All gay as the lark the green woodlands we trac'd,
While the merry-ton'd horn inspir'd as we chas'd;
No longer poor Reynard his strength could he boast,
To the hounds he knock'd under, and gave up the
ghost.

The sports of the field, when concluded and o'er,
We sound the horn back again over the moor;
At night take the glass, and most cheerily sing
The fox-hunters round, not forgetting the king.

My beautiful Maid.

WHEN absent from her whom my soul holds most

dear,

What a medley of passions invade!

In this bosom what anguish, what hope, and what fear,

I endure for my beautiful maid.

In vain I seek pleasure to lighten my grief,
Or quit the gay throng for the shade;
Nor retirement, nor solitude yield me relief,
When away from my beautiful maid.

The Beggar.

A BEGGAR I am, and of low degree,
For I'm come of a begging family:
I'm lame, but when in a fighting bout,
I whip off my leg and I fight it out;

In running I leave the beadle behind,
And a lass I can see, though alas! I'm blind;
Through town and village I gaily jog,
My music, the bell of my little dog:
I'm cloth'd in rags,

I'm hung with bags,
That round me wags;
I've a bag for my salt,
A bag for my malt,

A bag for the leg of a goose;
For my oats a bag,

For my groats a bag,

And a bottle to hold my boose.

It's now "Heaven bless you for your charity !"
And then push the can about, fol de rol de ree.

In begging a farthing I'm poor and old,
In spending a noble I'm stout aud bold;
When a brave full company I see,

It's "my noble masters, your charity!"
But when a traveller I meet alone,

"Stand and deliver, or I'll knock you down!"
All day for a wandering mumper I pass,

At night-oh! a barn, and buxom lass.

I'm cloth'd in rags, &c.

WHAT wonderful times we have liv'd to behold, Events that surprise both the young and the

old;

All Europe is now in a bustle, we know,
Determin'd to put down a dangerous foe;

And England, to raise the supplies to her aid,
Has lately a tax upon bachelors laid;

Let all single gentlemen learn from this plan,
They'd better get married as fast as they can.

The tidings they heard of this tax, people say,
The corps of old bachelors fill'd with dismay,
Who loudly the minister 'gan be abuse,
While sipping their coffee, and talking the news.
Taxation or marriage, their lot in this life,
To choose the least evil some fix'd on a wife.
Let all single gentlemen earn from his plan,
They'd better get married as fast as they can.

Come, bachelors, this is no time for delay,
To wedlock you'd best take the readiest way;
And since there by courtship much time is engross'd,
At once advertise in the Times or the Post:
But make a sure bargain for fear of a joke,
And don't for a wife get a pig in a poke;
Let all single gentlemen learn from this plan,
They'd better get married as fast as they can,

Then, ladies, compassion to bachelors show,
To meet their addresses be not very slow;
No time they've to lose, it is very well known,
Consider, a moment, the case as your own.
Perhaps, shou'd the Minister want further aids,
Next year he may levy a tax upon maids;
Then, maidens and bachelors, follow my plan,
You'd better get married as fast as you can.

Sweet Jess of the Vale.

O'ER thy green mossy bed still shall softly meander, Thy waters, sweet Don, as they swell in the gale: But no more on thy banks, by the moonbeams shall

wander,

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The blossom of beauty, sweet Jess of the vale. On thy wood-sloping sides, still the birch and the

willow,

Shall wave their green boughs, and the dark rugged pine;

But the rose and the violet, the boast of the valley, No more round their branches shall sportively twine.

As the bright blushing rose, at day's early gleaming, To the glances of Sol all its fragrance displays; So blooming in beauty, with youth and hope beaming,

Jess bask'd in the sunshine of love's smiling rays. Young Henry, whose heart with soft glances alluring The maids of the village in vain sought to gain; The graces of Jessy, all others obscuring,

Triumphant in Henry's true bosom did reign,

But hope's smiling vision their mutual love crowning,

Sad fate's sterner mandate dissolv'd into air; The trumpet of war, their loud sorrows drowning, Call'd Henry to arms, and left Jess to despair. Now bathing in anguish her sad lonely pillow, Jess fadingly droop'd like the primrose so pale, Till sinking in death, by a wide-spreading willow, Reposes for ever sweet Jess of the vale,

We'll gang to Kirk awa.

MY lad's a braw and bonny lad,
Good-temper'd, kind and free;

And day and night the bonny boy
Is always wooing me

For though they say we shanna wed,
And make a mickle din,

Still Jammie fondly whispers me,

66

'Hoot! dinna care a pin !"

For we will gang to kirk, my love,
We'll gang to kirk awa,

My father's grown a crabbed man,
And baits us with his tongue,
My mither too, who joins with him,
Forgets when she was young:
But let them scold, and let them frown,
And make a mickle din,

Still Jammie fondly whispers me,
"Hoot! dinna care a pin!"

For we will gang to kirk, &c,

My granny 's kind, and takes our part
Whene'er we are not by,

And Jammie's hopes are join'd to mine,
To pray she may not die:
For while we have a friend in her,
We fear no mickle din ;
Still Jammie fondly whispers me,
Hoot! dinna care a pin !"

For we will gang to kirk, &c.