wash, or some rare stuff,

Which gives a thousand graces ;
Thus when to queer the folks they choose,
They puff away, and cry, rare news !
Players and dancers, well 'tis known,

Gain half their fame by puffing;
With their own praise they cram the town,

Their pockets mean-time stuffing:
Thus each to trick his neighbour tries,

The aim the golden stuff;
To gain the which they spare no lies,

But give ye puff for puff,
But when to queer the folks I choose,
I blow my horn, and cry, rare news!


Their soap

WHY, what's that to you, if my eyes I'm 2

A tear is a pleasure, d'ye see, in its way: 'Tis nonsense for trifles, I own, to be piping,

But they that ha'nt pity, why I pities they : Says the Captain, says he, I shall never forget it, If of courage you'd know, lads, the true from

the sham, 'Tis a furious lion in battle, so let it,

But duty appeas'd, 'tis in mercy a lamb. There was bustling Bob Bounce, for the old one

not caring, Helter skelter, to work, pelt away, cut, and drive;

sing, Swearing, he, for his part, had no notion of spar

Why, as for a foe, why he'd eat him alive. But when that'he found an old prisoner he'd

wounded, That once sav'd his life, as near drowning he

swam; The lion was tam'd, and with pity confounded,

He cried over him just all as one as a lamb. That my friend, Jack or Tom, I should rescue

from danger, · Or lay my life down for each lad in the mess, Is nothing at all; 'tis the poor wounded

stranger, And the poorer the more I shall succour distress; For however their duty bold tars may delight in,

And peril defy as a bug-bear or fam; Tho'the lion may feel surly pleasure in fighting, Jle'll feel more by compassion when turu'd to a lankb,


The heart and the eyes you see feel the same

motion, And if both shed their drops 'tis all to the

same end; And thus 'tis that every tiglit lad of the ocean, Sheds his blood for his country, his tears for

his friend If my maxim's disease, 'tis disease I shall die on,

You may snigger and titter, I do'nt care a damn! In me let the foe feel the paw of the lion,

But, the battle once ended, the heart of a lamb.


native land

And calmly friendship's joys resign'd; But ah! how keen my sorrows grew,

When my true love I left behind.

Yet, should her truth feel no decay;

Should absence prove my charmer kind; Then shall not I lament the day,

When my true love I left behind.

N the world's crooked path where I've been,

, The bright sunshine, that soften’d the scene,

Was a smile from the girl of my heart.

Not a swain, when the lark quits her nest,

But to labour, with glee, will depart,
If at eve he expects to be bless'd

With a smile from the girl of his heart.

Come then crosses and cares as they may,

Let my mind still this maxim impart,
That the comfort of man's fleeting day,

Is--a smile from the girl of his heart,


TRAVERS'D Juda's barren sand,

At beauty's altar to adore;
But there the Turk had spoil'd the land,

And Siou's daughters were no more.
In Greece, the bold imperious mien,

The wanton look, the leering eye,
Bade Love's devotions not be seen,

Where Constancy is never nigh.

From thence to Italy's fair shore

I bent my never-ceasing way,
And to Loretta's temple bore

A mind devoted still to pray:
But there, too, Superstition's hand

Had sickly'd ev'ry feature o'er ;
And inade me soon regain the land

Where beauty fills the western shore;

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Where IIymen, with celestial pow'r,

Connubial transport doth adorn ; Where purest virtue sports the hour

That ushers in each happy morn.


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