A GRAND SYMPHONY. Accompanied with marrow-bones and cleavers. AIR. Hark, how the banging marrow-bones With a ding dong, ding dong, Ding dong, ding dong, Let cleavers found A merry merry round FULL CHORUS. Hark, how the banging marrow-bones Make clanging cleavers ring ; Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, ding. Let cleavers found ronnd RECIT. RECIT. Accompanied. Cease lighter numbers: Hither bring Stretch'd out, and to the tumid bladder Then deeper fwell the notes and fadder, A I. R. With dead, dull, doleful, heavy hums, And grievous groans, PART II. RECIT. Accompanied. W Motion, fenfe, and life inspire; ITH magic founds, like thefe, did Orpheus' lyre When, as he play'd, the lift'ning flood Still'd its loquacious waves, and silent stood; The trees swift-bounding danc'd with loofen'd stumps, And fluggish ftones caper'd in active jumps. AIR. Each ruddy-breasted robbin The concert bore a bob in, * This inftrument, by the learned, is fometimes called a humftrum. And And ev'ry hooting owl around; The grunting hogs, All, all confpir'd to raise th' enliv'ning found. RECITATIVE. Now to Cæcilia, heav'nly maid, With folemn hymns to celebrate her praise, The falt-box with clattering and clapping fhall found, Buzzing twang with wav'ring wire, The fober hurdy-gurdy thrum, And the merry merry marrow-bones ring round. LAST GRAND CHORUS. Such matchless strains Cæcilia knew, * ** ADVICE TO THE MARQUIS OF ROCKINGHAM, UPON A LATE OCCASION. WRITTEN IN 1765, BY AN OLD COURTIER. WELL TELL may they, Wentworth, call thee young, What hear and feel! fift right from wrongs And be both deaf and blind ! If thus, my lord, your heart o'erflows, Such weakness will create you? We older folks shall hate you. 7 You should have sent, the other day, Your smiles but made him bolder ; I would that you were older! а You should be proud, and seem difpleas'd Or you for ever will be teaz'd, Your house with beggars haunted: If right, their fuit is granted. From preffing crowds of great and small, And fail nineteen in twenty: What, wound my honour, break my word! Indeed, young ftatefman, 'twill not do,- More fitted to your station! What from your boyish freaks can spring? BRYAN AND PEREEN E. A WEST INDIAN BALLAD; FOUNDED ON A REAL FACT, THAT HAPPENED A FEW YEARS AGO IN THE ISLAND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER, HE north-eaft wind did briskly blow, THE The ship was fafely moor'd, Young Bryan thought the boat's crew flow, |