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Nor from their diversion and merriment ceas'd,
Till ev'ry hog there was as drunk as a beaft.

Derry down, &c.

And now the grave lecture and pray’rs at an end,
He brings along with him a neighbouring friend,
To be a partaker of Sunday's good cheer,
And taste his delightful October brew'd beer.

Derry down, &c.

The dinner was ready, the things were laid snug, Here, wife, says the Parson, go fetch up a mug ; But a mug of what, he had scarce time to tell her, When, yonder, said the, are the hogs in the cellar!

Derry down, &c.

To be sure they've

in when we were at pray’rs ; To be sure you're a fool, said he, get you down ftairs, And bring what I bid you, or fee what's the matter, For now I myself hear a grunting and clatter,

Derry down, &c.

She went; and returning, with forrowful face, In suitable phrases related the case : He rav'd like a madman about in the room, And then beat his wife and the hogs with the broom :

Derry down, &c.

a

Lord ! husband, said she, what a coil you keep here, About a poor beggarly barrel of beer ; You should " in your troubles, mischances and crosses, Remember the patience of Job in his loffes.”

Derry down, &c.

A - upon Job! cry'd the Priest in a rage, That beer, I dare say, was near ten years

of

age. But you're a poor ignorant jade, like his wife, For Job never had such a cask in his life.

Derry down, &c.

a

Now, neighbour, while at the poor vicar you grin, Your case, let me tell you's not better a pin ;

With goodness and wisdom your theory back'd is,
But you're, ten to one, knave and fool in your practice.

Derry down, &c.

Whoever you are, I'll be sworn you're no saint:
Would you mend—then yourself withyourfailingsacquaint;
These conquer, and then give advice, if you chufe,
For who'd give you thanks for a thing you can't use.

Derry down, &c.

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S O N G

CCCIX.

L I G H T OF THE MOON.

W

HEN fairies dance late in the grove,

And
Say, will you meet me sweet love

Alone by the light of the moon.
But say, will you never deceive

The lafs you have conquer'd so foon,
Nor leave poor Flavilla to grieve

Alone by the light of the moon.
That planet shall start from its sphere
Or I
prove

so faithless a loon;
Dear laffie, I'll banish thy fears,

I swear by the light of the moon.

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Sweet, sweet is the jeffamine grove,

And sweet is the roses in June ;
But sweeter the language of love

Breath'd forth by the light of the moon.

Slow rolls the channels of day

Unwilling to grant me my boon;
Away, dearest sunshine, away,

Give place to the light of the moon.

The nightingale warbles her lay,

Enlivens the gloom with her song, And glad at the absence of day,

Invites the pale light of the moon.

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T

HERE was a clever comely girl,

Just come to town from Glo'fter,
And she did get her livelihood
By crying Milton oysters.

And she did get her livelihood, &c.

a

She carried a basket under her arm,

In the genteelest pofture, And ev'ry day and ev'ry night

Cry'd, Buy my Milton oyfters.

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At length she resolv'd with him to go,

Whatever it might cost her, And be no more oblig'd to cry,

Come buy my Milton oysters.

And now she is a lady gay,

For Billingsgate has lost her, She goes to Masquerade and play, No more cries Milton oyiters.

She goes to masquerade, &c.

SONG

CCCXI.

TWINE WEEL THE PLAIDEN.

A Favourite Scots Song.

O

I ha’e lost my filken snood,
That tied

my

hair sae yellow ;
I've gi'en my heart to a lad I loo'd,
He was a gallant fellow.
And twine it weel, my bonny dow,

And twine it weel the plaiden ;
The laffie lost her filken snood,

In pu'ing of the bracken.

He prais'd my een, fae bonny blue,

Sae lily white my skin, O;
And fyne he pried my bonny mou',
And swore it was nae fin, O.

And twine it weel, &c.

But he has left the lass he loo'd,

His ain true love forsaken,
Which gars me fair to'greet the snood
I loft among the bracken.

And twine it weel, &c.

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S O N G CCCXII.

IN AIR Y DRE A M S.

N airy dreams soft fancy flies,

love

And with the early dawn I rise,

Dear youth, to think on thee.

How swiftly flew the rosy hours,

While love and hope were new; Sweet as the breath of op'ning flow'rs,

But ah! as transient too.

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THE PART IN G L O V E R S.

INCE glory calls, I must away,

Dear Nancy, why these tears Thy William's duty is to sway

His sword, and scorn all fears,

S

With gallant Rodney on the main,

We'll dare each hoftile foe;
And firmly brave the worst of pain,

Nor fear no fatal blow.

What if a ball should end my cares,

Let not my love repine ;
Believe the heart which fcorn'd all fears,

Till death was only thine.

S O N G

CCCXIV.

1

CANTATA BY MRS. WEISCHELL.

Recitative.
OUNG Damon long had lov'd, and long had woo'd,

Y

At length, resolv'd no longer to endure
Those cruet frowns, those frowns that work'd his cure ;
He left the maid, and sought a kinder fair :
Now Daphne mourns her folly in defpair.
Ye nymphs, be warn’d, and make your lovers fure ;
The heart

your

smiles can wound, your frowns will cure.

Air.
Nymphs be kind, and you fall find

Your graces will improve;
Gentle smiles, soft pleasing wiles,

Are all the arms of love!

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