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When Lobski to his spouse drew near,

Says she, "What sport have you had, my dear?" The river," says he," is full of water-rats,

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So I've only caught you a dozen sprats.”

A dozen sprats, &c.

"A dozen sprats, base man!" says she, "What, catch in a river the fish of the sea? You can throw a long line, Mr. Lobski, I know, But 'tis clear you can draw a much longer bow." A longer bow, &c.

MORAL.

Let all men who are frail in flesh,
Observe salt water is not fresh,

For wives their husbands will condemn,

Who think, with sprats to gudgeon them.

To gudgeon them, &c.

The Battle of Salamanca,

LOUD roar'd the British thunder,
Near Salamanca's tow'rs;
French ranks were cut asunder,
By Britain's daring pow'rs:

The fields were bath'd in blood,
For Spain and England's good:
On that day
-Thousands lay,
On the field of battle Q!

As day was near retiring,
The conflict fierce began;
Tremendous was the firing,
Which thro' the battle ran:
The bayonets decide-
(The British soldier's pride!)
Th' awful fight-

In the night,

On the field of battle O!

And ere returning morrow
Had beam'd on distant hills,
The foe impress'd with horror,
Resign'd the bloody fields
To Vict'ry's glorious son,
Immortal Wellington,

Who remain'd-And obtain'd
The honour of the battle O!

Where Douro's waves meander,
They urg'd their wayward course,
In speed to Penaranda,

Pursued by British force.

From plains with carnage spread,
Inglorious Marmont fled,

Wounded sore-In the roar,
On the field of battle O!

Long shall this deed of glory
Re-echo to the skies,

And Wellington in story
Shall live till nature dies.

For valour he shall stand,

The Nelson of the land!

And be bless'd-Long caress'd
For Salamanca's battle O!

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Tally-ho.

YE sportsmen draw near, and ye sportswomen

too,

Who delight in the joys of the field;

Mankind, though they blame, are all eager as you, And no one the contest will yield.

His lordship, his worship, his honour, his grace, A hunting continually go;

All ranks and degrees are engag'd in the chase, With hark forward, huzza, Tally-ho

The lawyer will rise with the first of the morn,
To hunt for a mortgage or deed;

The husband gets up at the sound of the horn,
And rides to the commons full speed;
The patriot is thrown in pursuit of his game;
The poet too often lies low,

Who, mounted on Pegasus, flies after fame,
With hark forward, huzza, Tally-ho.

While fearless o'er hills and o'er woodlands we sweep,

Though prudes on our pastime may frown,
How oft do they Decency's bounds overleap,
And the fences of virtue break down!

Thus public, or private, for pension, for place,
For amusement, for passion, for show,
All ranks and degrees are engag'd in the chase,
With hark forward, huzza, Tally-ho.

England for ever-the land, boys, we

live in.

SINCE our foes to invade us have long been pre

paring,

'Tis clear they consider we've something worth sharing,

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And for that mean to visit our shore';

It behoves us, however, with spirit to meet 'em,
And though 'twill be nothing uncommon to beat 'em
We must try how they 'll take it once more.
So fill, fill your glasses; be this the toast given,
Here's England for ever the land, boys, we live
in.

Here's a health to our tars on the wild ocean ranging,

Perhaps even now some broadsides are exchanging,
We'll on shipboard and join in the fight;
And when with the foe we are firmly engaging,
'Till the fire of our guns lulls the sea in its raging,
On our country we'll think with delight.

So fill, &c.

On that throne where once Alfred in glory was seated,

Long, long way our king by his people be greeted, Oh! to guard him we 'll be of one mind;

May Religion, Law, Order, be strictly defended, And continue the blessings they first were intended, In union the nation to bind.

So fill, &c.

P

The Woodpecker.

I KNEW by the smoke, that so gracefully curl'd Above the green elms, that a cottage was near, And I said, "If there's peace to be found in the world,

A heart that was humble might hope for it here." Ev'ry leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound, But the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech tree.

And "Here in this lone little wood," I exclaim'd, "With a maid who was lovely to soul and to eye, Who would blush when I prais'd her, and weep if I blam'd,

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How blest could I live, and how calm could I die!"

"By the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry dips

In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to recline, And to know that I sigh'd upon innocent lips, Which ne'er had been sigh'd on by any but mine!"

When angry Nations rush to arms.
WHEN angry nations rush to arms,

And dare Britannia's peace molest;
While Discord sounds her dire alarms,
And fills with rage each hostile breast;

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