Too fure from this cank'rous elf,
The venom accomplish'd its end;
Ben, all truth and honour himself,
Sufpected no fraud in his friend:
On the yard while fufpended in air,
A loofe to his forrows he gave,
Take thy wifh, cry'd he, falfe cruel fair,
And plung'd in a watʼry grave.

DEAR LITTLE COTTAGE MAIDEN.

FROM place to place I travers'd long,
Devoid of care or forrow;

With lightfome heart, and merry song,
I thought not of to-morrow;
But when Prifcilla caught my eye,
With every charm array'd in,
I figh'd and fung, I knew not why,
Dear little Cottage Maiden.

And wou'd the charmer be but mine,
Sweet nymph, I fo revere thee,
I'd gladly fhare my fate with thine,

And evermore be near thee:

Though gold may please the proud and great,

My heart with love is laden;

Then let us join in wedlock's state,

Dear little Cottage Maiden.

O'er me and mine, come mistress prove,
And then what ill can harm us?

Kind Hymen will each fear remove,
And spread each sweet to charm us:
Together we will live content,

And nought but love will trade in;
So fweetly shall our lives be spent,
Dear little Cottage Maiden.

MESSMATES AT SEA.

BRAVE Oakum, Mainbrace, honeft Jack,
Mat Midfhips too, was there,
Who'd the compass box, knew every tack,
Could handle well, reef, fteer;

The glaffes jingled, mirth went round,
We troll'd a merry glee;

And while caroufing on dry ground,
To our Meffmates drank at Sea.

Sal Spriggings, who was there d'ye mind,
And fhe was all my pride!

Said, while with tears her eyes were blind,
And we fat fide by fide;

"Dear Jack," fays fhe," my heart will break,
"When you're far off from me." :
"Lord! Sall," fays I, "a noggin take,
"To our Meffmates out at Sea.

A thousand other toafts we gave,
With mirth our cabins ring!
"May a Britain never be a flave!

"The navy! George our King!"
At length (from topping I ne'er shrunk,)
It fomehow feem'd to me,

I could fee plaineft, when blind drunk,
Mellmates drink at Sea.

Το

my

Love of our ifle my heart commands,
For Britain's fame I burn,
Where native freedom pipes all hands,
And steps from stem to ftern;
From death or glory I'll ne'er fhrink,
But doufe life's colours free;

Yet while at anchor here, I'll drink
Το my Meffmates out at Sea.

RULE BRITANNIA.

WHEN Britain firft at Heav'ns command, Arofe from out the azure main,

This was the charter, the charter of the land, And guardian angels fung this ftrain:

CHORUS.

Rule, Britannia, Britannia rules the waves,
For Britons never will be slaves.

The nations, not fo bleft as thee,

Muft, in their turns, to tyrants fall,

Whilft thou shalt flourish, shalt flourish great and free, The dread and envy of them all.

Still more majestic shalt thou rife,

More dreadful from each foreign ftroke, As the loud blaft that tears the skies, Serves but to root thy native oak.

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er fhall tame;
All their attempts to bend thee down,
Will but aroufe, aroufe thy gen'rous flame,
And work their woe, and thy renown.

To thee belong the rural reign,

Thy cities fhall with commerce fhine,
All thine fhall be, fhall be the fubject main,
And ev'ry fhore it circles thine.

The mufes ftill with freedom found,

Shall to thy happy coast repair,

[crown'd,

Blefs'd ifle! with beauties, with matchlefs beauties

And manly hearts to guard the fair.

A

WAY with melancholy, nor doleful changes ring, 8

A poor little gipfy I wander forlorn,

A glafs is good, and a lafs is good,

Adieu! adieu! my only life,

ΙΟ

14

17

At dead of night, the hour when courts,

40

Ah! tell me, ye fwains, have ye feen

And are ye fure the news is true,

Alone to the banks of the dark rolling Danube,
A fup of good whisky will make you glad,

As o'er the heath, amid his fteel-clad Thanes,

A fhepherd once had loft his love,

102

60

78

115

118

At Willy's wedding on the green,

B

132

Bleak was the morn when William left his Nancy,

Bright Chanticleer proclaims the dawn,

224

Behind yon hills where Stinchar flows,

27

Begone dull care, I prithee begone from me,

29

Ben Backstay lov'd the gentle Anna,

ibid.

By the fide of a mountain, o'ershadow'd with trees,

Comin through the rye, poor body,

Come under my plaidy, the night's gawn to fa',

30

33