Who sobb'd, and sigh'd, and pin'd,

And begg'd I would some boon bestow On a poor little boy, stone blind.

Let India unfold her rich gems to the view,
Each virtue, each joy to improve;
Oh! give me the friend that I know to be true,
And the fair that I tenderly love.

When he drew from his quiver a dart,

Cry'd

"My power you shall know," Then he levell'd his bow,

And wounded me right in the heart.

And riot, the pleasure of wine; What's riches, but trouble? and title's a name ; But friendship and love are divine.

NAY, let the stricken deer, poor thing,
Go weep, and sigh, and languish,
"Till balmy death remove the sting
Of undeserved anguish.

The guileless maid with danger treads
The purest paths of joy;

Or love for her his trammels spreads,
Or slander's shafts destroy.

Nay, let the stricken deer, &c. And let the slander'd maid go weep, Remote from ev'ry eye;

With sainted spirits vigils keep,
And wait her hour to die.

Nay, let the stricken deer, &c.

;

Four-and-twenty Tailors sat 'em down to dine,
Bold men in buckram, with appetites fine drawn
All the preparations were order'd superfine,
Among the rest beef skirts and famous collared
brawn.

SPOKEN.] Mr. Snip, do you take turkey?'No, I always prefer goose.'- Brother Chip, shall I help you to some cauliflower?—No, cabbage for me.' This beef is really ingrain; shall I send you a slice ? Let it be ell-wide then.'-' Give me a slice of that pudding; double-mill'd drab I declare, cuts like long cloth!'- Yes, but you'll soon make it short commons.' Here, Waiter!'Sharp as a needle, gentlemen.'

Hob, nob! what's the toast? Here's success to trade;

Tailors an't the only folks whom cabbaging has made!

Four-and-twenty Shoemaker's sat 'em down to dine, Strap to, peg away; brush'd up, and polish'd all; The cookery was right cordovan; and black-strap was the wine,

And not a soul among 'em left a heel-tap e'er so small.

Four-and-twenty Tallow-chandlers sat 'em down to dine,

Longs, shorts, middlings, of every sort and size : All cottoning together; no wax-lights half so fine, Good humour lighted up appeared in all their sparkling eyes.

SPOKEN.] Give me some short sixes.'-' I suppose you mean asparagus.'- I'll take a dip in the soup vat 'This mutton's of the right mould.'Mr. Wick, you look as fine as a flambeaux.'- Bless us, how your wit gutters.' Snuff him out.'— Here, Waiter ! Candles in a moment, gentlemen.'

Hob, nob! what's the toast? Here's success to trade;

And may illuminations for victory oft be made! Four-and-twenty Music-masters sat 'em down to dine,

All bows, each at dinner could first fiddle play; Their mouths all mov'd in merry time to what they might incline,

While they run up a pretty score and piper had

to pay.

SPOKEN.] Gentlemen, are you all in tune?'I'm sharp set.' Who's for a solo on a sirloin?'I like a duet, beef and pudding.'- Who'll take a part in a glee, I mean a glass? O, I'll rosin with all my heart.'-' Mr. Blowpipe, do you take strawberries?'- O, no, hoboys for me.' , What say you, gents, to the musical glasses? Why, we seem a little flat, I'll give you a toast," May all enemies to harmony finish in a common chord. - Here, Waiter!'- Coming in a brace of shakes, gentlemen.'

Hob, nob! what's the toast? Here's success to trade;

And may all fortune's future scores in harmony be made!

Four-and-twenty Dancing-masters sat 'em down to dine,

All cut and figur'd in, not one inclin❜d to cross; Each put his best foot foremost, their positions

were all fine;

From pig and cow they'd toe and heel, and loads of caper sauce.

SPOKEN.] Dear me, one might dance a hornpipe on this crust.'- You're so impatient, I always eat in jig time.'- Cast off one couple of fowls there.' How shall I cut this up?' Down the middle and up again.' Who takes wine?' All, right and left. Here, Waiter!'- Set to in a moment, gentlemen.'

Hob, nob! what's the toast? Here's success to trade;

How many fortunes with all ranks by shuffling are made!

Four-and-twenty Doctors sat 'em down to dine,

Pulses all in unison, from hunger tongues so so; Every thing in season, from the chickens to the chine,

The whole materia medica of Messrs. Glass and Co.

SPOKEN.] 'The seasoning of this duck bites like a blister, and the pease are as big as boluses.'How's that tongue?'- Pretty fair.' I don't like the look of it. Let me prescribe rhubarb pie, then.' Dr. Pop'em, a glass of wine?''No objection to a black dose, Doctor.'' Here, Waiter! Repeat the dose immediately, gentlemen.'

Hob, nob! what's the toast? Here's success to trade;

Fortunes are by quackery in all professions made! Four-and-twenty Lawyers sat 'em down to dine,

Like red tails and latitats, all lawful in their looks; All busy as in term time, the cause list full and fine, The bill of fare as long as theirs, their counsellors the cooks.

SPOKEN.] Gentlemen, I think you hav'n't done that haunch justice.' Then I move for a new trial.'-'I move for a habeas to bring that John Dory to this end of the table.'- Brother, will you take a rule-bless me, I mean a rump-steak?'

Brother Brief, help me to a client! What do you mean?' A flat fish, to be sure.'- Can any gentleman show cause why we shouldn't take a glass of wine round?'- Here, Waiter! move the cloth.' Clear the court in a moment, gentlemen.'

Hob, nob! what's the toast? Here's success to trade;

Fortunes are by wiggery in all professions made! Four-and-twenty Painters sat 'em down to dine,

In colours gay as rainbows all set to in a trice; The canvas for the dinner stretch'd each hand on a design,

For each was a good workman and had a palate nice.

SPOKEN.] Brother Daub, give me some turbot for a first coat, and lobster sauce over it for a second.I protest these fish are perfect pictures.'— 'Yes, here are soles done in oil, and salmon in

water.'" That duck you've got in famous keeping."

Yes, he means to keep it all to himself. "That pudding is too much in perspective.'- Who's for a glass of red lake? Waiter, draw some wine.' Brush in a moment, gentlemen.'

Hob, nob! what's the toast? Here's success to trade;

May all our battle-pieces after Wellington be made' Four-and-twenty Actors set 'em down to dine,

Such cutting and such hacking ne'er in tragedy you knew;

They came with comic phizzes, some dressed farsically fine,

The singers all had op'ra hats, and all in merry

сие.

Yes,

SPOKEN.]Waiter, remove the covers.' let's have a peep behind the curtain.'- Will you have some of the fish?'- O, yes, I sigh for my beautiful maid.'- Mr. Rant, shall I give you goose? No, I've enough of that on the boards.

Has John Dory made his exit?'-Yes, and enter John Grouse. How they are fighting for the pease! Only rehearsing the Battle of Hastings.

Do you take O. P. or P. S.? What's that?Old port, or prime sherry.'- Mr. Prompter, will you wet your whistle with a glass of wine?'

Here's a bumper to your benefit.' Ring for the call.' Here, Waiter, desert and bill. Fine fruit and a bill of the play directly, gentlemen.'

Hob, nob! what's the toast? Here's success to trade;

May all the parts in nature's drama with applause be played!

Four-and-twenty Poets sat 'em down to dine,
Rare men, spare men, all hungry as could be,
All drest in their best clothes, though not very fine,
They sat 'em down by couplets, the dinner glad

to see.

SPOKEN.] Brother Fiction, this is better than feeding on fancy.'-'I fancy it is.'- Do you never mean to take that porter-pot from your mouth?'

O, the poet says, drink deep, or taste not.''Who'll have an LE G of a fowl? Mr. Pun, shall I give you a merry thought?'- Brother Tagrhyme, which of the ancient poets do you like best??'Chaucer, at dinner-time.'- Ah, Joe Miller.'Here, Waiter, all the porter's out of print.’— A second edition immediately, gentlemen.'

Hob, nob! what's the toast? Here's success to trade;

May fortune be, if not by rhyme, at least by reason made!

Oh! Lady fair, where art thou roaming? The sun has sunk, the night is coming.

Stranger, I go o'er moor and mountain, To tell my beads at Agnes' fountain.

But fled as swift, with footstep light, As he who brought the wine to night: I tried to stop the thief, but he

Turn'd round in rage, good lack, So mad the lawyer scarce can be, That's hid in yonder sack.

THE TRUE BOTTOM'D BOXER;
OR, THE CHAMPION OF FAME.
(T. Jones.)

Air-" Oh! nothing in Life can sadden us.”
SPRING'S the boy for a Moulsey-Hurst rig my lads,
Shaking a flipper, and milling a pate;
Fibbing a nob is most excellent gig, my lads,
Kneading the dough is a turn out in state.
Tapping the claret to him is delighting,
Belly-go-firsters and clicks of the gob;

For where are such joys to be found as in fighting,
And measuring mugs for a chancery job:
With flipping and milling, and fobbing and nobbing,
With belly-go-firsters, and kneading the dough,
With tapping of claret, and clipping and gobbing,
Say just what you please, you must own he's
the go.

Spring's the boy for flooring and flu ing it,
Hitting and stopping, advance and retreat,

Oh! lady fair, where is he going?

A wandering pilgrim, weak I falter,
To tell my beads at Agnes' altar.

Chill falls the rain, night winds are blowing,
Dreary and dark's the way we're going.
Fair lady, rest till morning blushes,
I'll strew for thee a bed of rushes.
Ah! stranger, when my beads I'm counting,
I'll bless thy name at Agnes' fountain.
Then, pilgrim, turn, and rest thy sorrow,
Thou'lt go to Agnes' shrine to-morrow.
Good stranger, when my beads I'm telling,
My saint shall bless thy leafy dwelling.
Strew, then, oh! strew our bed of rushes,
Here we must rest till morning blushes.

ACROSS THE DOWNS.

(Prince Hoare.)

ACROSS the downs this morning,
As betimes I chanc'd to go,
A shepherd led his flock abroad,

All white as driven snow;

But one was most the shepherd's care,
A lamb so sleek, so plump, so fair;
Its wondrous beauties, in a word,

To let you fairly know,
"Twas such as Nelly from the fire
Took off not long ago.

This lamb, so blythe as Midsummer,
His frolic gambols play'd;

And now of all the wanton flock abroad,
The pretty wanton strayed.

A wolf that watched, with greedy eyes,
Rushed forth and seized the tender prize;
The shepherd saw, and raised a stone,
So round, so large, I vow
'Twas like the cake that Nelly laid
Upon the shelf just now.

This monstrous stone the shepherd flung,
And well his aim he took;

Yet scarce the savage creature deign'd
Around to cast a look;

And will ne'er say enough, till he's downright dead beat;

No crossing for him, true courage and bottom all, You'll find him un, try on if you can; You shy cocks, he shows them no favour, od rot 'em

all,

When he fights he tries to accomplish his man; With giving and taking, and flooring and flushing, With hitting and stopping, huzza to the ring, With chancery suiting, and sparring and rushing, He's the champion of fame, and of manhood the spring.

Spring's the boy for rum going and coming it, Smashing and dashing, and tipping it prime, Eastward and westward, and sometimes backslumming it,

He's for the scratch, and come up too in time; For the victualling-office no favour he'll ask it, For smeller and ogles he feels just the same; At the pipkin to point, or upset the bread basket, He's always in twig, and bang up for the game; With going and tipping, and timing and priming,

Till groggy and queery, straight forward's the rig; With ogles and smellers, no piping and chiming, You'll own he's the boy that is always in twig.

JUST LIKE LIFE.

Air-" Sigh not for Love." (Miss Bryant.)
JUST like life is that beautiful flower,
That withers and sinks to the earth in an hour;
It rose in the morning, fresh sweets to exhale,
The victim of spoilers and many a gale.
Just like life.

Just like life is yon murmuring rill,
Which glides through the valley so lovely and still,
Alas! not for ever soft pleasure can beam,
And the rill often ends in a turbulent stream.
Just like life.

Just like life, in short, is the world,

A picture of pleasure and sorrow, unfurl'd
To the view of the gazer, a dark scene for

thought,

A struggle to live, but a combat for nought.

Just like life.

Of its beauties and its qualities no doubt he told 'em fine tales,

But for me I would just as soon have bought a cat of nine tails;

I wouldn't give for all the cats in Christendom so vast a fee,

Not to save 'em from the Catacombs or Cataline's catastrophe.

Kate of Russia, Katterfelto's cat, and Catalani, Are every one outdone, as you shall hear.

SPOKEN.] We'll suppose Mr. Cat's-eye, the auctioneer, with his catalogue in one hand, and a hammer, like a catapulta, in the other, mounted in the rostrum, at the great room in Cateatonstreet. "Hem! led's and gemmen-Cats are of two distinctions, Thomas and Tabby: this is of the former breed, and the only instance in which I have seen beauty monopolized by a male! Look at him, ladies, what a magnificent mouser! meek though masculine! The curious concatenation of colour in that cat calls, categorically, for your best bidding! Place a proper price upon poor pussey; consult your feline bosoms, and bid me knock him down."

Ladies and gentlemen, a-going, going, going, Any sum for Tommy Tortoiseshell you can't think

dear.

Next, I should tell ye, the company around him, Who emulously bid as if they all were wild; Tom thought 'em mad, while the king of kittens crown'd him,

And kiss'd, caress'd, and dandled him, iust like a child;

Lady Letty Longwaist, and Mrs. Martha Griskin, Prim Polly Pussylove, Miss Scratch, and Biddy Twiskin,

Solemn Sally Solus, who to no man yes had ever said,

Killing Kitty Crookedlegs, and neat Miss Nelly

Neverwed.

Crowding, squeezing, nodding, bidding, each for

puss so eager;

Have Tom they would, by all that's good! as you shall hear.

SPOKEN, in different voices.] Irish lady. "Och, the dear creature, how beautiful he looks when he the mice to look at him." Auctioneer. "Fortyshuts his eyes! beautiful indeed-he'd even lure five guineas in twenty places." By different ladies. "Sixty-five! Seventy! Eighty! Ninety! Auctioneer. "Go on ladies; nobody bid more? It's enough to make a cat swear to think he should go for so little; if the Countess of Catamaran was here she'd out-bid ye all. Miss Grimalkin, you are a connoisseur in cats, what shall I say?" voice). "Ninety-five guineas, sir" (in an old tremulous "Thank you, miss." "Mem, it does be mine, if I bid all day. One hundred and not signify, you may bid as you will, but he shall twenty, sir." long languishing look, ladies. "Thank ye, Lady Letty. Take a What a wonder! the only tortoiseshell Tom the world ever witnessed! see how he twists his tail and washes his whiskers! Tom! Tom! (cat mews,) how musically he mews.' "One hundred and seventy guineas, sir." "Thank ye, Miss Tabby, you'll not be made a cat's paw of depend on't (ladies laugh). Glad to hear you laugh, ladies; I see how the cat jumps now!"

YET, though I've no fortune to offer,
I've something to put on a par,
Come, then, and accept of my proffer,
"Tis the kind honest heart of a tar.
Ne'er let such a trifle as this is,

Girls, be to my pleasure a bar,
You'll be rich, though 'tis only in kisses,
With the kind honest heart of a tar.
Besides, I am of none of your ninnies;
The next time I come from afar
I'll give you a lap full of guineas,

With the kind honest heart of a tar.
Your lords, with such fine baby faces,
That strut in a garter and star,
Have they, under their tambour and laces,
The kind honest heart of a tar?

I've this here to say now, and mind it,
If love, that no hazard can mar,
You are seeking, you'll certainly find it
In the kind honest heart of a tar.

Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest.
Hear my vow before I go,

My love, my life, I love thee.
By those tresses unconfined,
Wooed by each Ægean wind,
By those lids, whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks blooming tinge,
By those wild eyes, like the roe,

My dearest life, I love thee! Maid of Athens, I am gone : Think of me, sweet, when alone. Though I fly to Istambol Athens holds my heart and soul. Can I cease to love thee ?-No. My dearest life, I love thee.

WINE, WINE, MAKES US FROLIC AND GAY.

(T. Brown.)

Wine, wine, in a morning makes us frolic and gay,

That like eagles we soar In the pride of the day; Gouty sots of the night Only find a decay.

"Tis the sun ripes the grape, And to drinking gives light; We imitate him

When by noon we're at height;
They steal wine who take it
When he's out of sight.

Boy, fill all the glasses,

Fill them up now he shines, The higher he rises

The more he refines,

For wine and wit fall

As their maker declines.

MR. FOG;

OR, THE CHANDLER'S SHOP.

MR. FOG he conducted a chandler's shop,
Mrs. Fog was just fit for her station,
And they had a daughter they call'd Miss Pop,
Who had a polite education;

For Missey was sent to a boarding-school,
Where all the fine things they taught here:
I don't mean to say Mr. Fog was a fool,
But he made a great fool of his daughter.

SPOKEN.] Miss came home for the holidays, and all their friends were invited: Miss Poppy sat as prim as a wax doll in a toy-shop window. "Poppy," says Mr. Fog, "Poppy, my dear, do pollywoo a little, to show your larning." "La, pa, vat a fool you are.' "Vell," says the tripe" "that's vat I calls manners." "Come, come, my dear," says Mrs. Fog, "do speechify a little stronomy and bottomy, about plants and comets. "Vy, ma, if I did, you wouldn't understand it." "Manners, again," said the tripe

man,

man.

But just as you like, to fashion bow,

Every one to their liking,

As the old woman said, when she kiss'd her cow, Isn't the picture striking?

Miss Fog she left school just as wise as she went, And dressed out in muslins and sandals,

She oftentimes into the shop was sent,

To serve out soap, small beer, and candles.