But when our country's foes are nigh,

Each bastens to his gun, sir;
We make the boasting Frenchınan fly,

And bang the haughty Døn, sir.
Our foes subdued, once more on shore,

We spend our cash with glee, sir;
And when that's done, we drown our care;

And out again to sea, sir.

TIME has not thinn'd any flowing hair,

Nor bent me with his iron hand :
Ah! why so soon the blossom tear,

Ere autumn yet the fruit deinand. Let me enjoy the cheering day,

Till many a year has o'er me roll’d; Pleas'd, let me trifle life away,

And sing of love ere I grow old.

SEE the conqu’ring hero comes !

Sound the trumpets, beat the druins
Sports prepare, the laurel bring,
Songs of triumph to him sing !
See the godlike youth advance!
Breathe the flutes and lead the dance;
Myrtle wreathes, and roses twine,
To deck the hero's brow divine,

s 2


HEN I took my departure from Dublin's

sweet town, And for England's

' own self through the seas I did plow, For four long days I was toss'd up and down,

Like a quid of chew'd hay in the throat of a cow; While afraid off the deck in the ocean to slip, sir, I clung, like a cat, a fast hold for to keep, sir, Round about the big post that grows out of the

ship, sir ; Oh! I never thought more to sing Langolee.

Thus standing stock still all the while I was mov

ing, Till Ireland's dear coast I saw clean out of sight; Myself, the next day-a true Irishman proviny,

When leaving the ship, on the shore for to light, As the board they put out was too narrow: to

quarter, The first step I took, I was in such a totter, That I jump'd upon land—to iny neck up

in water; Oh! there was no time to sing Langolee.

But as sharp cold and hunger I never yet knew

more, And my stomach and bowels did grumble and

growl, I thought the best way to get each in good humour, Was to take out the wrinkles of both, by my soul,

So So I went to a house where roast meat they pro

vide, sir, With a whirligig, which up the chimney I spy'd,

sir, Which grinds all their smoke into powder be:

sides, sir; Tis true as I'm now singing Langolec,

Then I went to the landlord of all the stage-coaches,

That set sail for London each night in the week, To whom I obnoxiously made my approaches,

As a birth aboard one I was coine for to seek: But as fur the Inside, I'd not cash in my casket, Says I, with your leave, I make bold, sir, to ask it, When the coach is gone off, pray what tiine

goes the basket? For there I can ride, and sing Langolee.

When making his mouth up, the basket, says he,

sir, Goes after the coach a full hour or two ; Very well, sir, says I, that's the thing then for

me, sir, But the devil a word that he told me was true: For, though one went before and the other be

hind, sir, They set off cheek-by-jowl, at the very same

time, sir, So the same day at night I set out by moon-skine,

sir, All alone, by myself, singing Langolee.

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0, longlife to the moon for a brave noble creatures That serves us with lamp-light, each niglat ia

the dark; While the sun only shines in the day, which, by

nature, Needs no light at all--as you all may remark; But as for the moon-byıny soul I'll be bound, sir, It would save the whole nation a great many

pounds, sir, To subscribe for to light her up all the year

round, sir, Or I'll never sing more about Langolee.

TAD I a heart for falsehood fram'd,

I ne'er could injure you,
For, though your tongue no promise claim'd,

Your charms would make me true.
To you no soul shall bear deceit,

No stranger offer wrong;
But friends in all the ag'd you'll meet,

And lovers in the young.
For when they learn that you have bless'd

Another with your heart,
They'll bid aspiring passion rest,
And act a brother's part.
Then, lady, dread not here deceit, .

Nor fear to suffer wrong;
For, friends in all the ag'd you'll meet,
And brothers in the young.


YOUNG Jockey calls me his delight,

And wooes me night and morning; I treat his passion still with slight,

His fondness always scorning.
Yet love him-I must own I do,

Tho' I my passion smother,
And I should die-I owu 'tis true,
Shou'd he think of another.

Shou'd he, &c.

A blooming garland, t'other day,

He brought, I own 'twas pleasing,
Yet I the present threw away,

And wantonly was teasing.
Why should I thus torment a swain,

And my own fondness smother,
When I shou'd die with grief and pain,
Shou'd he think of another?

Shou'd he, &c.

Let prudence he each virgin's guide,

And reason be prevailing;
Let vanity be set aside,

Coqueiry and railing.
If Jockey offers me his hand,

No more my love l'll smother, But, wedded, I'll obey command, ind vow to love no other.

And vow, &e.


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