Thus peace and war on earth alternate reign: And sheaths the martial sword! STROPHE II. (By Brother CHARLES.) And now gay Hope, her anchor dropping, And blue-ey'd Peace, and black-ey'd Pleasures, And Plenty in light cadence hopping, Fain would dance to WHITEHEAD's measures. But WHITEHEAD now in death reposes, Crown'd with laurel! crown'd with roses! Yet we, with laurel crown'd, his dirge will sing, And thus deserve fresh laurels from the KING, NUMBER III, ODE, By SIR JOSEPH MAWBEY, BART. STROPHE. HARKto yon heavenly skies, Nature's congenial perfumes upwards rise! From each throng'd sty That saw my gladsome eye, Incense, quite smoking hot, arose, AIR-accompanied by the LEARNED PIG. Tell me, dear Muse, O! tell me, pray, [Here Muse whispers I-Sir Joseph:] Indeed!-Repeat the fragrant sound! Push love and loyalty around, Through Irish, Scotch, as well as British ground! CHORUS. For this BIG MORN GREAT GEORGE was born! The tidings all the Poles shall ring! On this, thy native day, GEORGE, by the grace of God, my rightful KING! AIR with Lutes. Well might my dear lady say, This very, I hear the lark, Or else it is the sweet Sowgelder's horn! ANTISTROPHE. Forth from their sties the bristly victims lead; In lily fat They cut six inches on the ribs, at least! DUET-with Marrow-bones and Cleavers. Butcher and Cook, begin! We'll have a royal greasy chin! Tid-bits so nice and rare Prepare! prepare! Let none abstain, Refrain! I'll give 'em pork in plenty-cut, and come again! RECITATIVE. Hog! Porker! Roaster! Boar-stag! Barbicue! Hands! Hocks! Hams! Haggis, with high seas'ning fill'd! Gammons! Green Griskins! on gridirons grill'd! T S Liver and Lights! from Plucks that moment drawn, Pigs' Puddings! Black and White! with Canterbury Brawn! TRIO. Fall to, Ye Royal crew! Eat! eat your bellies full! pray do! At treats I never winces The Queen shall say, Once in a way, Her maids have been well cramm'd her young ones diu'd like Princes! FULL CHORUS accompanied by the whole HOGGERY. For this BIG MORN GREAT GEORGE was born! The tidings all the Poles shall ring! On this, thy native day, GEORGE! by the grace of God, my rightful KING!!!! NUMBER IV: ODE, By SIR RICHARD HILL, BART. HAIL pious Muse of saintly love, Behold, both eyeballs gaze! Quick, Muse, descend, descend! Meek Muse of Madan, thee my soul invokesO point my pious puns! O sanctify my jokes! II. Descend, and, O! in mem'ry keep There's a time to wake a time to sleep→→→ The Bible says soso do I! Then broad awake, O come to me! W 14 III. MILLER, bard of deathless name, MOSES, wag of merry fame; Holy, holy, holy pair, Hearken to your vot'ry's pray'r! |