The Columbian songster, or Jovial companion: being a collection of two hundred and twenty choice songs, selected from various volumes and detached parcels --of which near fifty are American productions. : [Two lines of quotation]

THE COLUMBIAN SONGTSER.

Johnny and Mary. DOWN the burn and thro' the mead, His golden looks wav'd o'er his brow, Johnny lilting tun'd his reed, And Mary wip'd her bonny mou'. Dear ſhe loo'd the well-known ſong, While her Johnny, Blithe and bonny, Sung her praiſe the whole day long. Down the burn, &c. Coſtly claiths ſhe had but few, Of rings and jewels nae great ſtore; Her face was fair, her love was true, And Johnny wiſely wiſh'd no more: Love's the pearl, the ſhepherd's prize, O'er the mountain, Ne'er the fountain, Love delights the ſhepherd's eyes. Down the burn, &c. Gold and titles give not health, And Johnny cou'd na' theſe impart; Youthful Mary's greateſt wealth Was ſtill her faithful Johnny's heart: Sweet the joys the lovers find! Great the treaſure, Sweet the pleaſure, Where the heart is always kind. Down the burn, &c.

Fair Hebe. FAIR Hebe I left with a cautions deſign, To eſcape from her charms, and to drown them in wine: I try'd, but found, when I came to depart, The wine in my head, and ſtill love in my heart. I repair'd to my reaſon, intreated her aid, Who paus'd on my caſe, and each circumſtance weigh'd, Then gravely pronounc'd in return to my pray'r, That Hebe was faireſt of all that was fair. That's a truth, reply'd I, I have no need to be taught, I came for your council to find out a fault; If that's all, quoth Reaſon, return as you came, To find fault with Hebe would forfeit my name, What hopes then, alas! of relief from my pain, While like lightning ſhe carts thro' each throbing vein, My ſenſes confirms me a ſlave to her charms.

The Highland Laddie. THE lowland lads think they are fine, But O they'r vain and idly gaudy; How much unlike the graceful mein, And manly looks of my highland laddie. O my bonny highland laddie, My handſome charming highland laddie; May heaven ſtill guard, And love reward The lowland laſs and highland laddie. If I were ſrco at will to chuſe, To be the wealthieſt lowland lady, I'd take young Donald in his trews, With bonnet blue, and belted pladdie. O my bonny, &c. No greater joy I'll e'er pretend, Than that his love prove true and ſteady, Like mine to him, which ne'er ſhall end, While heaven preſerves my highland laddie. O my bonny, &c.

SONG. MY ſweet pretty Mog, you're as ſoft as a bog, And wild as a kitten, and wild as a kitten, Thoſe eyes in your face—(O pity my caſe) Poor Dermot hath ſmitten, poor Dermot hath ſmitten. For ſofter than ſilk, and as fair as new milk, Your lilly white hand is, your lilly white hand is: Your ſhape's like a pail, from your head to your tail, You're ſtrait as a wand is, you're ſtrait as a wand is. Your lips red as cherries, and your curling hair is As black as the devil, as black as the devil; Your breath is as ſweet, too, as any potatoe, Or orange from Seville, or orange from Seville. When dreſs'd in your boddice, you trip like a goddeſs, So nimbly, ſo friſky; ſo nimbly, ſo friſky: A kiſs on your cheek, 'tis ſo ſoft and ſo ſleek, Would warm me like whiſky, would warm me like whiſky; I grunt and I pine, and fob like a ſwine, Becauſe you're ſo cruel, becauſe you're ſo cruel: No reſt can I take, and aſleep or awake I dream of my jewel, I dream of my jewel. Your hate then give over, nor Dermot your lover. So cruelly handle, ſo cruelly handle! Or Dermot muſt die, like a pig in a ſtye, Or ſnuff of a candle, or ſnuff of a candle.

You ſhall be my Love. AS Jockey ſat beneath a ſhade, While breezes fan the grove, Young Jenny tript along the mead, The laſs that Jockey lov'd: O! did you know, he cry'd, the pain That harbours in my breaſt, You ne'er would let me ſue in vain, But make me ever bleſt. Then lets gang down the burn ſo gay, Or thro' the ſhady grove, For there we'll toy and kiſs and play, And you ſhall be my love. For I'll no longer ſingle be, I hate a ſingle life; Then Jenny do incline to me, And thou ſhalt be my wife: For Oh! your een they glitter ſo, Their charms I ſcarce can teel, But this I know, where'er I go, I love my Jenny weel. Then let's gang down, &c. Young Jenny heard the tender tale, And promis'd to be kind; Soft tales of love did ſoon prevail, And ſoon ſhe own'd her mind: Next day to kirk they fondly ſtray'd, There vow'd to love for life, Fair Jane, tho' late the coldeſt maid, Is now the fondeſt wife. They now gang down the burn ſo gay, Or thro' the ſhady grove, And there they toy and kiſs and play, Exchanging vows of love.

The Banks of the Banna. SHEPHERDS I have loſt my love, Have you ſeen my Anna? Pride of every ſhady grove, Upon the banks of Banna. I for her my home forſook, Near yon miſty mountain, Left my flock, my pipe, my crook, Greenwood ſhade and fountain. Never ſhall I ſee them more Until her returning; All the joys of life are o'er, From gladneſs chang'd to mourning. Whither is my charmer flown! Shepherds tell me whither! Ah! woe's me, perhaps ſhe's gone For ever and for ever.

The Banks of the Dee. IT was ſummer ſo ſoftly the breezes were blowing, And ſweetly the nightingale ſung from a tree, At the foot of the rock, when the river was flowing, I ſat myſelf down on the banks of the Dee. Flow on, lovely Dee, flow on, thou ſweet river, Thy bank's pureſt ſtreams ſhall be dear to me ever, 'Twas there I firſt gain'd the affection and favor Of Jamie, the glory and pride of the Dee. But now he's gone from me, and left me thus mourning, To quell the proud Spaniards, ſo valient is he; And yet there's no hope of his ſpeedy returning, To wander again on the banks of the Dee. He's gone, hapleſs youth, o'er the loud roaring billows, The ſweeteſt and kindeſt of all his brave fellows, And has left me to mourn amongſt theſe green willows, The loneſomeſt maid on the banks of the Dee. But time and my prayers may perhaps yet reſtore him, Bleſt peace may reſtore the dear ſhepherd to me; And when he comes home, with ſuch care I'll watch o'er him, He never ſhall quit the ſweet banks of the Dee. The Dee then ſhall flow, all its beauties diſplaying, The lambs on its banks ſhall again be ſeen playing, Whilſt I with my Jamie am careleſsly ſtraying, And taſting again all the ſweets of the Dee.

The Duſky Night. THE duſky night rides down the ſky, And uſhers in the morn, The hounds all join in jovial cry, The huntſman winds his horn. And a hunting we will go, &c. The wife around her huſband throws Her arms to make him ſtay, My dear it rains, it hails, it blows, You cannot hunt to day. Yet a hunting, &c. Sly Reynard now like light'ning flies, And ſweeps acroſs the vale, But when the hounds too near he ſpies, He drops his buſhy tail, Then a hunting, &c. Fond echo ſeems to like the ſport, And join the jovial cry, The woods and hills the ſound retort, And muſic fills the ſky, When a hunting, &c. At laſt his ſtrength to faintneſs worn, Poor Reynard ceaſes flight; Then hungry homeward we return To feaſt away the night. And a drinking, &c. Ye jovial hunters in the morn Prepare then for the chace, Riſe at the ſounding of the horn, And health with ſport embrace, When a hunting, &c.

Too plain, dear Youth. TOO plain, dear youth, theſe tell-tale eyes My heart your own declare; But for heaven ſake let it ſuffice You reign triumphant there. Forbear your utmoſt power to try, Nor further urge your ſway; Preſs not for what I muſt deny, For fear I ſhould obey. Could all your arts ſucceſsful prove, Would you a maid undo, Whoſe greateſt failing is her love, And that her love for you? Say, would you uſe that very power You from her fondneſs claim, To ruin in one fatal hour A life of ſpotleſs fame? Reſolve not then to do an ill, Becauſe perhaps you may, But rather uſe your utmoſt ſkill To ſave me than betray. Be you yourſelf my virtue's guard, Defend and not purſue, Since 'tis a taſk for me too hard To ſtrive with love and you.

The Miller's Wedding. LEAVE, neighbours, your work, and to ſport and to play; Let the tabor ſtrike up, and the village be gay; No day thro' the year ſhall more cheerful be ſeen, For Ralph of the Mill marries Sue of the Green. CHORUS. I love Sue, and Sue loves me, And while the wind blows, And while the mill goes, Who'll be ſo happy, ſo happy as we! Let lords and fine folks, who for wealth take a bride, Be marry'd to day, and to-morrow be cloy'd; My body is ſtout, and my heart is as ſound, And my love, like my courage, will never give ground. Chorus—I love Sue, &c. Let ladies of faſhion the beſt jointures wed, And prudently take the beſt bidders bed; Such ſigning and ſealing's no part of our bliſs, We ſettle our hearts, and we ſeal with a kiſs. Chorus—I love Sue, &c. Tho' Ralph is not courtly, nor none of your beaux, Nor bounces, nor flatters, nor wears your fine cloaths, In nothing he'll follow the folks of high life, Nor e'er turn his back on his friend or his wife. Chorus—I love Sue, &c. While thus I am able to work at my mill, While thus thou art kind, and thy tongue but lies ſtill, Our joys ſhall continue, and ever be new, And none be ſo happy as Ralph and his Sue. Chorus—I love Sue, &c.

The Sailor's Farewell. THE topſail ſhivers in the wind, The ſhip ſhe's caſt to ſea; But yet my ſoul, my heart, my mind, Are, Mary, moor'd with thee; For though thy ſailor's bound afar, Still love ſhall be his leading ſtar. Should landmen flatter when we're ſail'd, O doubt their artful tales; No gallant ſailor ever ſail'd, But Cupid fill'd his ſails: Thou art the compaſs of my ſoul, Which ſteers my heart from pole to pole. Syrens in every port we meet, More fell than rocks and waves; But ſailors of the valiant fleet, Are lovers, and not ſlaves: No foes our courage ſhall ſubdue, Altho' we've left our hearts with you. Theſe are our cares; but if you're kind, We'll ſcorn the daſhing main, The rocks, the billows, and the wind, The powers of War is vain; Columbia's glory reſts with you, Our ſails are full—ſweet girls adieu.

Sang in the Deſerter. SOME how my ſpindle I miſlaid, And loſt it underneath the graſs, Damon advancing, bow'd his head, And ſaid, What ſeek you, pretty laſs? A little love, but urg'd with care, Oft leads a heart, and leads it far. 'Twas paſſing by yon ſpreading oak That I my ſpindle loſt juſt now. His knife then kindly Damon took, And from the tree he cut a bough: A little love, &c. Thus did the youth his time employ, While me he tenderly beheld; He talk'd of love, I leap'd for joy, For ah! my heart did fondly yield. A little love, &c.

This World is a Stage. THIS world is a ſtage, where all men engage, And each acts his part in the throng; There is nought but confuſion, mere folly, deluſion, And the reſt of it all is a ſong, &c. The parſon ſo grave, ſays your ſouls he will ſave, And ſhew you the right from the wrong, By piouſly teaching, and long winding preaching, He ſets off his flock with a ſong, &c. The ſtateſman he ſmiles, at the time he beguiles, And feeds you with promiſes long, He ſqueezes your hand, and calls you his friend, While he means nothing elſe but a ſong, &c. The Doctor he fills you with balſams and pills, And tells you that you will live long, But believe me 'tis true, its the guineas in view, And the reſt of it all is a ſong, &c. The ſoldier he rattles of ſieges and battles, And wonders he has been among, His preferment and merit are both like his ſpirit, You may ſee they are all but a ſong, &c. The ſhip-maſter cries, ſee the clouds how they riſe, Look about my brave boys, it blows ſtrong, Come fill me ſome flip, and I'll warrant the ſhip, Will as ſure reach her port as a ſong, &c. The drover he'll prattle of heifers and cattle, And parcels he has been among, All day he will fret until he can cheat, Then he ſells off his ſtots with a ſong, &c, The ſilly old prude, ſhe will ſay you are rude, If you touch but her hand in the throng, But bring her aſide, and you'll manage her pride, And her virtue bring down to a ſong, &c. The gentle coquette, ſhe is all in a pett, At morning if toy let be wrong, All day ſhe will paſs conſulting her glaſs, And at night die away with a ſong, &c. Come let us be merry, drive hence melancholy, Since we are brave fellows among, Let's each fill our glaſſes, taſte life as it paſſes, And each of us ſing a good ſong, &c.

A favorite Scots Song. WHEN lav'rocks ſweet and yellow broom Prefurne the banks of Tweed, Blithe Nancy boaſts a ſweeter bloom, Her charms all charms exceed. Gang o'er the merry fields of hay, Cry'd love-ſick Jockey, wi' a ſigh; And wha ſae faſt, ſae young and gay, Cou'd ſic a handſome lad dony? In Sandy's cheek the white and red, Like roſe and lily join'd; For him each laſſie hung her head, For her each ladie pin'd. Gang o'er the merry field of hay, Wi' me, my deareſt laſs, he'd cry; And wha ſae faſt, ſae young, and gay, Cou'd ſic a handſome lad deny? He gang'd o'er fields and broomy land, 'Till mither 'gan to chide; Then Sandy preſs'd her lily hand, And aſk'd her for his bride: Then o'er the merry fields of hay, Said ſhe, my deareſt lad, we'll hie; For wha ſae faſt, ſae young, and gay, Cou'd ſic a handſome lad deny?

When kind Friends, &c. WHEN kind friends expect a ſong, Something new and ſtriking: Surely he can ne'er be wrong, Who gives each his liking. Patriots like to get a place, The courtiers theirs to keep: Country 'ſquires to drink and chaſe, And cits to eat and ſleep. Parſons like a biſhopric, Gamblers like to bubble; Doctors like to ſee friends ſick, Lawyers theirs in trouble. Soldiers like both peace and pay, When fighting is no more; Sailors like a road to ſtray, For gold to waſh aſhore. Ruddy bullies like to bluſter, Pale beaux to ſeem polite; Train-band Captains like a muſter, But neither like to fight. Ladies like—a thouſand things, But yet it were not well; He who for his pleaſure ſings, Should all their likings tell.

SONG. COME now, all ye ſocial pow'rs, Shed your influ'ence o'er us; Crown with joy our preſent hours, Enliven thoſe before us: Bring the flaſk, the muſic bring, Joy ſhall quickly find us; Sport and dance, and laugh and ſing, And caſt dull care dehind us. Love, thy god-head I adore, Source of gen'rous paſſion: Nor will we ever bow before Thoſe idols—Wealth or Faſhion. Bring the flaſk, &c. Why the plague ſhou'd we be ſad, Whilſt on earth we moulder; Rich or poor, or grave or mad, We every day grow older. Bring the flaſk, &c. Friendſhip! O thy ſmiles divine, Bright in all thy features; What but friendſhip, love, and wine, Can make us happy creatures. Bring the flaſk, &c. Since the time will ſteal away, Spite of all our ſorrow, Let's be blithe and gay to-day, And never mind to-morrow. Bring the flaſk, the muſic bring, Joy ſhall quickly find us: Sport and dance, and laugh and ſing, And caſt dull care behind us.

Get married as faſt as you can. YE virgins attend, believe me your friend, And with prudence adhere to my plan, Ne'er let it be ſaid, there goes an old maid, But get marry'd as faſt as you can. As ſoon as you find your hearts are inclin'd To beat quick at the ſight of a man; Then chuſe out a youth, with honor and truth, And get marry'd as faſt as you can. For age like a cloud your charms ſoon will ſhroud, And this whimſical life's but a ſpan; Then, maids, make your hay, while Sol darts his ray, And get marry'd as faſt as you can. The treacherous rake will artfully take Ev'ry method poor girls to trepan; But baffle the ſnare, and make virtue your care, And get marry'd as faſt as you can. And, when Hymen's bands have join'd both your hands, The bright flame ſtill continue to fan; Ne'er harbour the ſtings that jealouſy brings, But be conſtant and bleſt while you can.

SONG. MY days have been ſo wondrous free, The little birds that fly With careleſs eaſe from tree to tree, Were but as bleſs'd as I. Aſk gliding waters, if a tear Of mine increas'd their ſtream? Or aſk the flying gales, if e'er I lent a ſigh to them? But now my former days retire, And I'm by beauty caught; The tender chains of ſweet deſire Are ſix'd upon my thought. An eager hope within my breaſt Does every doubt controul; And lovely Nancy ſtands confeſt The fav'rite of my ſoul. Ye nightingales, ye twiſting pines, Ye ſwains that haunt the grove, Ye gentle echoes, breezy winds! Ye cloſe retreats of love! With all of nature, all of art, Aſſiſt the dear deſign; O teach a young unpractis'd heart To make her ever mine. The very thought of change I hate, As much as of deſpair; Nor ever covet to be great, Unleſs it be for her. 'Tis true, the paſſion in my mind Is mix'd with ſoft diſtreſs; Yet while the fair I love is kind, I cannot wiſh it leſs.

The Virgin unmaſked. IT is I believe, Next Hollantide eve, A twelvemonth ſince firſt I began To hold up my head, In love to be read, And to conſtrue the looks of a man, And to conſtrue the looks of a man. Young Damon I ſaw, He kiſs'd me, Oh la! I vow through my boſom it ran; My lips he ſo preſs'd, 'Tis true I proteſt, I thought him a duce of a man. Philander the gay I met at the play, My heart beat a furious ratan; Becauſe you muſt know, I ſome time ago, Had hopes of his being the man. Briſk Strephon came next, But then I was vex'd, He play'd with Miſs Phillis's fan; I own, to be ſure, I could not endure To ſee myſelf robb'd of a man. My mother and aunts, Still watching my haunts, Obſtruct me as much as they can, But what do I care, I vow and declare, I'll fit myſelf ſoon with a man.

The Stag through the Foreſt. THE ſtag thro' the foreſt, when rouz'd by the horn, Sore frighted, high bounding, flies wretched, forlorn, Quick panting, heart burſting, the hounds now in view, Speed doubles! ſpeed doubles! they eager purſue. But eſcaping the hunters, again thro' the groves, Forgetting paſt evils, with freedom he roves; Not ſo in his ſoul who from tyrant love flies; The ſhaft overtakes him, deſpairing he dies.

The Cobler. A COBLER there was, and he liv'd in a ſtall, Which ſerv'd him for parlour, for kitchen, and hall, No coin in his pocket, nor care in his pate, No ambition had he, nor duns at his gate: Derry down, down, down, derry down. Contented he work'd, and he thought himſelf happy, If at night he could purchaſe a jug of brown nappy: How he'd laugh then, and whiſtle, and ſing too moſt ſweet! Saying, juſt to a hair I have made both ends to meet: Derry down, down, &c. But love, the diſturber of high and of low, That ſhoots at the peaſant as well as the beau; He ſhot the poor cobler quite through the heart, I wiſh he had hit ſome more ignoble part: Derry down, down, &c. It was from a cellar this archer play, Where a buxom young damſel continually lay; Her eyes ſhone ſo bright when ſhe roſe ev'ry day, That ſhe ſhot the poor cobler quite over the way: Derry down, down, &c. He ſung her love ſongs as he ſat at his work, But ſhe was as hard as a Jew or a Turk; Whenever he ſpake, ſhe would flounce and would fleer, Which put the poor cobler quite into deſpair, Derry down, down, &c. He took up his awl that he had in the world, And to make away with himſelf was reſolv'd; He pierc'd through his body inſtead of his ſole, So the cobler he died, and the bell it did toll. Derry down, down, &c. And now, in good will, I adviſe as a friend, All coblers take warning by this cobler's end: Keep your hearts out of love, for we find by what's paſt, That love brings us all to an end at the laſt. Derry down, down, &c.

Friend and Pitcher. THE wealthy fool, with gold in ſtore, Will ſtill deſire to grow richer, Give me but health, I aſk no more, My charming girl, my friend and pitcher. My friend ſo rare, my girl ſo fair, With ſuch, what mortal can be richer; Give me but theſe, a fig for care, With my ſweet girl, my friend and pitcher. From morning ſun I'd never grieve, To toll a hedger or a ditcher, If that, when I came home at eve, I might enjoy my friend and pitcher. My friend ſo rare, &c. Tho' fortune ever ſhuns my door, I know not what can thus bewitch her; With all my heart can I be poor, With my ſweet girl, my friend and pitcher. My friend ſo rare, &c.

The Taylor done over. A TAYLOR I once was as blithe as e'er need be, Until love's alarms has a devil ſure made me; I that one was ſo luſty, and call'd Will the Rover, Am now a poor ſkeleton. Oh, I'm done over. Over, over, &c. How many a day have I ſtood with great pleaſure And cut out my cloth to my cuſtomer's meaſure; With a full yard of cabbage I then liv'd in clover, But now I'm a ſkeleton, by Cupid done over. Over, over, &c. When firſt I beheld her in ſilks dreſs'd ſo gaily, I fell into fits, and they trouble me daily; Oh! how cruel muſt ſhe be? the ſight could not move her, I fear that theſe fits will ſoon do me over. Over, over, &c. The next time I ſaw her paſs by my ſhop window My gooſe (being hot) burnt a ſleeve to a cinder, he girls do ſo jeer me, that I can go no where, Was ever a poor taylor ſo fairly done over? Over, over, &c. The laſt time I ſaw her was with a bold ſailor, She pointed and ſaid—There's a done over taylor; Good bye, Mr. Stitchlouſe, I'm going to Dover, The ſtroke was ſo great, it has quite done me over. Over, over, &c. So now ſhe has left me, and is gone with a ſailor, She has left me alone, a poor done over taylor! I ne'er more will cabbage, nor be Will the Rover, God ſend I was dead, for I'm fairly done over. Over, over, &c.

Retirement. I ENVY not the proud their wealth, Their equipage and ſtate: Give me but innocence and health, I aſk not to be great. I in this ſweet retirement find A joy unknown to kings, For ſceptres to a virtuous mind Seem vain and empty things. Great Cincinnatus at his plough With brighter luſtre ſhone, Than guilty Caeſar e'er could ſhew, Though ſeated on a throne. Tumultuous days, and reſtleſs nights, Ambition ever knows, A ſtranger to the calm delights Of ſtudy and repoſe. Then free from envy, care, and ſtrife, Keep me, ye powers divine! And pleas'd, when ye demand my life, May I that life reſign!

A New Negro Song.

Tune—BOBIN JOAN.

ME be one poor ſlave, brought into Barbado, Ven one pickaninny, ſuch de cruel trado, How me vetch and carry, now go here and dere, Dey no let me reſt, dey for black man no care, ſir. Tol de rol, de rol. Now chain'd like de horſe, and de weder hot, Vipt along de road, poor negro go to pot; If me faint or dying, ſtill along muſt go; Devil take de driver, him always ſerve me ſo. Tol de rol, &c. If me ſtay at home, ſtill me run about, ſir, Now up, now down, now kick, now vip, now in and out, ſir; My maſſa ſwear, my miſſa ſcold, if I no come de ſafer, I could not be uſed vorſe, if old Nick he was my maſſa. Tol de rol, &c. De pickaninnies too, de littel boy and miſs, ſir, Dey laugh and call me name, and tump me wit dere fis, ſir; Yet me muſt not complain, poor negro muſt endure it, Alas! a well a day, dere be no means to cure it. Tol de rol, &c. All de night and day, me be toiling, moiling, Never can be reſt, but ever ſweat and broiling; Me, poor negro, black, all dat's hard be trying, White man uſe me ſo, me wiſh dat I vas dying. Tol de rol, &c.

SONG. NO glory I covet, no riches I want, Ambition is nothing to me; The one thing I beg of kind heaven to grant, Is a mind, independent and free. With paſſions unruffled, untainted with pride, By reaſon my life let me ſquare; The wants of my nature are cheaply ſupply'd, And the left are but folly and care. The bleſſings which Providence freely has lent, I'll juſtly and gratefully pri • e; Whilſt ſweet meditation and cheerful content Shall make me both healthy and wiſe. In the pleaſures the great man's poſſeſſions diſplay, Unenvy'd, I'll challenge my part; For every fair object my eyes can ſurvey, Contributes to gladden my heart. How vainly, through infinite trouble and ſtrife, The many their labors employ! Since all, that is truly delightful in life, Is what all, if they pleaſe, may enjoy.

Leave off your fooliſh Prating. LEAVE off your fooliſh prating, Talk no more of Whig and Tory, But drink your glaſs, round let it paſs, The bottle ſtanks before ye. CHORUS. Fill it up to the top, Let the night with mirth be crown'd; Drink about, ſee it out, Love and friendſhip ſtill go round. If claret be a bleſſing, This night devote to pleaſure: Let wordly cares, and ſtate affairs, Be thought on at more leiſure. Chorus—Fill it up to the top, &c. If any is ſo zealous To be a party minion, Let him drink like me, we'll ſoon agree, And be of one opinion. CHORUS. Fill your glaſs, name your laſs, See her health go ſwiftly round; Drink about, ſee it out, Let the night with mirth be crown'd.

Jockey to the Fair. 'TWAS on the morn of ſweet May day, When nature painted all things gay, Taught birds to ſing, and lambs to play, And gild the meadows rare: Young Jockey, early in the dawn, Aroſe, and tript it o'er the lawn; His Sunday's coat the youth put on, For Jenny had vow'd away to run With Jockey to the fair. Jenny had vow'd, &c. The chearful pariſh bells had rung, With eager ſteps he trudg'd along, With flow'ry garlands round him hung, Which ſhepherds us'd to wear: He tapt the window—Haſte my dear, Jenny, impatient, cry'd—Who's there? 'Tis I, my love, and no one near; Step gently down, you've nought to fear With Jockey to the fair. My dad and mam are faſt aſleep, My brother's up, and with the ſheep; And will you ſtill your promiſe keep, Which I have heard you ſwear? And will you ever conſtant prove? I will, by all the powers of love, And ne'er deceive my charming dove; Diſpel theſe doubts, and haſte, my love, With Jockey to the fair. Behold the ring, the ſhepherd cry'd, Will Jenny be my charming bride? Let Cupid be our happy guide, And hymen meet us there. Then Jockey did his vows renew, He wou'd be conſtant, would be true: His word was pledg'd—away ſhe flew With cowſlips, tipt with balmy dew, With Jockey to the fair. In raptures meet the joyful throng, Their gay companions blith and young; Each join the dance, each join the ſong, And hail the happy pair: In turns there's none ſo fond as they, They bleſs'd the kind propitious day, The ſmiling morn of blooming May, When lovely Jenny run away With Jockey to the fair.

'Tis Wine that clears, &c. 'TIS wine that clears the underſtanding, Makes men learned without books; It ſits the general for commanding, And gives ſoldiers fiercer looks. 'Tis wine that gives a life to lovers, Heightens beauties of the fair: Truth from falſehood it diſcovers, Quickens joys, and conquers care, Wine will ſet our ſouls on fire, Fit us for all glorious things; When rais'd by Bacchus, we aſpire, At flights above the reach of kings. Bring in bonum magnums plenty, Be each glaſs a bumper crown'd; None to flinch, till they be empty, And full fifty toaſts gone round.

The Tempeſt of War. LET the tempeſt of war Be heard from afar, With trumpets' and cannons' alarms: Let the brave, if they will, By then valour and ſkill, Seek honor and conqueſt in arms. To live ſafe, and retire, Is what I deſire, Of my flocks and my Chloe poſſeſt; For in them I obtain True peace without pain, And the laſting enjoyment of reſt. In ſome cottage or cell, Like a ſhepherd to dwell, From all interruption at eaſe; In a peaceable life, To be bleſt with a wife, Who will ſtudy her huſband to pleaſe.

Drunk I was laſt Night. DRUNK I was laſt night, that's poz, My wife began to ſcold; Say what I cou'd for my heart's blood, Her clack ſhe would not hold. Thus her chat ſhe did begin, Is this your time of coming in? The clock ſtrikes one, you'll be undone, If thus you lead your life. My dear, ſaid I, I can't deny, But what you ſay is true; I do intend my life to mend, Pray lend's the pot to ſpew. Fy, you ſot, I ne'er can bear To riſe thus ev'ry night; Though, like a beaſt, you never care What conſequence comes by't. The child and I may ſtarve for you; We neither can have half our due; With grief I find, you're ſo unkind, In time you'll break my heart. At that I ſmil'd, and ſaid, dear child, I believe your in the wrong; But if't ſhould be your deſtiny, I'll ſing a merry ſong.

The Storm. CEASE, rude Boreas, bluſt'ring railer! Liſt, ye landſmen, all to me! Meſſmates, hear a Brother ſailor Sing the dangers of the ſea; From bounding billows, firſt in molion, When the diſtant whirl winds riſe, To the tempeſt troubled ocean, Where the ſea • contend with 〈◊〉 Hark! the boatſwain hoarſely bawling, By topſail ſheets, and haulyard • ſtand! Down top-gallants quick be hauling, Down your ſtay ſails, hand, boys, hand! Now it freſhens, ſet the braces, The topſail ſheets now let go! Luff boys, luff! don't make wry faces, Up your topſails nimbly clew. Now all you on down beds ſporting, Fondly lock'd in beauty's arms; Freſh enjoyments, wanton courting, Safe from all but love's alarms; Round us roars the tempeſt louder; Think what fears our minds enthrall; Harder yet, it yet blows harder, Now again the boatſwain calls! The topſail yards point to the wind, boys, See all clear to reef each courſe; Let the fore ſheet go, don't mind, boys, Though the weather ſhould be worſe. Fore and aft the ſprit-ſail yard get, Reef the mizen, ſee all clear Hands up, each preventure brace ſet, Man the fore-yard, cheer, lads, cheer! Now the dreadful thunder's roaring, Peal on peal contending claſh, On our heads herce rain falls pouring. In our eyes blue lightnings flaſh. One wide water all around us, All above us one black ſky, Different deaths at once ſurround us, Hark! what means that dreadful cry? The foremaſt's gone, cries every tongue out, O'er the lee, twelve feet 'bove deck; A leak beneath the cheſt tree's ſprung out, Call all hands to clear the wreck. Quick the lanyards cut to pieces, Come, thy hearts, be ſtout and bold; Plumb the well—the leak increaſes, Four ſeat water in the hold. While o'er the ſhip wild waves are beating, We for wives or children mourn; Alas! from hence there's no retreating, Alas! to them there's no return. Still the leak is gaining on us; Both chain pumps are choak'd below. Heav'n have mercy here upon us! For only that can ſave us now. O'er the lee-beam is the land, boys, Let the guns o'erboard be thrown: To the pump come ev'ry hand, boys, See! our mizen-maſt is gone. The leak we've found it cannot pour faſt, We've lighten'd her a foot or more; Up, and rig a jury fore-maſt, She rights, ſhe rights, boys, we're off ſhore. Now once more on joys we're thinking, Since kind Heav'n has ſav'd our lives; Come, the can, boys! let's be drinking To our ſweethearts and our wives, Fill it up, about ſhip wheel it, Cloſe to our lips a brimmer join, Where's the tempeſt now, who feels it? None—the dangers drown'd in wine.

Bonny Bet. NO more I'll court the town-bred fair, Who ſhines in artificial beauty; For native charms, without compare, Claim all my love, reſpect and duty. CHORUS. O my bonny, bonny Bet, ſweet bloſſom, Was I a king, ſo proud to wear thee, From off the verdant couch I'd bear thee, To grace thy faithful lover's boſom. O my bonny, bonny Bet, &c. Yet aſk me where thoſe beauties lie, I cannot ſay in ſmile or dimple; In blooming cheeks, or radiant eye— 'Tis happy nature, wild and ſimple. O my bonny, bonny Bet, &c. Let dainty beaux for ladies pine, And ſigh in numbers trite and common; Ye gods! one darling wiſh to mine, And all I aſk is lovely woman. O my bonny, bonny Bet. Come, deareſt girl, the roſy bowl, Like thy bright eye, with pleaſure dancing; My heav'n art thou, ſo take my ſoul, With rapture ev'ry ſenſe entrancing. O my bonny, bonny Bet.

When War's Alarms. WHEN war's alarms entic'd my Willy from me. My poor heart with grief did ſigh; Each fond remembrance brought freſh ſorrow on me, 'Woke ere yet the morn was nigh: No other could delight him; Ah! Why did I e'er ſlight him, Coldly anſw'ring his fond tale, Which drove him far amid the rage of war, And left filly me thus to bewail. But I no longer, tho' a maid forſaken, Thus will mourn like yonder dove, For ere the lark to-morrow ſhall awaken. I will ſeek my abſent love: The hoſtile country over I'll fly to ſeek my lover, Scorning ev'ry threat'ning fear; Nor diſtant ſhore, Nor cannons roar, Shall longer keep me from my dear.

Venus of Totterdown-Hill. AT Totterdown hill there dwelt an old pair, And it may be they dwell there ſtill, Much riches indeed didn't fall to their ſhare, They kept a ſmall farm and a mill: But fully content with what they did get, They knew not of guile or of arts; One daughter they had, and her name it was Bet, And ſhe was the pride of their hearts. Nut-brown were her locks, her ſhape it was ſtraight, Her eyes were as black as a ſloe: Her teeth were milk-white, full ſmart was her gait, And ſleek was her ſkin as a doe: All thick were the clouds, and the rain it did pour, No bit of true blue could be ſpy'd, A child wet and cold came and knock'd at the door, Its ma • it had loſt, and it cry'd. Young Bet was as mild as the morning of May, The babe ſhe hug'd cloſe to her breaſt; She chaſ'd him all o'er, and ſmil'd as he lay, She kiſs'd him, and lull'd him to reſt: But who do you think ſhe had got for her prize? Why love the ſly maſter of arts; No ſooner he wak'd, but he drop'd his diſguiſe, And ſhew'd her his wings and his darts. Quoth he, I am Love; but, oh, be not afraid, Tho' all I make ſhake at my will: So good and kind have you been, my fair maid, No harm ſhall you feel from my ſkill; My mother ne'er dealt with ſuch fondneſs by me, A friend you ſhall find in me ſtill; Take my quiver and ſhoot, be greater than ſhe, The Venus of Totterdown-hill.

The Sailor's Advcie. AS you mean to ſet ſail for the land of delight, And in wedlock's ſoft hammocks to ſwing ev'ry night, If you hope that your vovage ſucceſsful ſhould prove, Fill your ſails with affection, your cabin with love. Fill your ſails, &c. Let your hearts like the main-maſt, be ever upright, And the union you boaſt, like our tackle be tight; Of the ſhoals of Indifference be ſure to keep clear, And the quickſands of jealouſy never come near. And the quickſands, &c. If huſband's e'er hope to live peaceable lives, They muſt reckon themſelves, give the helm to their wives. For the evener we go, boys, the better we ſail, And on ſhip-board the helm is ſtill rul'd by the tail. And on ſhip-board, &c. Then liſt to your pilot, my boy, and be wiſe; If my precepts you ſcorn, and my maxims deſpiſe, A brace of proud antlers your brows may adorn, And a hundred to one but you double Cape Horn. And a hundred, &c.

Guardian Angel. GUARDIAN angel now protect me, Send me to the ſwain I love; Cupid with thy bow direct me, Help me, all ye powers above. Bear him my ſighs, ye gentle breezes, Tell him, I love and I deſpair; Tell him, for him I grieve, Say 'tis for him I live; O may the ſhepherd be ſincere! Thro' the ſhadowy groves I'll wander, Silent as the bird of night: Near the brink of yonder fountain, Firſt Leander bleſs'd my ſight, Witneſs, ye groves and falls of water, Echoes, repeat the vows he ſwore. Can he forget me, Will he neglect me, Shall I never ſee him more! Does he love and yet forſake me, To admire a nymph more fair? If 'tis ſo, I'll wear the willow, And eſteem the happy pair. Some lonely cave I'll make my dwelling, Ne'er more the cares of life purſue: The lark and philomel, Only ſhall hear me tell, What makes me bid the world adieu.

The Echoing Horn. THE echoing horn calls the ſportſmen abroad, To horſe, my brave boys, and away; The morning is up, and the cry of the hounds Upbraide our too tedious delay. What pleaſure we find in purſuing the ſox! O'er hill and o'er valley he flies; Then follow, we'll ſoon overtake him—huzza! The traitor is ſeiz'd on and dies. Triumphant, returning at night with the ſpoil, Like Bacchanals, ſhouting and gay, How ſweet with the bottle and laſs to refreſh, And loſe the fatigues of the day! With ſport, love and wine, fickle fortune deſy, Dull wiſdom all happineſs fours: Since life is no more than a paſſage at beſt, Let's ſtrew the way over with flow'rs.

The Banks of Kentucke.

Tune—Banks of the Dee.

THE ſpring was advancing, and birds were beginning To ſing on the boughs of each purling brook; On the early green herbage at leiſure reclining, I was careleſsly viewing the banks of Kentucke. Hail ſtranger to ſong! hail deep-channel'd river, Thy prominent cliffs ſhall be famous forever; Thy high-ſwelling floods henceforward ſhall never Obſcurely roll down thro' the bank • of Kentucke Diſguſted with idle, romantic pretenſions, The populous city I lonely forſook; Delighted in nature with fond apprehenſions, I eagerly came to the banks of Kentucke. O, never did art ſo much beauty diſcover, To reward the long ſearch of its moſt raptur' lover, As nature's luxuriant fancy ſpreads over The gay fertile ſoil on the banks of Kentucke, Her genius ſhall rove with an endleſs deſire, Improvements to make without learning or book: While virtue and truth ſhall forever conſpire, To bleſs thoſe that dwell on the banks of Kentucke. Here, far from tyrannical power remov'd, The ſpirit of freedom ſhall haply be prov'd; The patriot ſhall by his co ••• ry be lov'd, And live without guile of the banks of Kentucke. Here bigotry never ſhall raiſe its foul banner. The baſſis of joy thro' all ages it ſhook; The young and the aged in more happy manner Than thoſe ſhall improve on the banks of Kentucke. In honeſt induſtry their time ſtill employing, With heart-cheering mirth all their meetings enjoying. With the bleſſings of friendſhip, and love never cloying, All ranks ſhall unite on the banks of Kentucke. Rich plenty and health, with viſage all glowing, Invite and allure us with promiſing look; Never more to regret other rivers long flowing, Not ſuch as glide down thro' the banks of Kentucke. Pale ſickneſs doth paſs thro' the land as a ſtranger, No dreadful diſtemper here frightens the ranger, As he paſſes thro' canebrakes and waters no danger Expecting to meet on the banks of Kentucke.

O the Days when I was Young. O THE days when I was young, When I laugh'd in fortune's ſpite. Talk'd of love the whole day long, And with nectar crown'd the night; Then it was, old father Care, Little reck'd I of thy frown, Half thy malice youth could bear, And the reſt a bumper drown. O the days, &c. Truth, they ſay, lies in a well, Why, I vow, I ne'er could ſee; Let the water drinkers tell— There it always lay for me: For when ſparkling wine went round, Never ſaw I falſhood's maſk: But ſtill the honeſt truth I found In the bottom of each •• ſk. O the days, &c. True, at length my vigour's flown, I have years to bring decay; Few the locks that now I own, And the few I have are grey; Yet, old Jerome, thou may boaſt, While thy ſpirits do not tire; Still beneath thy age's froſt Glows a ſpark of youthful fire. O the days, &c.

New Tally Ho. THE hunters are up and the ruddy fac'd morn, Moſt cheerful ſalute with the muſical horn; The blue miſty mountains ſeem join'd with the ſkies, And the dogs yelp aloud as away Reynard flies: Tally ho, tally ho, ſee the game is in view, The ſportſmen all cry as they nimbly purſue. The high mettled ſteed ſweeps away at the ſound, And the hills ſeem to move as they fly o'er the ground, Each proſpect is charming, all nature is gay, And promiſes ſport and ſucceſs thro' the day, Tally ho, tally ho, ſee the game is in view, The ſportſmen all cry as they nimbly purſue. The goddeſs of pleaſure, ſweet roſy cheek'd health, Gives joys more abundant than titles or wealth; And appetite gives to their viands a zeſt, Above all the ſauces by cooks ever dreſt. Tally ho, tally ho, ſee the game is in view, The ſportſmen all cry as they nimbly purſue. Huzza! then my boys, to the chace let's away, Nor indolence loſe the delights of the day; From faſhion and folly we borrow no grace, But joy paints the cheeks as we follow the chace, Tally ho, tally ho, ſee the game is in view, The ſportſmen all cry as they nimbly purſue.

Jacky Bull from France. IN Jacky Bull, when bound for France, The goſling you diſcover; But taught to ride, to fence and dance, A finiſh'd gooſe comes over. With his tierce and carte—ſa! ſa! And his cotillion ſo ſmart—ha! ha! He charms each female heart—oh, la! As Jacky returns from Dover. For cocks and dogs, ſee 'ſquire at home, The prince of country tonies; Return'd from Paris, Spa, or Rome, Our 'ſquire's a nice Adonis: With his tierce and carte—ſa! ſa! And his cotillion ſo ſmart—ha! ha! He charms the female heart—oh, la! The pink of macaronies.

A New Sea Song. WHEN gentle Zephyr fans the ocean, The playful waves in dimples gay, Our cumb'rous bark ſcarce put in motion, We ſailors make it holiday; In jovous ring, We ſit and ſing, Of heroes fam'd with laurels crown'd; Old Benbow's ſate, The crew relate, In chorus, while the can goes round. But when from northern regions burſting, Wild Boreas ruſhes o'er the deep, For pleaſures we no more are thirſting, But to our quarters inſtant leap: Tho' billows roar, Aloft we ſoar, For ſailors hearts are never ſcar'd; While blows the gale, We furl the ſail, Suſpended from the bending yard. The watch revolving nightly keeping, The land deſcry'd, of rocks aware, Freſh pleaſures from our dangers reaping, When moor'd in harbour with the fair; In joyous ring, We fit and ſing, Of heroes ſam'd, with laurels crown'd; Old Benbow's fate, The crew relate, In chorus, while the can goes round.

Amo Amas. Amo amas, I love a laſs, As a cedar tall and ſlender: Sweet cowſlip's grace Is her nom'tive caſe, And ſhe's of the feminine gender. CHORUS. Rorum corum, Sunt divorum, Harum ſcarum! Divo!— Tag rag merry derry, perriwig and hat-band, Hic, hoc, horum, genitivo! Can I decline A nymph divine? Her voice as a flute is dulcis; Her oculis bright, Her manus white, And ſoft, when I taclo, her pulſe is. Rorum, corum, &c. Oh, how bella My puella! I'll kiſs, ſecula ſeculorum: If I've luck, Sir, She's my uxor; O dies Benedictorum! Rorum, corum, &c.

When the Blythe Village-Maid, &c. WHEN the bly the village-made leads her flocks to the plains, Ah, me! how I envy her lot! I'd ſpurn at the ſplendor a palace contains, With freedom to dwell in a cot: Awak'd by the lark, o'er my love as I hung, His ſlumbers I'd chace with a kiſs; No tyrant to check me, no venomous tongue, With ſlander to fully my bliſs. The toil of the day would be pleaſure to me, Still drinking freſh health from the gale! And ev'ning would bring, with an aſpect of glee, The legend, the ſong, or the tale: 'Till the ſtill gloom of night wrapp'd the hamlet in reſt, And my fancy grew big with alarms, Then I'd ſteal to my lover, creep cloſe to his breaſt, And loſe all my fears in his arms.

A hunting Song. THE ſun from the eaſt tips the mountains with gold, And the mead was all ſpangled with drew-drops behold: The larks early mattin proclaims the new day, And the horn's cheerful ſummons rebukes our delay: With the ſports of the field there's no pleaſures can vie, While jocund we follow the hounds in full cry. Let the drudge of the town make riches his ſport, And the ſlaves of the ſtate hunt the ſmiles of the court: No care nor ambition our patience annoy, But innocence ſtill gives a zeſt to our joy. With the ſports of the field, &c. Mankind are all hunters in various degrees; The prieſt hunts a living, the lawyer his fees; The doctor a patient, the courtier a place— Tho' often, like us, they're flung out with diſgrace. With the ſports of the field, &c. The cit hunts a plumb, the ſoldier hunts fame; The poet a dinner, the patriot a name; And the artful coquette, tho' ſhe ſeems to refuſe, Yet, in ſpite of her airs, ſhe her lover purſues. With the ſports of the field, &c. Let the bold and the buſy hunt glory and wealth— All the bleſſing we aſk, is the bleſſing of health: With hounds and with horns, thro' the woodlands we roam, And when tir'd abroad, find contentment at home. With the ſports of the field there's no pleaſures can vie, While jocund we follow the hounds in full cry.

Farmer Dobbin's Complaint. THREE daughters I have, and as prettily made, As handſome as any you'll ſee; And lovers they count—but ſtill I'm afraid They always will hang upon me. In writing of letters and talking of love, They are fooliſhly ſpending their time; One gives them a ribbon, and one a new glove; And thus they are paſſing their prime. Theſe bucks of the town—with their elegant coats, I'm ſick of their horſes and chairs; They plunder my hay, and they pilfer my cats— Am I keeping a tavern my dears? This courting and courting, and never concluding, Is nonſenſe—(I'm ſorry to ſay) Your kiſſing and playing is rather intruding, Unleſs you will—take them away.

How imperfect is Expreſſion. HOW imperfect is expreſſion, Some emotions to impart, When we mean a ſoft confeſſion, And yet ſeek to hide the heart! When our boſoms, all complying, With delicious tumults ſwell, And beat, what broken, ſaltring, dying, Language would, but cannot tell! Deep confuſion's roſy terror, Quite expreſſive, paints my cheek: Aſk no more—behold your error— Bluſhes eloquently ſpeak. What, tho' ſilent is my anguiſh, Or breath'd only to the air, Mark my eyes, and as they languiſh, Read what your's have written there. O that you could once conceive me! Once my ſoul's ſtrong feeling view! Love has nought more fond, believe me; Friendſhip nothing half ſo true. From you, I am wild, deſpairing; With you, ſpeechleſs as I touch! This is all that bears declaring, And, perhaps, declares too much.

A Lover's Farewell. HARK, dear girl, the meſſage hear, The call I muſt obey, And tho' mine eyes drop many a tear, Yet, yet I muſt not ſtay; Farewell my life, my friend adieu, I leave my heart in leaving you. The compaſs guides the mariner Who ſails from pole to pole, Attraction helps the comet far Her pond'rous orb to roll, But thour't my magnet when I roam To attract me to my native home. Tho' I muſt try the toſſing main, And ſeek a diſtant port, Yet if you'r kind its rage is vain, Should I be Fortune's ſport: Now all I aſk the gods to do, Is that they'll make me worthy you, But if I'm doom'd by fate to find Your heart is not for me, Ye wat'ry powers! prove more kind, And wreck me in your ſea— Thus, thus I'll bid a long adieu To love, to happineſs, and you.

The Maid of the Mill. WILLIAM. I'VE kiſs and I've prattled with fifty fair maids, And chang'd them as oft do ye ſee; But of all the fair maidens that dance on the green The maid of the mill for me. PHOEBE. There's fifty young men have told me fine tales, And call'd me the faireſt ſhe; But of all the gay youths that ſport on the green, Young Harry's the lad for me. WILLIAM. Her eyes are as black as the ſloe in the hedge, Her face like the bloſſoms in May, Her teeth are as white as the new ſhorn flock, Her breath like the new made hay. PHOEBE. He's tall and he's ſtraight as the poplar tree, His cheeks are as freſh as a roſe; He looks like a ſquire of high degree When dreſt in his Sunday's clothes.

The general Hunt. TO horſe, ye jolly ſportſmen, And greet the new-born day: Inceſſant, lo! thro' Nature's field, Each creature hunts his prey. And a-hunting, &c. Dame Nature teaches Reynard craft T'o'er reach the feather'd flocks; And we purſue the chiding dogs, While they run down the fox. Mankind hunt one another; Your great men hunt the ſmall; Some hunt for heav'n, and ſome for hell: Old Satan hunts us all. Some fain would hunt for honour, A game that's hard to find; The needy hunt for charity, And may go hunt the wind. Our patriots loudly bellow, The nation's deſp'rate caſe, While all their ſtir and buſtle's made In hunting out a place. Full cry the tories hunt the whigs, Who in their turn purſue; And running one another down, Run down their country too. The lawyer hunts out quibbles, Your title to maintain; He'll hunt the right 'till it be wrong, Then hunt it back again. The toper daily hunts his pot, Both care and ſenſe to drown; Whilſt gameſters hunt another's purſe, And loſe ſight of their own. The laſſes hunt their lovers, Each lover hunts his laſs: The fop, in chace of his dear face, Hunts out his looking-glaſs. O'er hill and dale, with bound and born, Lets hunt, boys, while 'tis light; Then joyous we'll o'er flowing bowls Revive the chaſe at night. And a-hunting, &c.

Good-morrow to your Night-cap. DEAR Kathleen, you, no doubt, Find ſleep how very ſweet 'tis; Dogs bark, and cocks have crowed out; You never dream how late 'tis. This morning gay I poſt away, To have with you a bit of play: On two legs rid Along to bid Good-morrow to your night-cap. Laſt night a little bowſy With wiſky, ale and cyder, I aſk'd young Betty Blowzy To let me ſit beſide her: Her anger roſe, And four as ſloes, The little jipſy cock'd her noſe: Yet here I've rid Along to bid Good-morrow to your night cap. Beneath the honey-ſuckle, The daify and the violet Compoſe ſo ſweet a truckle, They'll tempt you ſure to ſpoil it. Sweet Sal and Bell I've pleas'd ſo well— But hold, I muſt'nt kiſs and tell; So here I've rid Along, to bid Good-morrow to your night-cap.

No, Indeed, not I. ONE ſummer's eve, when Luna's beam Illumin'd hill and dale, And gaily wanton'd on the ſtream, With zephyr's gentle gale; What, all alone, my pretty maid, Cry'd Colin, paſſing by, Take company—I flouting ſaid, Indeed, ſir, no not I. O let me, ſaid the ſmiling ſwain, Conduct you through the grove; And then, in fond and moving ſtrain, Renew'd his tale of love. He begg'd I'd name the happy day, And hop'd the ſame was nigh; Says I, ha' done—I cannot ſtay— Indeed, ſays he—nor I. We parted; but the teſty youth, In female arts untaught, Miſtook my meaning, for in truth I meant not as he thought. Then threw me oft' in Colin's way, And ſmil'd when he came nigh; Again he wou'd, cou'd I ſay nay— Why, no, indeed, not I.

I am not Twenty. AS through the grove, the other day, I gang'd ſo blithe and bonny; Who ſhould I meet upon the way, But my own true love Johnny! With eager haſte, He claſp'd my waiſt, And kiſſes gave me plenty; Tho, I deny'd, And thus reply'd, "Dear lad—I am not twenty." What's that to me, the ſhepherd cry'd, You're old enough to marry; Then come, dear laſs, and be my bride, No longer let us tarry: But let's be gone, O'er yonder lawn, Where lads and laſſes plenty, Are fill'd with joy, And kiſs and toy, Altho' they are not twenty. I liſten'd to his ſoothing tale, And gang'd wi' him ſo rarely; With ſong and pipe he did prevail, He won my wiſhes fairly: O he's the lad, That makes me glad, With kiſſes ſweet and plenty; So I declare, By all that's fair, I'll wed—tho' not quite twenty.

The Linnet. AS paſſing by a ſhady grove, I heard a linnet ſing, Whoſe ſweetly plaintive voice of love, Proclaim'd the chearful ſpring. His pretty accents ſeem'd to flow, As if he knew no pain, His downy throat he tun'd ſo ſweet, It echo'd o'er the plain. Ah! happy warbler (I reply'd) Contented thus to be; 'Tis only harmony and love, Can be compar'd to thee. Thus perch'd upon the ſpray you ſtand, The monarch of the ſhade; And even ſip ambroſial ſweets, That glow from ev'ry glade. Did man poſſeſs but half thy bliſs, How joyful might he be! But man was never form'd for this, 'Tis only joy for thee. Then farewell, pretty bird (I ſaid) Purſue thy plantive tale, And let thy tuneful accents ſpread All o'er the fragrant vale.

My Love is gone to Sea. MY love is gone to ſea, Whilſt I his abſence mourn, No joy ſhall ſmile on me, Until my love return. He aſk'd me for his bride, And many vows he ſwore; I bluſh'd—and ſoon comply'd, My heart was his before. One little month was paſt, And who ſo bleſt as we? The ſummons came at laſt, And Jemmy muſt to ſea. I ſaw his ſhip ſo gay Swift fly the wave-worn ſhore; I wip'd my tears away— And ſaw his ſhip no more. When clouds ſhut in the ſky. And ſtorms around me howl; When livid lightnings fly, And threat'ning thunders roll; All hopes of reſt are loſt, No ſlumbers viſit me, My anxious thoughts are toſt With Jemmy on the ſea.

The Dauphin. YE ſons of Mars, attend, Come join the feſtive throng, In loftieſt ſtrains exult, For Jove approves the ſong. Let gladneſs ev'ry heart expand, Let gratitude inſpire Each patriot's breaſt with joy unfeign'd To hail the royal Sire! A Dauphin's born, let cannons lo • Bid echo rend the ſky; Long life to Gallia's king, Columbia's great ally. Hark, hark! a feu de joye— Makes trembling aether 〈◊〉 While ſhouting armies hail A prince, a future king; On whom may heaven with liberal hand, Its choiceſt gifts beſtow: May peace and wiſdom bleſs his reign, And lawrels grace his brow. A Dauphin's born, &c. To viſit earth once more, Lo, lo! Auſtrea deigns; The golden age returns, Now truth and juſtice reigns: See, proud oppreſſion hides its head, Fell tyranny expires, For independence, heaven's fair giſt, Lights freedom's ſacred fires. A Dauphin's born, &c.

Hunting Song. HARK! hark! the joy-inſpiring horn Salutes the roſy riſing morn, And echoes through the dale; With clam'rous peals the hills reſound, The hounds quick-ſcented ſcow'r the ground, And ſnuff the fragrant gale. Nor gates nor hedges can impede The briſk, high-mettled, ſtarting ſteed, The jovial pack purſue; Like lightning darting o'er the plains, The diſtant hills with ſpeed he gains, And ſees the game in view. Her path the timid hare forſakes, And to the copſe for ſhelter makes, There pants a while for breath; When now the noiſe alarms her ear, Her haunts deſcry'd, her fate is near, She ſees approaching death. Directed by the well-known breeze, The hounds their trembling victim ſeize, She ſaints, ſhe falls, ſhe dies: The diſtant coarſers now come in, And join the loud triumphant din, 'Till echo rends the ſkies.

The Honey-Moon. WOU'D you know, my good friends, what the honey-moon is, How long in duration, how perfect in bliſs. A proof may be found, and a ſample be ſeen, In ſome boarding ſchool couple juſt left Gretna green, My deareſt, my duck, My ſweeteſt, my chuck; Miſs Kitty's an Angel, her Billy a God; Whips crack, glaſſes jingle, While ſighs intermingle, And Cupid aſcents, and goes niddity nod, Niddity nod, niddity nod, O'er Kitty the Angel, and Billy the God. Papa's and Mama's ſurly tempers once paſt, Bright Bloomſbury-ſquare has this couple at laſt! In three weeks poſſeſſion, how pleaſures will cloy! Neglect hurts the lady, and time cools the boy. So impatient to roam:— Ma'am you're never at home, A path ſo vexatious no wife ever trod, My torment, my curſe;— You are bad. You are worſe. While Cupid flies off, from a quarrel ſo odd, Niddity nod, niddity nod, And Miſs is no Angel, and Billy no God. To routs hies the lady, to gambling goes maſter; To part from each other no'er couple went faſter, While raking at night, and diſtraction at noon. Soon cloſe all the joys of the ſweet honey-moon. Bleeding hearts, aching heads, Sep'rate tables and beds, Render wedlock's ſweet countenance dull as a clod, Then hie for a ſummons From grave Doctors Commons, While Proctors and parchments go niddity nod, Niddity nod, niddity nod, O'er Kitty the Angel, and Billy the God.

Plato. SAYS Plato why ſhould man be vain? Since bounteous Heaven has made him grea Why looketh he with inſolent diſdain On thoſe undeck'd with wealth or ſtate! Can ſplended robes or beds of down, Or coſtly gems that deck the fair? Can all the glories of a crown, Give health, or eaſe the brow of care? The ſcepter'd king, the burthen'd ſlave, The humble and the haughty die: The rich, the poor, the baſe, the brave, In duſt without diſtinction lie. Go, ſearch the tombs were monarch's reſt, Who once the greateſt titles bore: The wealth and glory they poſſeſt, And all their honours are no more. So glides the meteor through the ſky, And ſpreads along a guilded train: But, when its ſhort liv'd beauties die, Diſſolves to common air again. So 'tis with us, my jovial ſouls, Let friendſhip reign while here we ſtay, Let's crown our joys with flowing bowls, When Jove commands we muſt away.

Edwin and Ella. SEE beneath yon bow'r of roſes, Sweetly ſleeps the heav'nly maid; 'Tis my gentle love repoſes, Softly tread the ſacred ſhade. Mark the loves that play around her, Mark my Ella's graceful mein; See the wood-nymphs all ſurround her, Hailing Ella, beauty's queen. Flutt'ring Cupids round decending, Soft expand their ſilken wings; From the zephyr's breath defending, Ev'ry ſweet that round her ſprings. Sportive fancy, hear my prayer, Gently from thy airy throne, Whiſper to thy ſleeping fair, Edwin lives for her alone.

SONG. Sung by Mrs. Morris in the Poor Soldier. SINCE love is the plan, I'll love if I can, But firſt let me tell you what ſort of a man: In addreſs how complete, In dreſs ſpruce and neat, No matter how tall ſo he's over five feet. Then this is my fancy, Such a man can I ſee, I'm his if he's mine, Until then I am free. Tho' gentle he be, His man he ſhall ſee, Yet never be conquer'd by any but me; In a dance bear a bob, In a glaſs hob-a-nob, Yet drink of reaſon his noddle ne'er rob. Then this is my fancy, &c.

Happy, Harmleſs, Rural Pair. HAPPY, harmleſs, rural pair, Void of jealouſy or care; Emblems of the bleſs'd above, Sharing pure ſeraphic love! By the brook, beneath the ſhade Of the lofty poplar laid, Cheerful ſtrains awake the grove, Dulcet notes of peace and love. Say, ye proud, ye rich and great, Circled round with noiſe and ſtate, Real pleaſures can ye prove? No—'tis found in rural love.

Lovely Nymph. LOVELY nymph now ceaſe to languiſh, Yield not thus thy mind to woe; Look be hind the cloud of anguiſh, Cheering beams of comfort blow, Cheering beams of comfort blow. Let enliv'ning hope elate thee, Hope that points to fairer ſkies; Think the tranſient ills that wait thee, Are but bleſſings in diſguiſe. Are but, &c. Be not by diſtreſs dejected: Shrink not from affliction's hand; Falſhood is from truth detected, By the kind enchantreſs wand. By the kind, &c. Sage inſtructreſs, ſhe ſhall train thee; Steady virtue teach thy heart; Short, but ſhort liv'd pains await thee, Endleſs bleſſings to impart, Endleſs bleſſings to impart.

A Linnet's Neſt. A LINNET's neſt with anxious care, Young Strephon one day found me: When inſtantly the plunder'd pair, With cries came flutt'ring round me; And is it thus, cries I, unkind, You'd raiſe compaſſion in me? Hence, cruel, hence—unleſs you'd find Some better way to win me. Alas! if to give pain, cry'd he, My love for you has wrought me, I practiſe but that cruelty, You have ſo often taught me. If thus the linnet, and his mate, Can raiſe compaſſion in you; No more unkindneſs intimate, But let your Strephon join you. This ſaid, like light'ning, back he flew, The moſſy neſt reſtoring, The linnets kept their young in view, No more a loſs deploring: Mean while this act, ſo ſweet, ſo kind, Has rais'd affections in me; And Strephon was well pleas'd to find This certain way to win me.

Wiſdom's Favorite. BANISH ſorrow grief and folly, Thoughts unbend the wrinkling brow; Hence dull cares and melancholy, Wine and mirth unite us now. Bacchus opens all his treaſure, Comus brings us wit and ſong; Follow, follow, follow, follow pleaſure, And let's join the jovial ſong. Life is ſhort, its but a ſeaſon; Time is ever on the wing; Let's the preſent moment ſieze on, Who knows what the reſt may bring? All my time I now will meaſure, All cares I now deſpiſe, Follow, follow, follow, follow pleaſure, To be happy's to be wiſe. Wherefore ſhould we thus perplex us, Why ſhould we not merry be; Since there's nothing here to vex us; Drinking ſets our hearts all free. Let's have drinking without meaſure, Let's have mirth, what time we have; Follow, follow, follow, follow pleaſure, There's no drinking in the grave.

The Sailor's Return. THE buſy crew their ſails unbending, The ſhip in harbour ſafe arriv'd, Jack Oakum (all his perils ending) Had made the port where Kitty liv'd. His rigging—no one dare attack it, Tight fore and aft, above, below: Long-quarter'd ſhoes, check ſhirt, blue jacket, And trowſers like the driven ſnow. His honeſt heart with pleaſure glowing, He flew like light'ning to the ſide; Scarce had he been a boat's length rowing, Before his Kitty he eſpy'd. A flowing pennant gaily flutter'd From her neat made hat of ſtraw; Red was her cheek when firſt ſhe utter'd, It was her ſailor that ſhe ſaw. And now the gazing crew ſurround her, While ſecure from all alarms, Swift as a ball from a nine-pounder, They dart into each other's arms.

Belinda Bluſhing. I SING the beauties that adorn Belinda's lovely face, Her bluſhes emulate the morn, And give enchanting grace. 'Tis Virtue paints an op'ning roſe Upon her blooming check; 'Tis Virtue would the charms diſcloſe That real worth beſpeak. Her modeſt beauties all are pure, And ſweeteſt joys impart: No tinſel can like theſe inſure The captivated heart. Pleaſing angelic Modeſty! Thy blooms reſiſtleſs prove; Chaſte Innocence attends on thee, And Conſtancy and Love!

The Bonny Sailor. BLOW chearfully ye winds, till my Henry return, Waves, bear him once more to my arms; Hope's ſoft ſoothing promiſe forbids me to mourn, Tho' his danger my boſom alarms. O! my bonny, bonny ſailor! Gay ſo'diers, dull 'ſquires, and ſportſmen purſue, But I ſcorn all their offers of love! My heart is at ſea, my dear Henry with you, And our vows are recorded above O! my bonny, bonny ſailor! May the foes of our Freedom in haſte be ſubdu'd, Then my ſailor in ſafety will roam; The laurel is gain'd that his valour purſu'd, And Cupid ſhall pilot him home. O! my bonny, bonny ſailor!

SONG. LAST Valentine's day, when bright Phoebus ſhone clear, I had not been hunting for more than a year: I mounted black Sloven, o'er the road made him bound, For I heard the hounds challenge, and horns ſweetly ſound, Taleo taleo taleo taleo taleo taleo taleo. Hallo into cover, old Authony cries, No ſooner he ſpoke, but the fox, ſir, he ſpies; This being the ſignal, he then crack'd his whip; Taleo was the word, and away we did leap. Taleo, &c. Then up rides Dick Dawſon, who ca • 'd not a pin, He ſprang at the drain, but his horſe tumbled in. And as he crept out, why he ſpi'd old Ren', With his tongue hanging out, ſtealing home to his den. Taleo, &c. Our hounds and our horſes were always as good As ever broke covert, or daſh'd thro' the wood; Old Reynard runs hard, but muſt certainly die, Have at you, old Tony, Dick Dawſon did cry. Taleo, &c. The hounds they had run twenty miles now or more, Old Anthony fretted, he curſed too and ſwore, But Reynard being ſpent ſoon muſt give up the ghoſt, Which will heighten our joys when we come to each toaſt. Talco, &c. The day's ſport being over, the horns we will ſound, To the jolly fox-hunters let echo reſound, So fill up your glaſſes, and chearfully drink, To the honeſt true ſportſman who never-will ſhrink. Taleo, &c.

A favorite Song, By Robert Burns, a Scotch Ploughman. IT was upon a Lammas night, When corn rigs are bonny, Beneath the moon's unclouded light, I hied awa' to Annie, The time flew by wi' heedleſs head, 'Till 'tween the late and early, Wi' my perſuaſion ſhe agreed To ſee me thro' the barley. The ſky was blue, the wind was ſtill, The moon was ſhining clearly, I ſet her down wi' right gude will Amang the rigs o' barley; I knew her heart was a' my ane, I loo'd her moſt ſincerely; I kiſs'd her o'er and o'er again, Amang the rigs o' barley. I lock'd her in my fond embrace, Her heart was beating rarely; My bleſſings on that happy place, Amang the rigs o' barley. But by the moon and ſtars ſae bright, That ſhone that hour ſae clearly, She ay ſhall bleſs that happy night, Amang the rigs o' barley. I ha'e been blithe wi' comrades dear, I ha'e been merry drinking; I ha'e been joyſu' gath'ring gear. I ha'e been happy thinking. But a' the pleaſures I e'er ſaw, Tho' three times doubled fairly, That happy night was worth them a', Amang the rigs o' barley. Chorus. Corn rigs and barley rigs, And corn rigs are bonny; I'll ne'er forget that happy night, Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

SONG. YE ſportſmen draw near, and ye ſportſwomen too, Who delight in the joys of the field; Mankind, tho' they blame, are all eager as you, And no one the conteſt will yield. His lordſhip, his worſhip, his honor, his grace, A hunting continually go; All ranks and degrees are engag'd in the chace, 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 found of the horn, And rides to the commons full ſpeed; The patriot is thrown in purſuit of his game, The poet, too, often lays low, Who, mounted on Pegaſus, flies after ſame, With hark forward, huzza, tally ho. While fearleſs o'er hills and o'er woodlands we ſweep, Tho' prudes on our paſtime may 〈◊〉 , How oft do they decency's bounds over leap, 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 chace, With hark forward, huzza, tally ho.

Every Inch a Sailor.

Written and compoſed by Mr. Dibdin, And ſung by Mr. Loledon, with the greateſt applauſe.

THE wind blew hard, the ſea ran high, The dingy ſcud drove croſs the ſky, All was ſafe ſtow'd, the bowl was ſlung, When careleſs thus Ned Haulyard ſung: A ſailor's life's the life for me, He takes his duty merrily; If winds can whiſtle, he can ſing, Still faithful news to friends can bring— He gets belov'd by all the ſhip, And toaſts his girl, and drinks his ſlip. Down topſails, boys, the gale comes on, To ſtrike top-gallant yards they run; And now to hand the fail prepar'd, Ned chearful ſings upon the yard— A ſailor's life, &c. A leak! a leak!—come lads, be bold, There's five feet water in the hold: Eager on deck ſee Haulyard jump, And, hark! while working at the pump— A ſailor's life, &c. And ſee, the veſſel nought can ſave, She ſtrikes and finds a wat'ry grave; Yet Ned, preſerv'd with a few more,— Sings as he treads a foreign ſhore.— A ſailor's life, &c. And now unnumber'd perils paſt, On land as well as ſea, at laſt, In tatters, to his Poll at home, See honeſt Haulyard ſinging come— A ſailor's life, &c. Yet, for poor Haulyard, what diſgrace! Poll ſwears ſhe never ſaw his face— He d— her for a faithleſs ſhe, And, ſinging, goes again to ſea. A ſailor's life, &c.

SONG. SAY little fooliſh ſluttering thing • Whither, ah! whither would you wing Your airy flight? Stay here, and ſing Your miſtreſs to delight. No, no, no, Sweet Robin you ſhall not go, Where, you wanton, could you be Half ſo happy as with me.

The God of Love. HOW ſweet the roſy bluſh of morn, How charming is the ſpring! When dews beſpangle ev'ry thorn, And ſky-larks ſweetly ſing: Come, then, Florella, let us haſte, Each happy hour to prove; The fragrance of the morn to taſte, And hail the God of love. The lambs are ſporting on the plain The kids their gambols try; And ev'ry nymph, and ev'ry ſwain, With mirth old care defy: With chaplets crown'd they dance along, Each moment to improve; And raiſe the ſoft enchanting ſong, To pleaſure and to love. Ah! let not fear thy breaſt invade, That ſeat of downy peace; For all I wiſh, my charming maid, Thy joy is to increaſe: The pow'rs above my vows ſhall hear, Which time cannot remove; That I will conſtant be, my dear, To honor and to love.

SONG. FROM the man that I love, though my heart I diſguiſe, I will freely deſcribe the wretch I deſpiſe; And if he has ſenſe but to balance a ſtraw, He will ſure take the hint from the picture I draw. And if he has ſenſe, &c. A wit without ſenſe, without fury a beau; Like a parrot he chatters, and ſtruts like a crow; A peacock in pride, in grimace a baboon; In courage a hind, in conceit a gaſcoon. A peacock, &c. As a vulture rapacious, in falſhood a ſox; Inconſtant as waves, and unfeeling as rocks; As a tyger ferocious, perverſe as a hog; In miſchief an ape, and in fawning a dog. As a tyger, &c. In a word, to ſum up all his talents together, His heart is of lead, and his brain is of feather; Yet if he has ſenſe but to balance a ſtraw, He will ſure take a hint from the picture I draw. Yet if he has ſenſe, &c.

Young Colin ſtole my Heart away. THE fields were green, the hills were gay, And birds were ſinging on each ſpray, When Colin met me in the grove, And told me tender tales of love: Was ever ſwain ſo blithe as he, So kind, ſo faithful, and ſo free, In ſpite of all my friends can ſay, Young Colin ſtole my heart away: Whene'er he trips the mead along, He ſweetly joins the wood-lark's ſong; And when he dances on the green, There's none ſo blithe as Colin ſeen: If he's but by, I nothing fear, For I alone am all his care; Then ſpite of all my friends can ſay, He's ſtole my tender heart away. My mother chides whene'er I roam, And ſeems ſurpriz'd I quit my home; But ſhe'd not wonder that I rove, Did ſhe but feel how much I love; Full well I know the generous ſwain Will never give my boſom pain: Then ſpite of all my friends can ſay, He's ſtole my tender heart away.

SONG. AS my cow I was milking juſt now in the vale, Young Alexis advanced and told a fond tale; Such a tale, gentle maidens, believe what I ſay, I with pleaſure could wait for to hear it all day. I with pleaſure could wait, I with pleaſure could wait, I with pleaſure could wait for to hear it all day. Hail Florella, he cry'd, now I'm happy I vow, For to ſee you, believe me, I came from the plough, Wilt thou have me Florella, my deareſt now ſay? I with frowns ſoon reply'd I'll not hear you to-day. Pray, Alexis, I ſaid—for to try him I ſtrove, Never come near me more, for I'm ſure you don't love: Not deter'd by rough ſpeeches, nor all I could ſay, Still he anſwer'd with ſmiles, make me happy today. Now, with bluſhes I tell, I no longer ſaid no, But Alexis and I unto church ſoon did go; Ye laſſes, then hear me, oh hear me I pray, Never wait for to-morrow, catch hold on to-day.

Fair Roſale ON that fair bank where Lubin died, Fair Roſale, a wretched maid, Sat weeping o'er the cruel tide, Faithful to her Lubin's ſhade. O! may ſome kind, ſome gentle wave, Waft him to this mournful ſhore; Theſe tender hands ſhould make his grave, And deck his corpſe with flowers o'er. I'd ever watch his mould'ring clay, And pray for his eternal reſt; When time his form has worn away, His duſt to place within my breaſt. While thus ſhe mourn'd her Lubin loſt, And echo to her grief reply'd; Lo at her feet his corpſe was toſt, She ſhrink'd! ſhe claſp'd him! ſigh'd and dy'd.

Gramachree. AS down on Banna's banks I ſtray'd, One evening in May, The little birds, in blitheſt notes, Made vocal ev'ry ſpray; They ſung their little tales of love, They ſung them o'er and o'er, Ah! gramachree, ma cholleenouge, Ma Molly aſhtore! The daiſy py'd, and all the ſweets, The dawn of nature yields, The primroſe pale, and vi'let blue, Lay ſcatter'd o'er the fields; Such fragrance in the boſom lies, Of her whom I adore, Ah! gramachree, &c. I laid me down upon a bank, Bewailing my ſad fate, That doom'd me thus the ſlave of love, And cruel Molly's hate; How can ſhe break the honeſt heart, That wears her in its core? Ah! gramachree, &c. You ſaid you lov'd me, Molly dear, Ah! why did I believe? Yet who could think ſuch tender words Were meant but to deceive? That love was all I aſk'd on earth, Nay, Heav'n could give no more, Ah! gramachree, &c. O! had I all the flocks that graze On yonder yellow hill, Or low'd for me the num'rous herds That yon green paſture fill; With her I love, I'd gladly ſhare, My kine and fleecy ſtore, Ah! gramachree, &c. Two turtle doves above my head, Sat courting on a bough, I envy'd them their happineſs, To ſee them bill and coo; Such fondneſs once for me ſhe ſhew'd, But now, alas! 'tis o'er, Ah! gramachree, &c. Then fare thee well, my Molly dear, Thy loſs I e'er ſhall mourn; While life remains in Strephon's heart, 'Twill beat for thee alone; Tho' thou art falſe, may Heav'n on thee Its choiceſt bleſſings pour, Ah! gramachree, &c.

The Charming Fellow.

Sung in the Agreeable Surpriſe.

LORD, what care I for mam or dad? Why let 'em ſcold and bellow: For while I live, I'll love my lad, He's ſuch a charming fellow. The laſt fair-day, on yonder green, The youth he danc'd ſo well O; So ſpruce a lad was never ſeen, As my ſweet charming fellow. The fair was over—night was come— The lad was ſomewhat mellow; Says he, my dear, I'll ſee you home;— I thank'd the charming fellow. We trudg'd along—the moon ſhone bright— Says he, my ſweeteſt Nello, I'll kiſs you here by this good light: Lord, what a charming fellow! You rogue, ſays I, you've ſtopp'd my breath; Ye bells, ring out my knello; Again I'd die ſo ſweet a death, With ſuch a charming fellow.

Soldier's Song. HOW ſtands the glaſs around? For ſhame, ye take no care, my boys, How ſtands the glaſs around? Let mirth and wine abound. The trumpets ſound. The colours they are flying, boys, To fight, kill, or wound; May we ſtill be found, Content with our hard fate, my boys, On the cold ground. Why, ſoldiers, why, Should we be melancholy, boys? Why, ſoldiers, why, Whoſe bus'neſs 'tis to die? What ſighing, fie! Drown fear, drink on, be jolly, boys, 'Tis he, you, or I! Cold, hot, wet or dry, We're always bound to follow, boys, And ſcorn to fly. 'Tis but in vain, I mean not to upbraid ye, boys; 'Tis but in vain For ſoldiers to complain; Should next campaign Send us to him who made us, boys, We're free from pain! But if we remain, A bottle and kind landlady Cure all again.

Blithe Echo. BRIGHT Phoebus has mounted the chariot of day, And the horns and the hounds call each ſportſman away; Thro' woods and thro' meadows with ſpeed now they bound, While health, roſy health, is in exerciſe found. H • rk away is the word to the found of the horn, And echo', blithe echo, makes jovial the morn. Each hill and each valley is lovely to view, While puſs flies the covert, and dogs quick purſue; Behold where ſhe flies o'er the wide ſpeading plain, While the loud op'ning pack purſue her amain. Hark away, &c. At length puſs is caught, and lies panting for breath, And the ſhout of the huntſman's the ſignal for death; No joys can delight like the ſports of the field, All paſtimes and pleaſures to hunting muſt yield. Hark away, &c.

SONG. OH! the days when I was young! When I laugh'd in fortune's ſpite, Talk'd of love the whole day long: And with nectar crown'd the night. Then it was, old father Care, Little reck'd I of thy frown; Half thy malice, youth could bear, And the reſt a bumper drown. Oh! the days, &c. Truth, they ſay, lies in a well, Why I vow I ne'er could ſee; Let the water drinkers tell, There it always lay for me: For when ſparkling wine went round, Never ſaw I falſhood's maſk; But ſtill honeſt truth I found, In the bottom of each flaſk! Oh! the days, &c. True at length my vigour's flown, I have years to bring decay; Few the locks that now I own, And the few I have are grey; Yet, old Jerome, thou may'ſt boaſt, While thy ſpirits do not tire, Still beneath thy age's froſt Glows a ſpark of youthful fire. Oh! the days, &c.

How often muſt I aſk ye? YOUNG Willy woo'd me long in vain, In ev'ry place he met me, Ah, do you love me, ſaid the ſwain, How often muſt I aſk ye? I hardly could my love deny, For love him I did really; Why no, you fooliſh ſwain, ſaid I, How often muſt I tell ye? Ah, muſt I then avoid your view, Ah, muſt I always ſhun ye! Then tell me, O my deareſt Sue, How often muſt I aſk ye? At length he aſk'd my hand, and cried, Ah, deareſt, do you love me? Why yes, ſaid I, and often ſigh'd, How often muſt I tell ye?

SONG. A MASTER I have, and I am his man, Galloping dreary dun, And he'll get a wiſe as faſt as he can, With a haily, gaily, Gambo raily, Giggling, Niggling, Galloping galloway, draggle tail dreary dun. I ſaddled his ſteed, ſo fine and ſo gay, Galloping dreary dun: I mounted my mule, and we rode away, With our haily, &c. We canter'd along until it grew dark, Galloping dreary dun; The nightingale ſung inſtead of the lark, With her haily, &c. We met with a friar, and aſk'd him our way, Galloping dreary dun; By the lord, ſays the friar, you are both aſtray, With your haily, &c. Our journey, I fear, will do us no good, Galloping dreary dun: We wander alone, like the babes in the wood, With our haily, &c. My maſter is fighting, and I'll take a peep, Galloping dreary dun; But now I think on it—I'd better go ſleep, With my haily, &c.

AIR.

Sung in The Farmer.

GAD a mercy! devil's in me, All the damſels wiſh to win me; Like a maypole round me clutter. Hanging garlands—fuſs and flutter! Lilting, cap'ring, grinning, ſmirking; Pouting, bobbing, winking, jerking; Kates and Bet • es, Polls and Letties, All were doating, gentle creatures, On theſe features.— To their aprons all would pin me, Gad-a mercy! devil's in me, All the damſels wiſh to win me. Pretty damſels, ugly damſels, Black hair'd damſels, red hair'd damſels; Six feet damſels, three feet 〈…〉 Pale fac'd damſels, plump fac'd damſels; Small leg'd damſels, thick leg'd damſels; Pretty, ugly, black hair'd, red hair'd, ſix feet, three feet, Pale fac'd, plump fac'd, ſmall leg'd, thick leg'd, dainty, dowdy; All run after me, ſir, me; For, when pretty fellows we, Pretty maids are frank and free. For their ſtays taking meaſure Of the ladies, oh the pleaſure! Oh, ſuch tempting looks they gi' me; Wiſhing of my heart to nim me; Pat and cry, you devil Jemmy! Pretty ladies, ugly ladies, &c.

SONG. HARK! hark! ſweet Laſs, the trumpet ſounds, 'Tis honor calls to war; Now love I leave, perhaps for wounds, And beauty for a ſcar. But, ah! ſuppreſs thoſe riſing ſighs; Ah! check that falling tear: Leſt ſoft diſtreſs, from lovely eyes, Create a new born ſear. My life to fame devoted was, Before my fair I knew, And, if I now deſert her cauſe, Shall I be worthy you? It is not fame alone invites, Though fame this boſom warms; My country's violated rights Impel my ſoul to arms.

Oran is no more.

Sung by Mrs. Kemble, in the Benevolent Planter.

IN vain to me the hours of care, When ev'ry daily toil is o'er; In my ſad heart no hopes I find, For Oran is, alas! no more. Nor ſunny Africa could pleaſe, Nor friends upon my native ſhore; To me the dreary world's a cave, For Oran is, alas! no more. In bow'rs of bliſs, beyond the moon, The white man ſays, his ſorrow's o'er: And comforts me with ſoothing hope, Tho' Oran is, alas! no more. O come then, meſſenger of death, Convey me to the ſtarry ſhore, Where I may meet with my true love. And never part with Oran more.

SONG. GO! tuneful bird, that glads the ſkies, To Daphne's window ſpeed thy way, And there on trembling pinions riſe, And there thy vocal art diſplay: And if ſhe deign thy notes to hear, And if ſhe praiſe thy matin ſong, Tell her, the ſound that ſooths her ear, To Damon's native plains belong. Tell her in livelier plumes array'd, The birds from India's groves may ſhine, But aſk the lovely, partial maid, What are his notes compar'd with thine? Then bid her treat yon witleſs beau, And all his flaunting race with ſcorn, And lend an ear to Damon's woe, Who ſings her praiſe, but ſings forlorn.

The Barking Barber, Or, NEW BOW WOW. A comi ſatyri poetical Lecture on Blockheads. By Paſq, Shareblock, Shavar Extraordinary. YE gents, give ear to me, I pray, I am a b • king barber, The beſt accommodations have, Keen razors and hot lather. Pray walk into my noted ſhop, I ſhave as clean as any; And when Iv'e done it to your mind, Will charge you but a penny. Bow, wow, wow, I am a barking barber. Bow, wow, wow, Ye ragged pates, your hair I'll crop, And dreſs it vaſtly pretty; Or if your blocks are bare, walk in, I warrant I can fit ye, With bag or que, or long pig-tail, Or buſhy wig, or grizzled, So well bepowder'd, clean, and white, And eke ſo nicely frizzled. Bow, wow, &c. My ſhop well furniſh'd out with blocks, Becomes an exhibition, Of heads of ev'ry age and kind, And every condition: A lawyer's head without a quirk, Without chicane, a proctor's; A lady's head without a tongue, Without a noſtrum doctor's. Bow, wow, &c. A poet's head without a rhyme, A wit's too without punning; Without a crotchet fidlers head, A jockey's without cunning; A cuckold's head devoid of horns, His wife's without invention; A barber's head without his brains, And others I could mention. Bow, wow, &c. And let none of the wicked wits Deſpiſe my occupation, The greater always ſhave the leſs, In ev'ry rank and ſtation; The rich will ever ſhave the poor, The miniſter, an't pleaſe ye, Well lathers you with promiſes, Then ſhaves you mighty eaſy. Bow, wow, &c. And ſhavers clean. I trow there are, Of every profeſſion; But pardon now, my cuſtomers, This whimſical digreſſion; And walk into my noted ſhop, I ſhave as clean as any; And when I've done it to your mind, Will charge you but a penny. Bow, wow, &c.

SONG. I DREAMT I ſaw a piteous ſight, Young Cupid weeping lay, Until his pretty ſtars of light, Had wept themſelves away. Me thought I aſk'd him why he wept, Mere pity led me on: He deeply figh'd and then repli'd, Alas! I am undone. As I beneath yon myrtle lay, Cloſe by Diana's ſprings, Amintor ſtole my bow away, And pinion'd both my wings. Alas! ſaid I, where's then thy bow, Wherewith he wounded me; Thou art a god, and ſuch a blow, Could come from none but thee. But if thou wilt revenged be, On that ambitious ſwain, I'll ſet thy wings at liberty, And thou ſhalt ſly again: And all the ſervice on my part, That I require of thee, Is that you'd wound Amintor's heart, And make him die for me. The ſilken fetters I untied, And the gay wings diſplay'd, He mounting, gently fann'd and cry'd, Adieu, fond fooliſh maid! At that I bluſh'd and angry grew, I ſhould the god believe; But waking found my dream too true, Alas! I was a ſlave.

The favorite Fiſhing Duel.

Sung by Mr. Martyr and Mrs. Mountain, in Don Juan.

THUS for men the women fair Lay the cunning, cunning ſnare; While like fiſh the men will rove, And with beauty fall in love. What is beauty but a bait, Oft' repented when too late. If too late you ſeize the prize, Now diſplay'd before the eyes, How you'll rue when all is paſt, Hymen's hook which holds you faſt, Ere you marry then beware, 'Tis a bleſſing or a ſnare.

Hopeleſs Love. CEASE, tyrant of my flaming boſom, ceaſe, Nor force the gentle ſlumbers from my eyes, Ah! but again reſtore my youthful peace, And from my breaſt eraſe deſponding ſighs. May fate relent, nor let me languiſh here, While by her eyes I'm chain'd to gloomy care; Still for the tranſient roſe I ſhed a tear, And o'er her bluſhes weep with wild deſpair. Impetuous tranſport pierces while I gaze, Corroſive anguiſh preys upon my mind; I ſtand condemn'd to paſs unhappy days, And leave content and flatt'ring hope behind. I grieve in ſilence, and I grieve in vain, Her eyes reſiſtleſs ſnatch me to my doom; Fain would I rove, to eaſe this ling'ring pain, But that will follow to the duſky tomb. Fly hope, thou ſoother, from my wretched breaſt, Revive no more, nor bring thy gentle aid; I mourn, I wander, and I weep unbleſt, Enſlav'd, rejected by a beateuous maid.

The Wandering Sailor. THE wand'ring ſailor ploughs the main, A competence in life to gain, Undaunted braves the ſtormy ſeas, To find, at laſt, content and • aſe: In hopes, when toil and danger's o'er, To anchor on his native ſhore. When winds blow hard, and mountains roll, And thunders ſhake from pole to pole; Tho' dreadful waves ſurrounding foam, Still flatt'ring fancy waſts him home; In hopes, when toil and danger's o'er, To anchor on his native ſhore. When round the bowl, the jovial crew • The early ſcenes of youth renew; Tho' each his fav'rite fair will boaſt, This is the univerſal toaſt— May we, when toil and danger's o'er, Caſt anchor on our native ſhore.

SONG. BEHOLD on the brow the leaves play in the breeze, While cattle calm feed in the vale; The church ſpires tapering, points thro' the trees, As lord of the hill and the dale. The playful colts ſkip after lambs to the brook, The brook ſlow and ſilent glides: The ſurface ſo ſmooth and ſo clear, if you look It reflects the gay green on its ſides. By his feather'd ſeraglio in farm-yard careſs'd, The king of the walk dares to crow, No nabob nor Nimrod enſlaving the eaſt, Such proweſs with beauty can ſhew. Beneath the ſtill cow, Nancy preſſes the teat, Her face like the ruddy fac'd morn: Loud ſtrokes in the barn the ſtrong threſhers repeat, Or winnow for market the corn. Induſtrious the wives, at the doors of their cots, Sit ſpinning, dreſs'd neatly, tho' coarſe, To their babes, while unheeding the travelier trots, They ſhew the fine man and the horſe. At the heels of the ſteed bark the baſe village whelps, Each puppy rude echo beſtirs; But the horſe too high bred, bounds away from their yelps, Diſregarding the clamour of curs. Illiberal railers thus envy betray, When merit above them they view; But genius diſdains to turn out of his way, Or afford a reply to the crew. To contempt and diſpair ſuch inſanes we commit; But to generous rivals, a toaſt— May rich men reward honeſt fellows of wit— Here's a health to thoſe dunces hate moſt.

The Knights Errant.

Sung by Mr. Edwin, in the Cruſade.

Tune—Vicar and Moſes.

KNIGHTS errant of old, By their titles we're told, Thought more of their ſtomachs than fame; Each knight from ſome treat, Some plant or ſome meat, Uncourteouſly borrow'd his name. SCOTCH —Tune—Corn Rigs. De'il burn you a', quoth St. Andrew, Let ither knights gang whiſtle; The bonny Scotchman kens his foes, And ſcratches with his thiſtle. WELCH —Tune—Oh! he de not. Now, cotſplood, quoth St. David, Oh, pleſs the leek! Inteed the Welch knight peats the Scot; Oh, pleſs the leek! Milk, cheeſe, and curds, and nauny goats, With other treats we taffies view, And tear and ſwear, and fight look you, Oh, pleſs the leek! FRENCH —Tune—Young Colin ſtole my heart. St. Dennis di, mes chere amis En verite behold a me; We French knights dance away, d'ye ſee, And fight for frogs and fricaſee. IRISH —Tune—Ally Croaker. St. Patrick, hot as lightning with whiſky and old bumbo, Cry'd out, "Don't bother thus, with noiſe and hurlo thrumbo; Here's one with his ſhilaly will ſuddenly all beat ye, Unleſs your frogs and thiſtles yield to Pat and his potaty. Oh, the plump potaty, The pretty plump potaty. ENGLISH —Tune—Rule, Britannia. When errant knights, in proud array, Aſſembled firſt on Clermont's plain, This was the burthen of their lay, And ev'ry champion join'd the ſtrain: St. George for ever, for ever live the chief, St. George, Old England, and roaſt beef. Oh the roaſt beef of Old England, And oh the Old Engliſh roaſt beef!

SONG. THOU ſoft flowing Avon! by the ſilver ſtream, Of ſubjects immortal thy Shakeſpeare would dream: The fairies by moonlight dance round his green bed, For hallow'd the turf is that pillows his head. Here ſwains ſhall be fam'd for their love and their truth, And cheerful old age feel the tranſports of youth: For the raptures of fancy here poets ſhall tread, For hallow'd the turf is that pillows his head. The love ſtriken maiden, the ſighing young ſwain, Here rove without danger and toy without pain: The ſweet bud of beauty no blight ſhall here dread, For hollow'd the turf is that pillows his h • Flow on, ſilver Avon, in ſong ever flow, Be the ſwans on thy boſom ſtill whiter than ſnow, Ever full be thy ſtream, like his fame may it ſpred, And the turf ever hallow'd that pillows his head.

Sterne at the Tomb of Maria. THE ſun ſhone pale on mountain ſnow, While morn unbarr'd her gate; Wak'd by his beams, Maria roſe, To mourn her hapleſs fate: In piteous ſounds of deepeſt woe, Which eho'd thro' the vale; Soft as the riſing bluſh of morn, Or zephyr's fragrant gale. All night her ſhroud before her paſt, The owl cry'd, and raven too; At eve Maria breath'd her laſt, And prov'd theſe omens true: Her ſpirit's now in heaven repos'd, Which here ſad vigils kept; Whoſe wounds on earth were never clos'd; Whoſe ſorrows never ſlept. Yet ere I bid my laſt adieu, While in my clay cold bed, Accept the tear of friendſhip true, Which o'er thy grave I ſhed; While life remains, thy hapleſs love In mem'ry e'er ſhall live; May'ſt thou in heav'n thoſe bleſſings prove, Which earth could never give.

SONG. A FEW years ago, in the days of my Grannum, (A worthy good woman as ever broke bread) What lectures ſhe gave! in the morning began 'em, Nor ceas'd till ſhe laid herſelf down on her bed; She never declin'd what ſhe once undertook; But twiſted, Perſiſted, Now flatter'd, Now ſpatter'd 〈◊〉 always ſucceeded, by hook or by crook. Said ſhe, child, whatever your fate is hereafter, If married, if ſingle, if old, or if young, In madneſs, in ſadneſs, in tears, or in laughter, But follow my maxims you cannot do wrong: Each paſſion, each temper, I always could brook; When ſcolded, I moulded, When heated, Retreated, And manag'd my matters, by hook or by crook. Enſnar'd by her counſels, I ventur'd to marry, And fancy'd a wife, by my grandmother's rules, Might be taught like a ſpaniel to fetch and to carry But ſoon I found out that we both had been fools In vain, I ſhow'd madam the wonderful book; I coax'd her, I box'd her; But truly, Unruly. Wives cannot be govern'd by hook or by crook.

SONG. ASPASIA. By Miſs AIKIN. A SPASIA rolls her ſparkling eyes, And ev'ry boſom ſeels her pow'er The Indians thus view Poebus riſe, And gaze in rapture and adore: Quick to the ſoul the piercing ſplendors dart, Fire ev'ry vein, and melt the coldeſt heart. Aſpaſia ſpeaks—the liſt'ning croud Drink in the ſound with greedy ears; Mute are the giddy and the loud, And ſelf-admiring folly hears: Her wit ſecures the conqueſts of her face, Points ev'ry charm, and heithens ev'ry grace. Aſpaſia moves—her well turn'd limbs Glide ſtately with harmonious eaſe; Now thro' the mazy dance ſhe ſwims, Like a tall bark o'er ſummer ſeas: 'Twas thus AEneas knew the queen of love, Majeſtic moving thro' the golden grove. But ah! how cruel is my lot, To doat on one ſo heav'nly fair! For, in my humble ſtate forgot, Each charm but adds to my deſpair: The tuneful ſwan thus ſaintly warbling lies, Looks on his mate, and whilſt he ſings he di • .

SONG. COME buſtle, buſtle, drink about, And let us merry be, Our can is full, we'll pump it out, And then all hands to ſea. And a ſailing we will go. Fine miſs at dancing-ſchool is taught The minuet to tread; But we go better when we've brought The fore-tack to cat head. The jockey's call'd to horſe, to horſe, And ſwiftly rides the race; But ſwifter far we ſhape our courſe, When we are giving chace. When horns and ſhouts the foreſt rend, His pack the huntſman cheers; As loud we hallow when we ſend, A bro • dſide to Monſieurs. The what's-their name, at uproar ſquall, With muſic fine and ſoft: But better ſounds our boatſwain's call, All hands, all hands aloft! With gold and ſilver ſtreamers fine The ladies rigging ſhew! But our ſhips more grandly ſhine, When prizes home we tow. What's got at ſea we ſpend on ſhore, With ſweethearts, or our wives; And then, my boys, hoiſt ſail for more! Thus paſs the ſailors lives. And a ſailing we will go.

What a charming thing's a Battle. WHAT a charming thing's a battle! Trumpets ſounding, drums a beating; Crack, crick, crack, the cannons rattle; Ev'ry heart with joy elating; With what pleaſure we are ſpying, From the front, and from the rear, Round us in the ſmoaky air, Heads and limbs, and bullets flying! Then the groans of ſoldiers dying, Juſt like ſparrows, as it were, At each pop Hundreds drop, While the muſkets prittle prattle; kill'd and wounded Lie confounded; What a charming thing's a battle! But the pleaſant joke of all, Is when to cloſe attack we fall, Like mad bulls each other butting, Shooting, ſtabbing, maiming, cutting; Horſe and foot, All go to't; Kill's the word, both men and cattle; Then to plunder; Blood and thunder, What a charming thing's a battle!

Ye Fair poſſeſſed. YE fair poſſeſs'd of ev'ry charm, To captivate the will, Whoſe ſmiles can rage itſelf diſarm, Whoſe frowns at once can kill: Say will you deign the verſe to hear, Where flatt'ry bears no part; And honeſt verſe, that flows ſincere, And candid from the heart. Great is your pow'r; but greater yet, Mankind it might engage: If, as ye all can make a not, Ye all could make a cage. Each nymph a thouſand hearts may take; For who's to beauty blind? But to what end a priſoner make, Unleſs you've ſtrength to bind? Attend the council often told, Too often told in vain; Learn that beſt art, the art to hold, And lock the lover's chain. Gameſters to little purpoſe win, Who loſe again as faſt; Tho' beauty may the charm begin, 'Tis ſweetneſs makes it laſt.

Ma Chere Amie, MA Chere Amie, my charming fair, Whoſe ſmiles can baniſh ev'ry care; In kind compaſſion ſmile on me, Whoſe only care is love of thee. Ma Chere Amie, &c. Under ſweet friendſhip's ſacred name, My boſom caught the tender flame; May friendſhip in thy boſom be Converted into love for me. Ma Chere Amie, &c. Together rear'd, together grown, O let us now unite in one; Let pity ſoften thy decree, I droop, dear maid, I die for thee. Ma Chere Amie, &c.

Mon Cher Ami. MON Cher Ami, ami tres cher, My love ſhall ſoothe thy ev'ry care; Thou in return ſhalt ſmile on me, Nor ought but love our life ſhall ſee. Mon Cher Ami, &c. Under ſweet friendſhip's ſacred name, Thy breaſt ſhall ſtill retain the flame, With which it long has glow'd for me, Thy conſtant wedded friend I'll be. Mon Cher Ami, &c. United thus, may ev'ry year, Thy Lydia grow to thee more dear; Nor ſue for pity more from me, Nor droop for her who lives for thee. Mon Cher Ami, &c.

Sandy o'er the Lee. I WINNA marry one mon but Sandy o'er the loe; I winna ha the Dominee, for geud he canna be; But I will ha my Sandy lad, my Sandy o'er the lee. For he's aye a kiſſing, kiſſing, aye a kiſſing me. I will not have the miniſter, for all his godly looks, Nor yet will I the lawyer have, for all his wily crooks: I will not have the plowman lad, nor yet will I the miller; But I will have Sandy lad, without one penny filler. For he's aye a kiſſing, &c. I will not have the ſoldier lad, for he gangs to the war; I will not have the ſailor lad, becauſe he ſmells of tar: I will not have the lord nor laird, for all their mickle gear: But I will have my Sandy lad, my Sandy o'er the mier. For he's aye a kiſſing, &c.

Virtuous Love. HOW ſweet is love when virtue guides, How tranſient is the mind; Smooth as the ſummer's peaceful tides, As grateful and as kind. The morning breaks ſerenely clear, We welcome in the day; The ev'ning comes without a fear, The night our toils repay. But ſad reverſe where vice appears, With all her ſcorpion train; Joyleſs we paſs our prime of years, And end a life in pain.

SONG. NOW's the time for mirth and glee, Sing, and love, and laugh with me; Cupid is my theme of ſtory: 'Tis his godſhip's ſame and glory, How all yield unto his law! Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! O'er the grave, and o'er the gay, Cupid takes his ſhare of pay: He makes heroes quit their glory: He's the god moſt fam'd in ſtory; Bending them unto his law! Ha! ha! &c. Sly the urchin deals his darts, Without pity—piercing hearts: Cupid triumphs over paſſions, Not regarding modes or faſſions. Firmly fix'd is Cupid's laws! Ha! ha! &c. Some may think theſe lines not true, But they're facts—'twixt me and you: Then, ye maids and men, be wary, How you meet before you marry: Cupid's will is ſolely law. Ha! ha! &c.

The Battle of the Kegs. By the Honorable F. H. Eſquire.

Tune—Maggy Lawder.

GALLANTS attend, and hear a friend, Trill forth harmonious ditty: Strange things I'll tell, which late befel In Philadelphia city. 'Twas early day, as poets ſay, Juſt when the ſun was riſing, A ſoldier ſtood, on a log of wood, And ſaw a ſight ſurpriſing. As in a maze, he ſtood to gaze, The truth can't be denied, ſir, He ſpy'd a ſcore—of kegs or more, Come floating down the tide, ſir. A ſailor too, in jerkin blue, The ſtrange appearance viewing, Firſt damn'd his eyes, in great ſurpriſe, Then ſaid—ſome miſchief's brewing. Theſe KEGS now hold the rebels bold, Pack'd up like pickled herring: And they're come down t'attack the town, In this new way of ferrying. The ſoldier flew, the ſailor too, And ſcar'd almoſt to death, fir, Wore out their ſhoes, to ſpread the news, And ran till out of breath, ſir. Now up and down, throughout the town, Moſt frantic ſcenes were acted; And ſome ran here, and ſome ran there, Like men almoſt diſtracted. Some fire cry'd, which ſome deny'd, But ſaid the earth had quaked: And girls and boys with hideous noiſe, Ran through the town half naked. Sir William Howe. Sir William he, ſnug as a flea, Lay all this time a ſnoring, Nor dreamt of harm, as he lay warm, In bed with Mrs. L—g. Now in a fright, he ſtarts upright, Awak'd by ſuch a clatter; He rubs both eyes, and boldly cries, For God's ſake what's the matter? At his bed-ſide, he then eſpy'd Sir Erſkine Sir W. Erſkine. at command ſir. Upon one foot, he had one boot, And t'other in his hand, ſir. Ariſe! ariſe! Sir Erſkine cries: The rebels—more's the pity— Without a boat, are all on float, And rang'd before the city. The motly crew, in veſſels, new, With Satan for their guide, ſir, Pack'd up in bags, or wooden KEGS, Come driving down the tide, ſir. Therefore prepare for bloody war; Theſe KEGS muſt all be routed: Or ſurely we deſpis'd ſhall be; And Britiſh courage doubted. The royal band now ready ſtand, All rang'd in dread array, ſir. With ſtomach ſtout, to ſee it out, And make a bloody day, ſir. The cannons roar, from ſhore to ſhore: The ſmall arms make a rattle: Since wars began, I'm ſure no man E'er ſaw ſo ſtrange a battle. The rebel The Britiſh officers were ſo fond of the word rebel, • hat they often applied it moſt abſurdly. vales, the rebel dales, With rebel trees ſurrounded, The diſtant woods, the hills, and floods, With rebel echoes ſounded. The fiſh below, ſwam to and fro, Attack'd from ev'ry quarter: Why ſure, thought they, the devil's to pay 'Mongſt folks above the water. The KEGS, 'tis ſaid, tho' ſtrongly made, Of rebel ſtaves and hoops, ſir, Could not oppoſe their powerful foes, The conqu'ring Britiſh troops, ſir. From morn to night theſe men of might Diſplay'd amazing courage; And when the ſun was fairly down, Retir'd to ſup their porriage. An hundred men, with each a pen, Or more, upon my word, ſir, It is moſt true, would be too ſlow Their valour to record, ſir. Such feats did they perform that day Upon theſe wicked KEGS, ſir: That years to come, if they get home, They'll make their boaſt and brags, ſir.

SONG. ONE morning young Roger accoſted me thus— Come here, pretty maiden, and give me a buſs, Lord! fellow, ſaid I, mind your plough and your cart; Yes, I thank you for nothing, thank you for nothing, thank you for nothing, with all my heart. Well, then, to be ſure, he grew civil enough, He gave me a box, with a paper of ſnuff: I took it, I own, yet had ſtill ſo much art, To cry, thank you for nothing with all my heart. He ſaid, if ſo be he might make me his wife— Good Lord! I was never ſo daſh'd in my life; Yet could not help laughing to ſee the fool ſtart, When I thank'd him for nothing with all my heart. Soon after, however, he gain'd my conſent, And with him, on Sunday, to chapel I went; But ſaid, 'twas my goodneſs more than his deſert, Not to thank him for nothing with all my heart. The parſon cry'd, child, you muſt after me ſay, And then talk'd of honor, and love and obey; But ſaith, when his reverence came to that part, There I thank'd him for nothing with all my heart. At night our briſk neighbours the ſtocking would throw— I muſt not tell tales, but I know what I know; Young Roger confeſſes I cur'd all his ſmart, And I thank'd him for ſomething with all my heart

What pleaſures can compare, &c. WHAT pleaſures can compare, To a ſleighing with the fair, In the ev'ning, the ev'ning, in cold and froſty weather, When rapidly we go, As we gingle o'er the ſnow, And tantarrra, huzza! and tantarra, huzza! and tantarra ſings ev'ry brave fellow. When to Kingſbridge we get, And the turkey's on the ſpit, And we dance, boys, we dance, boys, and drive away all ſorrow, 'Tis then your milk and tea Gives place to "ſtrong ſangree," And we baniſh, huzza! and we baniſh, huzza! and we baniſh the cares of to morrow. When the turkey's roaſted brown, To ſupper we ſit down, And "keep it up," and "keep it up," ſings ev'ry jovial fellow, With the wine glaſs in his hand, He never makes a ſtand, But guzzles, huzza! but guzzles, huzza! and guzzles it away until he's mellow. Now for York again prepare, And the night is cold and clear, And we're ſtowing cloſe, we're ſtowing cloſe, becauſe 'tis chilly weather— O then what ſun we feel, When the ſleigh it takes a heel. And we're huddl'd, huzza! and we're huddl'd, huzza! and we're huddl'd brave boys altogether. 'Tis then the ladies cry, O lud!—O dear!—O my!— And we ſcrabble, boys—we ſcrabble boys, all from the ſnowy weather: Then in the ſleigh again, Do we ſcamper o'er the plain, And tantarra, huzza! and tantarra, huzza! and tantarra ſings ev'ry brave fellow.

SONG. O Sandy, why leav'ſt thou thy Nelly to mourn? Thy preſence could eaſe me, When neathing can pleaſe me; Now dowie I ſigh on the banks of the burn, Or thro' the wood, laddie, until thou return. Tho' woods now are bonny, and mornings are clear, While lav'rocks are ſinging, And primroſes ſpringing Yet nane of them pleaſes mine eye or mine ear, When thro' the wood, laddie, ye dinna appear. That I am forſaken, ſome ſpare not to tell; I am faſh'd wi' their ſcorning, Baith ev'ning and morning, Their jeering gaes aſt to my heart wi' a knell. When thro' the wood, laddie, I wonder myſell. Then ſtay, my dear Sandy, nae longer away; But quick as an arrow, Haſte here to thy marrow, Who's living in languor till that happy day, When thro' the wood, laddie, we'll dance, ſing, and play.

A Hunting Song. HARK! forward, away, my brave boys to the chace, To the joys that ſweet exerciſe yield; The bright ruddy morning breaks on us apace, And invites to the ſports of the field. Hark! forward's the cry, and cheerful the morn, Then follow the hounds and the merry ton'd horn. No muſic can equal the hounds in full cry; Hark! they open, then haſten away; O'er hill, dale and valley, with vigour we fly, While porſuing the ſports of the day. Hark! forward's the cry, &c. With the ſports of the field, no joys can compare, To pleaſure's light footſteps we trace; We run down dull ſloth, and we diſtance old care, Roſy health we o'ertake in the chace. Hark! forward's the cry, &c.

SONG. THAT I might not be plagu'd with the nonſenſe of men, I promis'd my mother, again and again, To ſay as ſhe bids me wherever I go, And to all that they aſk, or would have, tell 'em no. I really believe I have frighten'd a ſcore; They'll want to be with me, I warrant, no more; And I own I'm not ſorry for ſerving them ſo; Were the ſame thing to do, I again ſhould ſay no. For a ſhepherd I like with more courage and art, Who won't let me alone, though I bid him depart; Such queſtions he puts, ſince I anſwer him ſo, That he makes me mean yes, thro' words are ſtill no. He aſk'd, did I hate him, or think him too plain? (Let me die if he is not a clever young ſwain.) If he ventur'd a kiſs, if I from him would go, Then he preſs'd my young lips, while I bluſh'd, and ſaid no. He aſk'd if my heart to another was gone? If I'd have him to leave me, or ceaſe to love on? If I meant my life long to anſwer him ſo? I faulter'd, and ſigh'd, and reply'd to him, no. This morning an end to his courtſhip he made; Will Phillis live longer a virgin? he ſaid; If I preſs you to church, will you ſcruple to go? In a hearty good humour I anſwer'd, no, no.

SONG.

Tune—Top-ſails ſhirers in the wind.

'TWAS at the break of day we ſpy'd The ſignal to unmoor, Which ſleepleſs Caroline deſcry'd, Sweet maid! from New-York ſhore; The freſh'ning gale at length aroſe, Her heart began to ſwell, Nor could cold fear the thought oppoſe, Of bidding me farewell! In open boat the maid of worth, Soon reach'd our veſſel's ſide: Soon too ſhe found her William's birth, But ſought me not to chide: 'Go,' ſhe exclaim'd, 'for fame's a cauſe A female ſhould approve, 'For who that's true to honor's laws 'Is ever falſe to love! 'My heart is loyal, ſcorns to fear, 'Nor will it even fail. 'Tho' war's unequal wild career, 'Should William's life aſſail; 'Tho' death 'gainſt thee exert his ſway. 'Oh, truſt me, but the dart 'That woundeth thee, will find its way 'To Caroline's true heart. 'Should conqueſt in fair form array'd, 'Thy loyal efforts crown, 'In New-York will be found a maid, 'That lives for thee alone.' May girls with hearts ſo firm and true, To love and glory's cauſe, Meet the reward they have in view, The meed of free applauſe.

When Orpheus went down, &c. WHEN Orpheus went down to the regions below, Which men are forbidden to ſee; He tun'd up his lyre, as old hiſtories ſhow, To ſet his Eurydice free. All hell was aſtoniſh'd, a perſon ſo wiſe Should raſhly endanger his life, And venture ſo far: but how vaſt their ſurpriſe, When they heard that he came for his wife! To find out a puniſhment due for his fault Old Pluto long puzzled his brain, But hell had not torments ſufficient he thought, So he gave him his wife back again. But pity ſucceeding ſoon vanquiſh'd his heart, And pleas'd with his playing ſo well, He took her again in reward of his art, Such merit had muſic in hell.

The Crying and Laughing Song. WHEN I wake with painful brow, Ere the cock begins to crow, Toſſing, tumbling in my bed, Aching heart, and aching head, Pond'ring over human ills, Cruel bailiffs, taylors bills, Fluſh and pam thrown up at loo, When thoſe ſorrows ſtrike my view, I cry, — And to ſtop the guſhing tear, Wipe it with the pillow bear. But when ſportive evening comes, Routs, ridottos, balls, and drums, Caſinos here, feſtinos there, Mirth and paſtime ev'ry where. Seated by a ſprighly laſs, Smiling with a ſmiling glaſs; When theſe pleaſures are my lot, Taylors, bailiffs, all forgot, I laugh, — Careleſs what may then befall, Thus I ſhake my ſides at all. Then again when I peruſe, O'er my tea the morning news, Diſmal tales of plunder'd houſes, Wanton wives and cuckold ſpouſes; When I read of money lent, At ſixteen and half per cent. I cry, — But if e'er the muffin's gone, Simp'ring enter honeſt John, 'Sir, Miſs Lucy's at the door, 'Waiting in a chaiſe and four,' Inſtant vaniſh all my cares, Swift I ſcamper down the ſtairs, And laugh, — So may this indulgent throng, Who now ſmiling grace my ſong, Never more cry oh! oh! la! But join with me in ha! ha! ha!

Let the Toaſt paſs. HERE's to the maid of baſhful fifteen, Likewiſe to the widow of fifty; Here's to the bold and extravagant queen, And here's to the houſe wife that's thriſty. Let the toaſt paſs, Drink to the laſs, I warrant ſhe'll prove an excuſe for the glaſs. Here's to the maiden whoſe dimples we prize, And likewiſe to her that has none, ſir: Here's to the maid with a pair of blue eyes, And here's to her that's but one, ſir. Let the toaſt-paſs, &c. Here's to the maid with a boſom of ſnow, And to her that's as brown as a berry; And here's to the wiſe with a face full of woe, And here's to the girl that is merry. Let the toaſt paſs, &c. Let her be clumſy, or let her be ſlim, Young or ancient I care not a feather; So fill the pint bumper quite up to the brim, And e'en let us toaſt them together. Let the toaſt paſs, &c.

A TOAST.

Tune—Ye Lads who approve.

WHEN running life's race, We gallop apace, Each ſtrive to be firſt at the poſt; Mount hope with catch-weights, For fame's give and take plates, And pray what is fame but a toaſt? The taſte of our days Is poaching for praiſe, All men of their ſervices boaſt; The ladies by dreſs, The ſame ardour expreſs, Each wou'd if ſhe cou'd be a toaſt. Both ſexes agree, Over wine to be free, For freedom's an American's boaſt; As freely we think, So as freely we drink, And a ſentiment give for a toaſt. What is life? prithee ſay, But a glaſs and away, While health is our ruddy fac'd hoſt But when we abuſe him, We're certain to loſe him, By taking too much of a toaſt. Theſe common-place rhimes Suit common-place times. Who now can of genius boaſt? Why, really, I think 'Tis a ſcience to drink, And there's genius in giving a toaſt. Even poſitics fail, Altercation grows ſtale, Of what now can either ſide boaſt? No matter to us, All their farce and their fuſs, Deſerves not the name of a toaſt. The riots and routs Of the ins and the outs, Is only a news-paper roaſt; Of criket I ſing, In and out there's the thing, And there I'll attempt a new toaſt. May our innings be long, May our howling be ſtrong, Middle-wicket I chuſe for my poſt; Come, bumper away, 'Twixt the ſtumps your balls play. And win the game love—that's the toaſt.

The Jolly Miller. THERE was a jolly miller once liv'd on the river Dee; He danc'd and ſung from morn 'till night, no lark ſo blithe as he. And this the burthen of his ſong for ever us'd to be, I care for no body, no, not I, if no body cares for me. I live by my mill, God bleſs her! ſhe's kindred, child, and wiſe; I would not change my ſtation for any other in life. No lawyer, ſurgeon, or doctor, e'er had a groat from me. I care for no body, no, not I, if no body cares for me. When ſpring begins its merry career, oh! how his heart grows gay! No ſummer's drouth alarms his ſears, no winters ſad decay, No foreſight marrs the miller's joy, who's wont to ſing and ſay, Let others toil from year to year, I live from day to day. Thus, like the miller bold and free, let us rejoice and ſing; The days of youth are made for glee, and time is on the wing. This ſong ſhall paſs from me to thee, along this jovial ring: Let heart and voice and all agree to ſay long may we fing.

Blow high, blow low. BLOW high, blow low, let tempeſts tear The mainmaſt by the board, My heart with thoughts of thee my dear, And love well ſtor'd, Shall brave all danger, ſcorn all fear, The roaring winds, the raging ſeas In hopes on ſhore, To be once more Safe moor'd with thee. Aloft, while mountains high we go, The whiſtling winds that ſcud along, And the ſurge roaring from below. Shall my ſignal be to think on thee, Shall my ſignal be To think on thee. And this ſhall be my ſong, Blow high, &c. And on that night when all the crew The mem'ry of their former lives O'er flowing cans of flip renew, And drink their ſweethearts and their wives, I'll heave a ſigh, I'll heave a ſigh And think on thee; And as the ſhip rolls thro' the ſea, The burden of my ſong ſhall be. Blow high, &c.

As on a Summer's Day. AS on a ſummer's day, In the greenwood ſhade I lay, The maid that I lov'd, As her fancy mov'd, Came walking forth that way. And as ſhe paſſed by, With a ſcornful glance of her eye, What a ſhame, quoth ſhe, For a ſwain muſt it be, Like a lazy loon for to lie? And doſt thou nothing heed What pan our God has decreed What a prize to day Shall be given away, To the ſweeteſt ſhepherd's reed. There's not a ſingle ſwain, Of all this fruitful plain, But with hopes and fears, Now buſily prepares The bonny boon to gain. Shall another maiden ſhine In brighter array than thine Up, up, dull ſwain, Tune thy pipe once again And make the garland mine. Alas! my love, I cry'd, What avails this courtly pride? Since thy dear deſert Is written in my heart, What is all the world beſide? To me thou art more gay In this homely ruſſet gray, Than the nymphs of our green, So trim and ſo ſheen, Or the brighteſt queen of May. What tho' my fortune frown, And deny thee a ſilk in gown; My own dear maid, Be content with this ſhade And a ſhepherd all thy own.

Jolly Mortals. JOLLY mortals ſill your glaſſes, Noble deeds are done by wine; Scorn the nymph and all her graces, Who'd for love or beauty pine? Look within the bowl that's flowing, And a thouſand charms you'll find, More than Phillis has, tho' going, In the moment to be kind. Alexander hated thinking, Drank about at council board: He ſubdu'd the world by drinking More than by his conqu'ring ſword.

The Joys of Sleighing. OF all the fine things that the gay celebrate, And the many odd fancies that come from each pate, Sure its matter of wonder that none ere reſound The circle of joys that in ſleighing abound. There are ſome who in phaeton glory to roll, Whilſt others in chariots expand the whole ſoul, To be ſtride prancing horſes full many may pleaſe; But the pleaſures of ſleighing are greater than theſe. Muſidora, miſs Mira, and all the gay throng, In exchange for a ſleighing will give you a ſong; They will leave a dear ball, concerto or play, And vow that no muſic's as ſweet as a ſleigh. Then ſtrike a bold ſtroke, gain their hearts while you can, The greater gallant, the more favorite man. 'Tis not whi • ing nor pining that carries the day: So away with ſuch nonſenſe, and out with the ſleigh!

A Bacchanalian Stile. DEAR Tom, this brown jug, that now foams with mild ale, (In which I will drink to ſweet Nan of the Vale) Was once Toby Philpot, a thirſty old ſoul, As e'er drank a bottle, or fathom'd a bowl; In boozing about 'twas his praiſe to excel, And among jolly topers he bore off the bell. It chanc'd, as in dog-days he ſat at his eaſe, In his flow'r-woven arbour, as gay ao you pleaſe, With a friend and a pipe, puffing ſorrow away, And with honeſt old ſtingo was ſoaking his clay; His breath-doors of life-on a ſudden was ſhut, And he died, full as big as a Dorceſter butt. His body when long in the ground it had lain, And time into clay had deſolv'd it again, A potter found out, in its cover ſo ſnug, And with part of fat Toby I form'd this brown jug: Now ſacred to friendſhip, to mirth and mild ale; So here's to my lovely ſweet Nan of the Vale.

SAY, PHOEBE, WHY, &c.

Written by Mr. Pope, but not publiſhed in his works.

SAY Phoebe why is gentle love A ſtranger to to that mind, Which pity and eſteem can move, Which can be juſt and kind? Is it becauſe you ſear to prove The ills that love moleſt, The jealous cares, the ſighs that move The captivated breaſt • Aals! by ſome degrees of wo We ev'ry bliſs obtain; That heart can ne'er a tranſport know, That never felt a pain.

Duſky Night. THE duſky night rides down the ſky, And uſhers in the morn; The hounds all join in jovial cry, The huntſman winds his horn. And a hunting we will go, &c. The wife around her huſband throws Her arms to make him ſtay; My dear, it rains, it hails, it ſnows! You cannot-hunt to-day. Yet a hunting, &c. Away they fly to 'ſcape the rout, Their ſteeds they ſoundly ſwitch; Some are thrown in, ſome are thrown out, And ſome thrown in the ditch. Yet a hunting, &c. At laſt from ſtrength to ſaintneſs worn, Poor reynard ceaſes flight; Then weary homeward we return, And drink away the night. And a drinking, &c.

Go Plaintive Sounds. GO plaintive ſounds! and to the fair My ſecret wounds impart, Tell all I hope, tell all I ſear, Each motion in my heart. But ſhe, methinks, is liſt'ning now To ſome enchanting ſtrain: The ſmile that triumphs o'er his brow Seems not to heed my pain. Yes, plaintive ſounds! yet, yet delay, Howe'er my love repine; Let that gay minute paſs away, The next perhaps is thine. Yes, plaintive ſounds! no longer croſt, Your grief ſhall ſoon be o'er; Her cheek, undimpled now, has loſt The ſmile it lately wore. Yes, plaintive ſounds! ſhe now is yours, 'Tis now your time to move; Eſſay to ſoften all her powers, And be that ſoftneſs, love. Ceaſe, plaintive ſounds! your taſk is done; That anxious tender air Proves o'er her heart the conqueſt won; I ſee you melting there. Return, ye ſmiles, return again, Return each ſprightly grace; I yield up to your charming reign All that enchanting face. I take no outward ſhew amiſs. Rove where you will, her eyes; Still let her ſmiles each ſhepherd bleſs, So ſhe but hear my ſighs.

A Courting I went to my Love. A Courting I went to my love, Who is ſweeter than roſes in May: And when I came to her by Jove, The devil a word could I ſay. I walk'd with her into the garden, There fully intending to woo her! But may I ne'er be worth a farthing, If of love I ſaid any thing to her. I claſp'd her hand cloſe to my breaſt, While my heart was as light as a feather Yet nothing I ſaid, I proteſt, Bnt—madam, 'tis very fine weather. To an arbor I did her attend, She aſk'd me to come and ſit by her: I crept to the furthermoſt end, For I was afraid to come nigh her. I aſk'd her which way was the wind, For I thought in ſome talk we muſt enter • Why, ſir (ſhe anſwer'd, and grinn'd) Have you juſt ſent your wits for a venture? Then I follow'd her into the houſe, There I vow'd I my paſſion would try; But there I was as ſtill as a mouſe: Oh! what a dull booby was I!

ANNA'S URN.—Sung in—The Lord of the Manor. ENCOMPASS'D in an angel's frame, An angel's virtues lay; Too ſoon did heav'n aſſert its claim, And call'd its own away. My Anna's worth, my Anna's charms, Can never more return: What then ſhall fill theſe widow'd arms, Ah me! my Anna's urn. Can I forget that bliſs refin'd, Which, bleſt with her, I knew? Our hearts, in ſacred bonds entwin'd, Were bound by love too true. That rural train which once were us'd In feſtive dance to turn, So pleas'd, when Anna they amus'd, Now weeping deck her urn. The ſoul eſcaping from its chain, She claſp'd me to her breaſt, To part with thee is all my pain, She cry'd, then ſunk to reſt. While mem'ry ſhall her ſeat retain, From beauteous Anna torn, My heart ſhall breathe in ceaſeleſs ſtrain, Of ſorrow o'er her ura. There, with the earlieſt dawn, a dove Laments her murder'd mate; There Philomela, loſt to love, Tells the pale moon her fate. With yew and ivy round me ſpread, My Anna there I'll mourn; For all my ſoul, now ſhe is dead, Concenters in her urn.

Rejoice ye Brave and happy be, Columbia ever shall be Free LIBERTY tramples on TYRANNY.

SONG.

Sung at the celebration of the Fourth of July, 1793, in Paſſyunk Townſhip, by a Select Company.

Tune—Jeho Dobbin.

WEST of th' old Atlantic, firm Liberty ſtands! Hov'ring Fame juſt alighted, ſupported by bands Of native free born, who ſtill loudly ſing, "We'll defend our juſt rights againſt tyrant and king." Chorus, Taral Laddey, &c. George the Third ſhe diſowns, and his proud lordly cheats, His murdering legions and half famiſh'd fleets, Who flew thro' the Jerſies, with fear quite diſmay'd, Altho' they much boaſted that "fighting's their trade." Chorus. Our juſt rights to aſſert hath the Congreſs oſt tried, Whoſe wiſdom and ſtrength our opponents deride; And ſtill, madly, in rage, their weak thunders are hurl'd, To bring us on our knees, and to bully the world. Chorus. Too haughty to quit, yet too weak to withſtand, They ſkulk to their ſhips and leave us the firm land, In dread left they ſhare, what Jack Burgoyne did feel, And the game be quite loſt, as poor Jack loſt his deal. Chorus. Jack, thinking of Cribbage, All Fours, or of Putt, W • dexterous hand he did ſhuffle and cut; And when likely to loſe (like a ſharper they ſay) Did attempt to reneague—I mean run-away. Chorus. But watched ſo cloſely, he could not play booty, Yet, to cheat he ſain would (for George 'twas his duty.) A great bet depending on that ſingle game. Dominion and honor, deſtruction and ſhame. Chorus. He examin'd with care his moſt critical hand, At a loſs (if 't were better) to beg or to ſtand; His tricks reckoned up, for all ſharpers can jangle, Then kick'd up a duſt for his favourite wrangle. Chorus. 'Twas diamond cut diamond, ſpades were of no uſe, But to dig up the way to ſurrender or truce, For he dreaded the hand that dealt out ſuch thumps, As the hearts were run out, and clubs were then trumps. Chorus. Thus he met with the rubbers, as the game it turn'd out, Poor Jack, altho' beat, made a terrible rout; Complain'd he was cheated, yet, pompouſly talks, Quit the game with a curſe, while he rubb'd out the chalks. Chorus. But ſee a cloud burſt, and four Cherubs appear! Loud trumpeting peace, while in blood to their ears, With Bulls and with pardons, for us on ſubmiſſion, To lull us and gull us, by their ſham commiſſion. Chorus. The haughty great George, then to peace is now prone, A bully, when match'd, ſoon can alter his tone; 'Tis the act of a Briton to bluſter and threaten, Hang his tail like a puppy, when handſomely beaten. Chorus. Charge your glaſſes lip high, to brave WASHINGTON ſing, To the Union ſo glorious, United States ring; May their counſels in wiſdom and valour unite, And the men ne'er be wrong, who, yet ſo far are right. Chorus. The great Doctor FRANKLIN the next glaſs muſt claim, Whoſe electrical rod ſtruck terror and ſhame; Like Moſes who caus'd Pharaoh's heart ſtrings to grumble, Shock'd George and his throne, his magicians made humble. Chorus. To Gates and to Lincoln, in bumpers we'll join, And to all our brave troops who took gambl'ing Burgoyne; May their luck ſtill increaſe, as they've turn'd up one Jack, To cut and turn up all the Knaves in the Pack. Chorus.

SONG.—July 4.

Tune—Rule-Britannia, &c.

WHEN America firſt, at Heaven's command, Aroſe to curb old Britain's pride, Drive Tyranny from out the land, Fair Freedom echo'd far and wide. "Rouſe America, rouſe, be free, For Nature's God gave Liberty." To thee belongs the peaceful reign; Thy cities ſhall with commerce flow; Thy ſhips explore the boundleſs main, And plenty laugh at every foe, Hail America! thou art free. The univerſe ſhall trade with thee. The nations not ſo bleſt as we, Shall in their turns to tyrants fall, Whilſt thou ſhalt rife triumphantly, The glory and the joy of all. Hail America! thou art free, The ſlaviſh Britons envy thee. Still more majeſtic ſhalt thou riſe, Upheld by France's friendly wing, And view thy commerce—ſwift it flies, As Neptune's car—old ocean's king. Hail America! thou art free, The ſea-gods! all, are friends to thee. Each haughty tyrant's ſordid yoke, Their vain attempts to bend thee down, Shall fall beneath thy manly ſtroke, With broken ſceptre and loſt crown! Hail America! thou art free, Thou'ſt fought and bled for liberty. The Muſes on ſeraphic wing, Shall to thy happy coaſts repair, With laurel crown'd, and chant and ſing, To manly hearts, who guard the free. Smile America! thou art Fair, The Muſes all are friends to thee. Congratulating bowls go round, To WASHINGTON, and never ceaſe; In ſhouts triumph, with muſic crown'd, To Safety, Liberty, and Peace. Smile America! thou art free, In ſpite of George and tyranny. For Freedom! hearts and hands we'll join, Bleſt Independence, hope and joy! The theme, how noble, how divine! Join, join the annual ſeu-de-joye. Smile America! thou art free, A race of Her • s ſprings from thee.

SONG.

Tune—God Save Great George, &c.

FAME, let thy trumpet ſound, Tell all the world around, Columbia's free! Tell Germaine, North and Bute, And every other brute, Tyrannic George won't ſuit Her liberty. Trump forth in joyful ſound, From camp to camp reſound, Waſhington's fame. His feats ſpread far and near, That friends and foes may hear, And Britain's iſland fear Waſhington's name. A glorious race he's run, The immortal • Waſhington, To make us free. He vanquiſh'd all our foes, The clumſy Heſſian knows, And all who dar'd t' oppoſe, Our liberty. The fifteen linked chain, In union we'll maintain, 'Till time's no more. Hark! how the valleys ring, "Slav'ry! deteſted thing, To hell with rapid wing, Quit, quit our ſhore." God grant ſince Waſhington, Our liberty has won, Sent from above, Still may his gallant arm, Secure us from all harm, Our grateful boſoms warm, With joy and love. The bloody George in vain May forge a ſtronger chain, The deed is done! A greater George than he, Hath ſet Columbia free; Immortaliz'd ſhall be, George WASHINGTON.

SONG.—July 4.

Tune—Rule Britannia, &c.

WHEN exil'd Freedom, forc'd to roam, Sought refuge on Columbia's ſhores, The lovely wand'rer found a home, And this the Day that made Her ours. Hail Columbia! Columbia hail! to THEE The praiſe is due, that MAN IS FREE. In her defence, the patriot crowd, Ruſh'd to the field, and frown'd on Death; They ſeal'd her triumphs with their blood, And hail'd her with their dying breath. Hail Columbia, &c. 'Twas not Columbia's cauſe alone; At ſtake, the Rights of Mankind lay: That cauſe, ſhall diſtant nations own, And hail, with joy, this feſtive day. Hail Columbia, &c. 'Tis the World's Day Star, and ſhall laſt 'Till Slav'ry's ſhadows be withdrawn: And lo! that night is almoſt paſt, And Europe's day begins to dawn. Hail Columbia, &c. How bright will be its noon-tide ray! When Univerſal Freedom reins, When not a Deſpot clouds the day, And not a ſlave on earth remains. Hail Columbia, &c. Mankind ſhall ne'er this day forget, Its brave defenders worth ſhall own; Shall love the mem'ry of FAYETTE, And ſhout the name of WASHINGTON. Hail Columbia, &c.

SONG.—July 4.

Tune—Dereheſter's March.

AT length war's ſanguine ſcenes are o'er, Her dire alarms are heard no more: Sweet Peace deſcends with balmy wings, And heav'n-born Independence brings: While Freedom comes with all her train, To bleſs Columbia's happy plain. Hail! Heav'n deſcended Gueſts, all hail! Peace, Independence, Freedom, hail! Ruler of Kings! Thy mandate ſhook The fated Monarch's throne, and took The brighteſt jewel from his crown, When Britain ſunk beneath thy frown. Thy wiſdom the rude Stateſman taught, And by thy aid the Soldier fought. Hail Sov'reign Wiſdom! Goodneſs, hail! Peace, Independence, Freedom, hail! Oh ſhed thy pow'rful influence down, Form the New States to high renown; Let Juſtice lift aloft her hand, And pureſt Virtue fill the land. Let men thy pow'r with fear adore, 'Till ſuns and moons revolve no more: Hail, train of Heav'n! bright mantled, hail! Peace, Independence, Freedom, hail! Public devotion! Glorious flame, That gave to Rome immortal fame! Religion chief!—Angelic maid! In ev'ry heart, thy empire ſpread. Oh! hither come, our breaſts inſpire, And fill us with thy ſacred fire. Hail, pure ethereal graces, hail! Peace, Independence, Freedom, hail! Her darling ſon, Columbia's boaſt! Envy and dread of Albion's hoſt! Circled with honor's endleſs wreaths— At laſt his patriot falchion ſheaths. Celeſtial troops, now bending low, Crown the Deliv'rer, bind his brow. Hail, Waſhington! Deliv'rer, hail! Peace, Independence, Freedom, hail! Now let the loud, ſhrill clarion play, Triumphant peals, proclaim the DAY! And joyful voices rend the ſky, With, glory be to God on high! Good will and peace on earth to men, While angels ſound the loud Amen. Hallelujah! Hallelujah! &c.

The LIBERTY CAP.

Tune — Yanky Doodle.

SINCE firſt l'Ambuſcade came here We have had mighty fun, Sir, And Patriots all both far and near, May grin at what we've done, Sir. Yanky Doodle, &c. For all ſo friſkiſh, you muſt know, The Jovial Sons of France, Sir, Down to a market houſe did go, One night, to have a dance, Sir. Yanky Doodle, &c. When diſcord's ſons, around them drew, And did a filly thing, Sir, They curs'd the French—and Congreſs too, And cried "God ſave the king," Sir. Yanky Doodle, &c. But certain Bucks who came that way, Not reliſhing the joke, Sir, On theſe ſame rogues their talons lay, And to the May'r them took, Sir, Yanky Doodle, &c. And while to Limbo they were ſent, With wondrous mirth and bluſter, Some Yankies to the Tontine went, Where all was in a fluſter. Yanky Doodle, &c. For there the tories, ſaid 'twas wrong, And dreadfully they ſwore, Sir, And ſo the whigs, to ſtop their tongue, Strait kick'd them out of doors, Sir. Yanky Doodle, &c. Now ſome may think, this daring deed Would breed a diſmal riot; But ſtrange to tell—the tories ſled, And every thing was quiet. Yanky Deedle, &c. Then in the Hall—a fine RED CA • , We ſtuck upon a ſtaff, Sir, Round which their hands the Patriots clap, And wag their heads and laugh, Sir, Yanky Doodle, &c. And if while they are in this glee, A Tory ſhould come in, Sir, And tow'rd he cap ſhould caſt his eve, You can't think how he'd grin, Sir. Yanky Doodle, &c. For this ſame cap I vow 'tis true, With witch-craft is poſſeſt. Sir, For't makes the Torits ſay and do, Things which they can't digeſt, Sir. Yanky Doodle, &c. Why t'other night (as is their law) They got in merry grig, Sir. And H — S — bawl'd out "huzza," As loud as any whig, Sir. Yanky Doodle, &c. This cap informs from Belvedere, A Hotel a mile out of New-York. (To every one 'tis news, Sir) That the brave clan who huddle there, Are friends inſtead of foes, Sir. Yanky Doodle, &c. So to confirm what has been ſaid, And make it all look true, Sir, Lucius has put it in our head, To have a cap there too, Sir. Yanky Doodle, &c. But you grow tir'd, ſo I'll give o'er, Yet think, ſo great's our thrift, Sir, That ſhould we hoiſt a few caps more, We'd have no tories left, Sir. Yanky Doodle Doodle do, &c.

SONG.—American Independence.

Tune—A Dauphin's born, &c.

EVENTFUL point of time! Thy courſe all hallow'd morn, Proclaims from clime to clime, "A Nation new is born: "Henceforth oppreſſion yields her ſway, "From pride's high ſummit hurl'd— "Hail then the glorious day, "Which 〈◊〉 the 〈…〉 world!" 〈1 line〉 Diſdaining tyrant frowns. Fair freedom fled her home, Forſook European crowns, Through weſtern wilds to roam: Then firſt Columbia's virgin breaſt Inhal'd the ſacred fire, Which flaſh'd, though long ſuppreſt, And bade the world admire. Sweet mountain nymph, by thee, In arts of peace we ſhone, O'erſhadow'd by the tree, The fruits were all our own: But when ambition frown'd in arms, To chain Columbia's ſwains, To war thy voice gave charms, And fill'd embattled plains. Rous'd by thy gen'rous fire, Columbia's untaught ſons Made e'en the brave retire —So fatal were their guns: But when conſed'rate Gallia join'd Her war-worn heroes too, The Lion ſtrong declin'd The combat, and withdrew. Since peace with plenty reigns, Let Freedom's ſons rejoice! For now ſhe makes theſe plains Her reſidence of choice— In fair Columbia's boſom rears Her high and awful throne, From thence her will declares, And makes mankind her own. See ally'd Gallia burns To be acknowledg'd thine, And luckleſs Belgia mourns Before thy ſacred ſhrine— Oh, hear indulgent nymph, yet hear Thv ſuppliant ſon's requeſt! O'er both thy banner rear, And ſmile their fears to reſt! Yet one requeſt remains, The deareſt thou canſt give, Let him who ſtill ſuſtains Our new-born empire, live. Still bleſs, heav'n-born, his lateſt hour! Oh! guard thy darling ſon! Protected by thy pow'r, Long live great WASHINGTON! Still may the circling glaſs, Whilſt time purſues his round, Whene'er this day ſhall paſs, With Waſhington be crown'd: "By him Oppreſſion loſt her ſway, "From Pride's high ſummit hurl'd, "Hail him, and hail the day "Which rous'd the ſlumb'ring world!"

SONG.—From the French.

Tune—Marſeilles March.

YE ſons of France, away to glory, Hark, hark, what myriads bid you riſe, Your children, wives and grandſires hoary; Behold their tears, and hear their cries. Shall hateful tyrants miſchief breeding, With hireling hoſts, a ruffian band, Affright and deſolate the land. While peace and liberty lie bleeding; To arms, to arms, ye brave, The avenging ſword unſheath, March on, march on, all hearts reſolv'd On victory or death. Now, now the dangerous ſtorm is rolling, Which treach'rous kings, confederates, • iſe, The dogs of war, let looſe, are howling, And lo! our fields and cities blaze; And ſhall we baſely view the ruin, While lawleſs foes with guilty pride, Spread deſolation far and wide, With crimes and blood their hands imbruing. To arms, ye brave, &c. With luxury and pride ſurrounded, The vile inſatiate deſpots dare, From thirſt of power and gold unbounded, To meet and vend the light and air; Like beaſts of burden would they load us. Like Gods, would bid their ſlaves adore; But man is man, and who is more? Then, ſhall they longer laſh and goad us? To arms, ye brave, &c. O liberty! can man reſign thee, Once having felt thy gen'rous flame? Can dungeons, bolts, and bars confine thee Or whips thy noble ſpirit tame? Too long the world has wept, bewailing That falſchood's dagger, tyrants wield; But freedom is our word and ſhield, And all their arts are unavailing. To arms, ye brave, &c.

LIBERTY TREE. IN a chariot of light from the regions of day, The Goddeſs of Liberty came, Ten thouſand celeſtials illumined her way, And Order conducted the dame. A fair buding branch from the gardens above, Where millions with millions agree, She brought in her hand as a pledge of her love, And the plant ſhe call'd Liberty Tree. The celeſtial exotic ſtuck deep in the ground, Like a native it flouriſh'd and bore, The fame of its fruit drew the nations around, For to ſearch out its peaceable ſhore; Unmindful of names and diſtinctions they came, For freemen like brothers agree, With one ſpirit endued, they all friendſhip purſued, And their temple was Liberty Tree. Beneath its fair branches the patriarchs of old, Their bread with contentment did eat, Unvext with the troubles of ſilver and gold, Or the cares of the grand and the great; With timber and tar they old England ſupply'd, And ſupported her power on ſea; Her battles they fought without getting a groat, For the honor of Liberty Tree. But give ear, O ye ſwains, to a tale moſt profane, How all theſe tyrannical powers, King, Commons and Lords, did together combine, To deſtroy this fine garden of flowers: From the eaſt to the weſt blow the trumpet to arms, Thro' the land let the found of it flee, That the brave may all hear and unite with a cheer In defence of their Liberty Tree.

ODE TO LIBERTY.

Tune—Liberty Tree.

O'ER the vine-cover'd hills and gay regions of France, See the day ſtar of Liberty riſe; Through the clouds of detraction, unwearied advance, And hold a new courſe through the ſkies. An effulgence ſo mild, with a luſtre ſo bright, All Europe with wonder ſurveys; And from deſarts of darkneſs, and dungeons of night, Contends for a ſhare of the blaze. Let Burke, like a bat, from its ſplendor retire, A ſplendor—too ſtrong for his eyes; Let pedants and ſoo's his effuſions admire, Entrapt in his cobwebs like ſlies: Shall phrenzy and ſophiſtry hope to prevail Where reaſon oppoſes her weight? When the welfare of millions is bung in the ſcale, And the balance yet trembles with fate? Ah! who midſt the horrors of night would abide, That can taſte the pure breezes of morn; Or who, that has drank of the chryſtaline tide, To the ſeculent flood would return? When the boſom of beauty the throbbing heart meets, Ah! who can the tranſport decline! Or who that has taſted of liberty's ſweets, The prize, but with life would reſign? [The deſpots combin'd ſhall deſtruction inhale, From the air in each pelucid ſtream, While Fame from her trump ſhall infuſe in the gale, "Their attempt ſhall depart like a dream: "Emanations celeſtial, deſcend on the world, "And thro' France give th' electrical ſhock; "While ſlavery and chains to deſtruction are "hurl'd, "Freedom's temple ſtands firm on the rock."] But 'tis over—high heaven the deciſion approves— Oppreſſion has ſtruggled in vain; To the hell ſhe has ſorm'd ſuperſtition removes, And tyranny bites its own chain. In the records of time a new aera unfolds, All nature exults in its birth— His creation, benign, the Creator beholds, And gives a new charter to earth. O catch its high import, ye winds as ye blow! O bear it, ye waves, as ye roll! From the regions that feel the ſun's vertical glow, To the fartheſt extremes • the pole! Equal rights, equal laws to the nations around, Peace and Friendſhip its precepts impart, And where ever the footſteps of Man ſhall be found, May he bind the decree on his heart.

FRANCE and FREEDOM. AN ODE.

Tune—Handell's Clarinet.

LIFT aloſt the trumpet, Oh ſound, ſound Fame, The heavenly decree, That the world ſhall be free, While ſweet Liberty, And Equality, Conſume tyranny, with freedom's awful ſacred flame. From the weſt to the eaſt let the tidings roll, To charm each free-born ſoul: Shout, ſhout for France—the cap diſplay, Fair Freedom greets her natal day; Mankind, ſhall loathe the tyrant's hateful baneful name. Raiſe the joyful chorus, High poize the glaſs; 'Tis a boon from on high, To our noble ally; 'Tis a gracious beheſt, On its tour from the weſt, To kill ſlavery, while deſpots to oblivion paſs. Good will from heaven to man deſconds; The enfranchis'd world are friends; Shout, ſhout, and make a joyful noiſe, 'Tis France and Freedom crowns our joys: He who denies the toaſt we'll baniſh from our claſs.

ON SOCIETY.

Tune—Bunker's Hill.

HAIL, ſocial converſe! ſource of pureſt pleaſure, Sweet and reviving as the roſy morning, When firſt the day-ſtar gilds the face of nature With his bleſt radience. Hail ſacred friendſhip! fraught with choiceſt bleſſings, Where ſouls congenial taſte thy ſacred union, Bound by the cement of refin'd • ection, Founded on virtue. Truth, heavenly goddeſs, baffles our reſearches, While painful languor ſprings from ceaſleſs ſtudy, Welcome ſweet converſe, kind refreſhing cordial, Ever delightful. Thy cheering influence ſoothes the ruffled paſſion, While pale mistortune ſinks the weary ſpirits. So the clouds vaniſh, where the radient ſun-beams Shine in full ſplendoor. If thus exalted thy enliv'ning pleaſure, In theſe dull regions, how ſublimely glorious, Mid the bright manſions, where immortal friendſhip Blooms in perfection.

ENGLISH CAIRA.

Tune—Ballinamona, Oro.

WHY give to your tyrants the laurel of fame? For honeſt Wat Tyber more glory can claim; When ruffians preſum'd honeſt maidens to vex, Wat ſelt like a man, and defended the ſex. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Defenders of women for me! Let the ſons of oppreſſion eternally ſing The praiſe of nobility, prelates, and king, We ſcorn the diſtinction that deſpots create, But reſpect worthy fellows whatever their ſtate. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! All worthy good fellows for me! Tom Paine, a true Engliſhman high in renown, Shews that plunder's the ſyſtem of miniſter and crown, They thrive by degrading the people's degree— But we know that mankind has a right to be free. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! The rights of the people for me! The peer and the pedlar but differ in name, If their virtues are equal—their nature's the fame, Then of titles, and orders, we've ſure had enough; They're the gewgaws of ſolly, contemptible ſtuſt. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! No gewgaws of folly for me! True light pholoſophic their emptineſs ſhews, As vacant as bubbles that infancy blows; On blockheads and villains they frequently fall, But the title of Man is the beſt after all. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! No third oppreſſors for me! The world has too long been deceiv'd by the few, Who have dar'd with deriſion the many to view. And cruelly mocking pale poverty's tear, Have torn from the helpleſs • 'en millions a year. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! No robbing the helpleſs for me! Yet, in Britain, each year, many millions are paid, By thoſe who ſubſiſt by the 〈◊〉 and the ſpade; For the peaſants are ſtripp'd of 〈◊〉 daily ſupport, To extend the corruption and 〈◊〉 of a court. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! No pride and corruption for me! And when they in abject condition are left, Of their earnings, of juſtice, of comfort bereſt, Curs'd tyrants their low ſituation abuſe, And call them vile raſcals with nothing to loſe. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! No inſolent tyrants for me! Thus the footpad who prowls thro' the night for his prey, And takes the poor paſſenger's money away, Then leaves him in huff, may be juſt as alert, And I ſwear he's a beggar without any ſhirt. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! The French revolution for me! O ye, who are fond to be nicknam'd my lord; And ſwagger in courts with a ſtar and a ſword! Ye derive all your joy from ridiculous things, The ſycophant's bow, and the "what, what" of kings. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! No childiſh damn'd nonſenſe for me! Ye ſay, thoſe who wiſh equal laws for mankind, Are Levelling reptiles, preſumptuous and blind; But you are the Levelling Race we maintain, For tho' character's loſt, yet your titles remain. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! No titles untheaning for me! Tho' the ſon of a peer be a rogue and a ſlave, That ſon muſt ſucceed, when his ſire's in the grave; And the wiſe and the fooliſh, the bold and the baſe, By turns be call'd majeſty, highneſs, and grace. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! No ſuch levelling ſyſtem for me! That ſociety muſt have diſtinction, we know, But the good ſhould be high, and the bad ſhould be low: 'Tis virtue, or vice, whereſoever they're ſeen, Makes a duke or a duſtman, a drab or a queen. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! All proper diſtinction for me! When proud ariſtocracy pleads in behalf Of court-choſen b • ſhops, and judges, we laugh; For biſhops ne'er preach, and the judges—alas'! But truth is a libel, and ſo let it paſs. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! No court-choſen creatures for me. Thoſe muſt be tyrannical monſters we ſwear, Who value man leſs than a partridge or hare; Who, dead to all ſympathy, loſt to all ſhame, Can impriſon a wretch for the ſake of their game. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! No tyrannical monſters for me! The people of Britain will ne'er be contented, Until they are ſairly, and well repreſented; For as things go at preſent, no mercy they find. And pow'r that's uſurp'd is the ſcourge of mankind. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! No vile uſurpation for me! Yet Burke the apoſtate, Will Pitt, and his crew, Who have only their private advantage in view; Without bluſhing, or mincing the matter, declare, We ſhall have no redreſs, but remain as we are. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! No ſelfiſh apoſtate for me! The miniſter ſaid in his houſe, that the nation Poſſeſs'd at this time a fair repreſentation; But while Borough mongers and Placemen we ſpy, We know very well that be told a damn'd lie. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! No-ſuch repreſentation for me! Then let honeſt Britons adhere to the plan Of reaſon, of truth, and the juſt rights of man; Let us join hearts and hand to ſupport the French nation, Who ſight for the world, and the world's reſormation. Sing Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Ca Ira, Ca Ira, ah! ah! Truth, juſtice, and freedom for me!

The BATTLE of MONMOUTH. WHILST in peaceful quarter's lying, We indulge the glaſs too late: Far remote the thoughts of dying, Hear, my friends, the ſoldier's fate: From the ſummer's ſun hot gleaming, Where the duſty clouds ariſe, To the plains, where heroes ſcreaming, Shouts and dying groans ariſe. SPOKEN. Halt! halt! form every rank there, Mark yon duſt that climbs the ſky, To the front, cloſe up the rear! See the enemy is nigh. Platoons, move to proper diſtance, Cover cloſe each rank and ſile; They will make a bold reſiſtance, Here, my lads, is gallant toil. Now all you from downy ſlumber, Rouſe to foſter joys of love, Wake to pleaſures without number, Peace and care your boſom prove. Round us • oars bellowing thunder, Ah! how cloſe the iron ſtorm; To the fields, where pale ghoſts wander:— Paſs the word—ſorm there, lads, form. SPOKEN. To the leſt, diſplay the columns! Halt front, dreſs, be bold and brave; Mark in the air a fiery column, Who'd refuſe a glorious grave. Open your boxes, quick be ready, See our light troops gain the hill; Courage, lads, be firm and ſteady, Hence each care and fear be ſtill. Now half choak'd with duſt and powder, Fiercely throbs each burning vein; Hark! the din of arms now claſhing, Ah! what heaps of heroes ſlain! See the ſouls of brave men dying, Call for vengeance as they die; Frowning ſtill the dead, dying, Seem to threaten as they lie. SPOKEN. Bravely done, each gallart ſoldier, Well ſuſtain'd that heavy fire; Alexander ne'er was bolder, Now, by regiments, we'll retire; See our ſecond line move on us, Open your columns, give then way, Heaven perhaps may ſmile upon us; Theſe may yet regain the day. See our ſecond line engaging, Charging cloſe, ſpread carnage round Fierce revenge, with fury raging, Angry heroes beat the ground: See from flank to flank red ſlaſhing, How each volley rends the gloom: Shout, huzza! what gallant claſhing! Man and horſe now meet their doom. SPOKEN. To the leſt oblikely firing, Let's be ſteady, level well, Who wou'd think of e'er retiring. Here, my lads, theſe volleys ſell. Hark, by heavens! dragoons flying! How each • guadron fills the plain! Check then boys, you fear not dying! Sell you • ves, nor fall in vain. Now our left wing they are turning, Carnage is but juſt begun; Deſp'race now, it's uſeleſs mourning, Farewell friends, adien each one: Fix'd to die, we ſcorn retreating, To the ſhock our breaſts oppoſe, Hark, the ſound! the ſignal's beating, See with bayonets they cloſe. SPOKEN. Front, march!—Rear, make ready!— Forward, march! reſerve your ſire. Now take aim, ſire briſk, be ſteady, March, march, ſee their files retire; On their left our light troops daſhing, Now our dragoons charge their rear. Shout, huzza! what gallant clathing; They run they run, hence baniſh, fear. Now the toil and danger's over, Dreſs alike each wounded brave; Hope again inſpires the lover, Old and young forget their grave; Seize the canteen, poize it higher, Reſt to each brave ſoul that fell; Death for this is ne'er the nigher, Welcome mirth, and fear farewell.

The THIRSTING LOVER. MY temples with cluſters of grapes I'll entwin And barter all joys for a goblet of wine; In ſearch of a Venus no longer I'll run, But ſtop and forget her at Bacchus's tun. Yet why this reſolve to relinquiſh the fair? 'Tis a ſolly for ſpirits like mine to deſpair; For what mighty charms can be found in a glaſs, If not fill'd to the health of ſome favourite laſs? 'Tis women whoſe charms ev'ry rapture impart, And lend a new ſpring to the charms of the heart: The miſer himſelf (ſo ſupreme is her ſway) Grows a convert to love, and returns her the key. At the ſound of her voice, ſorrow lifts up her head, And poverty liſtens. quite pleas'd from her ſhade; While age, in an extacy, hobling along, Beats time with her crutch, at the tune of her ſong. Then bring me a goblet from Bacchus's hoard, The largeſt and deepeſt that ſtands on the board; I'll fill up a brimmer, and drink to the fair, 'Tis the toaſt of a lover, and pledge me who dare?

The HERMIT. By Mr. BEATTIE. AT the cloſe of the day, when the Hamlet is ſtill, And mortals the ſweets of forgetfulneſs prove, When nought but the horrors is heard on the hill, And nought but the nightingale's ſong in the grove: 'Twas thus by a cave of a mountain afar, While his harp rung ſymphonious, a hermit began, No more with himſelf, or with nature at war, He thought as a ſage, tho' he felt as a man. Ah why, all abandoned to darkneſs and woe, Why alone, Philomela, that languiſhing fall? For ſpring ſhall return, and a lover beſtow, And ſorrow no longer thy boſom enthral. But if pity inſpire thee, renew the ſad lay, Mourn, ſweeteſt complainer, man calls thee to mourn, O ſoothe him, whoſe pleaſures like them nap away, Full quickly they paſs—but they never return. Now gliding remote, on the verge of the ſky, The moon half extinguiſh'd, her creſcent diſplays: But lately I mark'd, while majeſtic on high, She ſhone, and the planets were loſt in the blaze. Roll on, thou fair orb • and with gladneſs purſue, The path that conducts thee to ſplendor again; But man's ſaded glory, whoſe change ſhall renew, Ah fool! to exult in a glory ſo vain! 'Tis night, and the landſcape is lovely no more; I mourn, but ye woodlands I mou • n not for you, For morn is returning your charms to reſtore, Perfurn'd with freſh fragrance, and glittering with dew. Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn, Kind nature the embrio bloſſom will ſave; But when ſhall ſpring viſit the mouldering urn? O when ſhall it dawn on the night of the grove!

The WINE VAULT.

Tune—The Hounds are all out.

By G. A. STEVENS.

CONTENTED I am, and contented I'll be, For what can this world more afford, Than a girl that will ſociably fit on my knee, And a cellar that's plentiful ſtor'd, My brave boys. My vault-door is open, deſcend ev'ry gueſt, Broach that caſk, aye, that wine we will try, 'Tis as ſweet as the lips of your love to the taſte, And as bright as her cheek to the eye. In a piece of ſlit hoop, I my candle have ſtuck, 'Twill light us each bottle to hand; And the • oot of my glaſs for the purpoſe I broke, For I hate that a bumper ſhould ſtand. We are dry where we ſit, tho' the oozy drops ſeem The moiſt walls with wet pearls to emboſs, From the arch, moldy cobwebs in Gothic taſte ſtream, Like ſtucco-work cut out of moſs. Aſtride on a butt, as a butt ſhould be ſtrode, I ſit my companions among, Like grape-bl • ſſing Bacchus, the good fellow's god, And a ſentiment give, or a ſong. I charge ſpoil in hand, and my empire maintain, No ancient more patriotic-like bled; Each drop in defence of delight I will drain, And myſelf for my b • cks I'll drink dead. Sound that pipe, 'tis in tune, and thoſe bins are well fill'd, View that heap of old ho • k in the rear, Yon bottles of Burgundy, ſee how they're fill'd, Like artillery, tier over tier. My cellar's my camp, and my ſoldiers my • a • ks, All gloriouſly rang'd in review; When I caſt my eyes round, I conſider my caſ • s, As kingdoms I've yet to ſubdue. Like Macedon's madman, my drink I'll enjoy, In defiance of gravel and gout; Who cry'd when he had no more worlds to ſubdue, I'll weep when my liquor is out. When the lamp is brim full, ſee the ſlame brightly ſhines, But when wanting moiſture, decays; Repleniſh the lamp of my life with rich wines, Or elſe there's an end of my blaze. 'Tis my will when I die, not a tear ſhould be ſhed, No hic ja • t be cut on my ſtone; But pour on my coffin a • ttle of red, And ſay, a choice fellow is gone. My brave boys.

CORYDON and PHILLIS. A Paſtoral. HER ſheep had in cluſters crept cloſe to a grove: To hide from the heat of the day; And Phillis herſelf in a wood • hine alcove, Among the ſweet 〈…〉 A young lamkin, it ſeems, had been ſtole from her da • , 'Twixt Cupid and Hymen a plot, That Corydon might, as he • earch'd for his lamb, Arrive at the critical ſpot. As thro' the green hedge for his • mkin he peeps He ſaw the fair nymph with ſurpriſe; Ye gods, if ſo killing, he cry'd while ſhe ſleeps, I'm loſt, if ſhe opens her eyes. To tarry much longer would hazard my heart, I'll homeward my lamkin to trace; But in vain honeſt Corydon ſtrove to depart, For love held him faſt to the place. Ceaſe, ceaſe, pretty birds, what a chirping you keep, I think you too loud on the ſpray; Don't you ſee, fooliſh lark, that the charmer's aſleep, You'll wake her as ſure as 'tis day: How dare that fond butterfly touch the ſweet maid, Her cheeks he miſtakes for the roſe; I'd put him to death, if I were not afraid My boldneſs would break her repoſe. Then Phillis look'd up with a languiſhing ſmile, Kind ſhepherd, ſays ſhe, you miſtake, I laid myſelf down for to reſt me awhile, But truſt me, I've long been awake: The ſhepherd took courage, advanc'd with a bow, He plac'd himſelf down by her ſide; And manag'd the matter, I cannot tell how, But yeſterday made her his bride.

FRIENDSHIP.—A SONG. FRIENDSHIP to every willing mind, Opens a heavenly treaſure; There may the ſons of ſorrow find, Sources of real pleaſure: See what employments men purſue, Then you will own my words are true; Friendſhip alone unfolds to view Sources of real pleaſure. Poor are the joys which fools eſteem, Fading and tranſitory; Mirth is as fleeting as a dream, Or a deluſive ſtory: Luxury leaves a ſting behind, Wounding the body and the mind; Only in Friendſhip can we find, Pleaſure and ſolid glory. Beauty, with all its gaudy ſhows, Is but a painted bubble; Short is the triumph, wit beſtows, Full of deceit and trouble: Fame, like a ſhadow, flees away, Titles and dignities decay; Nothing but friendſhip can diſplay Joys that are free from trouble. Learning, that boaſted glitt'ring thing, Scarcely is worth poſſeſſing; Riches ſorever on the wing, Cannot be call'd a bleſſing: Senſual pleaſures ſwell deſire, Juſt as the fuel feeds the fire; Friendſhip can real bliſs inſpire, Bliſs, that is worth poſſeſſing. Happy the man who has a friend, Form'd by the God of nature; Well may he feel and recommend Friendſhip, for his Creator: Then as our hearts in friendſhip join, So let our ſocial power combine; Rul'd by a paſſion moſt divine, Friendſhip with our Creator,

SONG.

Tune—God Save, &c.

GOD ſave—"THE RIGHTS OF MAN!" Give him a heart to ſcan Bleſſings ſo dear; Let them be ſpread around, Wherever man is found, And with the welcome found, Raviſh his ear! See from the univerſe, Darkneſs and clouds diſperſe; Mankind awake! Reaſon and truth appear, Freedom advances near, Monarchs with terror hear, See how they quake! Sore have we felt the ſtroke Long have we bore the yoke, Sluggiſh and tame; But now the lion roars, And a loud note he pours; Spreading to diſtant ſhores, LIBERTY'S flame. Let us with France agree, And bid the World be free Leading the way. Let tyrants all conſpire, Fearleſs of ſword and fire, FREEDOM ſhall ne'er retire; FREEDOM ſhall ſway! Godlike, and great the ſtrife, Life will indeed be life, Should we prevail. Death, is ſo juſt a cauſe. Crown us with loud applauſe, And from tyrannic laws, Bid us—ALL HAIL! O'er the Germanic pow'rs, Big indignation low'rs, Ready to fall! Let the rude ſavage hoſt, In their long numbers boaſt, FREEDOM's almighty truſt, Laughs at them all. [FAME! Let thy trumpet found! Tell all the world around! Tell each degree! Tell ribands, crowns, and zars, Kings, traitors, troops, and wars, Plans, councils, plots, and jars. FRENCHMEN ARE FREE.] God ſave—"THE RIGHTS OF MAN!" Give him a heart to ſcan Bleſſings ſo dear! Let them be ſpread around, Wherever man is found, And with the welcome found, Raviſh his ear!

HAIL! HAPPY AMERICANS! COLUMBIA! Columbia! to glory ariſe, The queen of the world, and the child of the ſkies; Thy genius commands thee, with raptures behold, While ages on ages thy ſplendors unfold: Thy reign is the laſt, and the nobleſt of time, Moſt fruitful thy ſoil, moſt inviting thy clime; Let the climes of the eaſt ne'er incrimſon thy name, Be freedom, and ſcience, and virtue thy fame. To conqueſt and ſlaughter, let Europe aſpire, Whelm nations in blood, wrap cities in fire; Thy heroes the rights of mankind ſhall defend, And triumph purſue them, and glory attend; A world is thy realm, for a world be thy laws, Enlarg'd as thy empire, and juſt as thy cauſe: On freedom's broad baſis, that empire ſhall riſe, Extend with the main, and diſſolve with the ſkies. Fair ſcience her gate to thy ſons ſhall unbar, And the eaſt ſee thy morn hide the beams of her ſtar; New bards and new ages unrival'd ſhall ſoar, To fame unextinguiſh'd, when time is no more: To thee the laſt refuge of virtue's deſign'd, Shall fly from all nations, the beſt of mankind; There, grateful to Heaven, with tranſport ſhall bring, Their incenſe more flagrant than odors of ſpring. Nor leſs ſhall the fair ones to glory aſcend, And genius and beauty in hermony blend; The graces of form ſhall awake pure deſire, And the chorms of the ſoul ſtill enliven the fire: Their ſweetneſs unmingled, their manners reſin'd, And virtue's bright image inſtamp'd on the mind; With peace and ſweet rapture ſhall teach • ile to glow, And light up a ſmile in the aſpect of woe. Thy fleets to all regions thy power ſhall diſplay, The nations admire, and the ocean obey; Each ſhore to thy glory its tribute unfold, And the eaſt and the ſouth yield their ſpices and gold; As the day ſpring unbounded thy ſplendors ſhall ſlow, And earth's little kingdoms before thee ſhall bow; While the coſigns of union in triumph unfurl'd, Flaſh ana • 's 〈◊〉 and give peace to the world. Thus as down a lone valley with cedars o'erſpread, From the noiſe of the town I penſively ſtray'd, The gloom from the face of fair Heaven retir'd, The winds ceas'd to murmur, the thunders expir'd; Perſumes as of Eden, flow'd ſweetly along, And a voice, as of angels, enchantingly ſung, Columbia! Columbia! to glory ariſe, The queen of the world, and the child of the ſkies.

The NORTHERN HUNT, Or, BRUNSWICK's BEAGLES. A NEW SONG. THE Nimrods of the North had among themſelves agreed, ſir! To let all their blood hounds looſe, and make Gallic Freedom bleed, ſir! A huntſman bold, call'd Brunſwick, was leader of the pack, ſir! Who vow'd by all the Gods, to lay Freedom on her back, ſir! Bow, wow, wow, &c. His whippers-in were Clairſayt, Coubire, and Hohenloe, ſir! With Broglio and Conde—a fierce and fiery crew, ſir! His dogs were ſtaunch and numerous, occuſtom'd to the chace, ſir! And furious to hunt Freedom down, if they could but her trace, ſir! Bow, wow, wow, &c. Poor Freedom look'd around her, and ſaw, with conſternation, No friendly neighbour near her, to 'ſend her from proſtration: In vain ſhe look'd to England, in vain ſhe look'd to Spain, ſir! In vain ſhe look'd to Switzerland, to Holland look'd in vain, ſir! Bow, wow, wow, &c. Diſtreſs'd to Heav'n ſhe cry'd, ſir!—Kind Heav'n was pleas'd to hear her: And rous'd her Gauſs to guard her life from dangers now ſo near her: Three hundred thouſand arms at once were rais'd to 'venge her cauſe, ſir! And ſnatch her from the yawning gapes of Brunſwick's beagles jaws, ſir! Bow, wow, wow, &c. Mean while the Bully buccaneer, advanc'd with hue and cry, ſir! And ſwore, that all who took the part, of Liberty, ſhould die, ſir! His curs, innur'd to ſlaughter, ſet up a hediou • yell, ſir! They ſeem'd the whelps of Cerberus, on purpoſe ſent from Hell, ſir! Bow, wow, wow, &c. Their yelps were heard at Dongwy, their yelps were heard at Verdun; Where traitors daſtardly exclaim'd, Helas! nous voici perdus! They threw themſelves at Brunſwick's feet, and begg'd their lives he'd ſpare, ſir! Ignoble deed!—But woe's my heart! No friend had Freedom there, ſir! Bow, wow, wow, &c. Not ſo at Thionville and Liſle (immortal names in ſtory) True Frencamen here his threats defy, and pant for civic glory! In vain Saxe Teſchen's dogs—and bitches—bark around the burning trenches! A hero, here, is ev'ry boy; a heroine, ev'ry wench is! Bow, wow, wow, &c. Not long theſe barkings ſhall ye hear, illuſtrious men of Flanders! For, lo! Dumourier comes apace, with other brave commanders; Already have the Pruſſian packs rotreated in diſorder, With marks of ſhame upon their backs, from all the Gallic border! Bow, wow, wow, &c. Wait but a week, and perſevere, your city in defending; Nor doubt to ſee, of all your woes, a ſpeedy, happy ending; Soon ſhall the puny Roman King be ſore'd, like old Porſenna, To call his blood hounds back again to kennel at Vienna! Bow, wow, wow, &c. With ſcourge in hand, purſue the route of thoſe invading ranters; And free, from Auſtria's galling yoke, the long enſlav'd Brabanters. So ſhall the Nimrods of the North be taught more moderation, And ne'er again let looſe their hounds at any freeborn nation. Bow, wow, wow, &c.

THE FATE OF COLUMBUS. A SONG. ON the cliffs of the Andes, where virtue once reign'd, The voice of true freedom is heard; There tyranny long has her empire ſuſtain'd, Over plains, where once worth was rever'd. But tyranny ſoon may lament the ſad yoke, Which over theſe regions he caſt; His ſceptre is ſhatter'd, his courage quite broke; And at freedom now trembles at laſt. The beams of humanity mildly have ſhone, O'er countries which droop'd under rage; They own the mild warmth of our more northern ſun, And dare in all conflicts engage. Our ſtates the firſt glorious example diſplay'd, Which ſoon ov'r the world ſhall be ſpread; All ſhall ſhare in our freedom, and ſhall ſhare in our trade, Whilſt Columbians on tyranny tread. But here let me mention, whilſt tears ſtain each cheek. The fate of the Spaniſh bold chief: A new world determin'd o'er ocean to ſeek, He wiſh'd to the natives relief. His valor was great, and his conduct renown'd; Humanity ſtill was his aim; Three ages the worth of Columbus refound, By virtue aſpiring to fame. Both Spaniards and natives ſtill wiſhing to bleſs, Worth and commerce he ſtill kept in view; He thought—but the victim, alas! of diſtreſs, Vile rancour he could not ſubdue. Behold him at length, quite bereft of ſupport, In chains, in a dungeon confin'd; The martyr he died of a barbarous court; But a moral has left for mankind. On ev'ry heart be that moral impreſs'd, Ye patriots! ye heroes! attend; And learn, that a courtier good faith ne'er expreſs'd, That a king can be never a friend. Beliſarius, if ever Juſtinian could ſlight, True reaſon ſuch rule muſt diſown; And all ſhould the praiſe of Columbus recite, Whilſt Philip diſgrac'd a great throne. Richmond, October 12, 1792.

COUPLETS pourla ſête de la CONSTITUTION, acceptée par le Roi des FRANCAIS. AUJOUR D'HUY qua l'egalité Détruit la tyrannie, Amis, ſêtons la liberté, En depit de l'envie; Par de viſs tranſports, Joignons nos accords. Avec ceux de la France; Douce liberté, Sous la déité, D'un people qui t'encenſe. Laiſſe, ariſtocrate orgueillieux, Les tîtres de ton père, Crois moi, tous les tîtres pompeux, No ſont qu'une chimère; Ces papiers moiſis, Objets de mépris, Font-ils done plus de gloire Qu'un ſimple laurîer, Que cueile un guerier Aux champs de la victoire. Ah! Si par quelon' événement La France ſe diviſe, Ou vaincre, ou mourir promptement, Voila notre deviſe; Fidèle à la loi, La nation, le roi, Qu'au ſein de l'allegreſſe Chaqu'un à preſent, Faſſe le ſerment De tenir ſa promeſſe. Grand Waſhington, plus qu'aucun roi L'Europe te révére; Chaque Americain voit en toi Un citoyen, un frere; Tous ces conquirants N'étoient que tyrants Faits poor troubler la terre; Géneréux vainqueur, A louer ta valeur Tu force l'Angleterre. La ueſſe que nous ſêtons Voit en ces hedieux ſon temple; Meſſieurs, inſtruits par vos • ons, Nous ſuivons votre exemple: Le verre à la main, Chantons ce reſrain, Qu'une double alliance, Par des noeuds ſacrés, Uniſſe à jamais L'Amerique et la France. Citovens de divers pays, Préſents à cette fête; Vous qui vous êtes réunis Pour la rendre complette; A nos envieux, Dites en tous lieux, Que des deux hémiſpheres, Par de viſs tranſports, Joignant leurs accords, Vous avez vu des frères.

SONG. For the Glorious Fourteenth of July.

Air—To Anecreon in Heaven.

THE geuius of France from his ſtar begem'd throne, O'r his valorous ſons bent his foſtering eye, Under wars ſanguine power not long ſhall ye groan, Fair freedom he cries ſmiling ſhoots from the ſky. Your cauſe on the records of Heaven is plac'd; Deſpots and crowns ſhall from earth be erac'd, While the Sun more refulgent ſhall dart his bright ray, To cheer and illumine this glorious day. With baſtiles my lov'd land ſhall no more be diſgrac'd, Her white banners around ye, humanity waves; No more ſhall the image of God be defac'd, Or dark cells be contriv'd by cruelty's ſlaves: The deep groan of anguiſh is now heard no more; Your whips and your tortunes ye tyrants are o'er, And ſoon ſhall the world in uniſon ſay, Forever be bleſs'd this glorious day. The bright ſtar of liberty aroſe in the North, North-America. O'er the Atlantic's rough wave her ſplendors ſhe ſhed; For juſtice and virtue ſoon hurried her forth, O'er thy realms my lov'd Gallia her influence ſpread, And oh may her power your ſpirits inſpire! And ſtill may you glow with her ſacred fire; While each ſon of Freedom exulting ſhall ſay, Forever be bleſs'd this glorious day. Let the valor of Waſhington live in each heart, And thoſe chiefs who for liberty drain'd ev'ry vein, While honor'd, their ſpirits flown above are at reſt, Their memory unfading forever ſhall reign; Like their's be your ſame undaunted and free, Firmly rooted the baſis of freedom ſhall be; Her favors around ye brightly ſhall play, Adding new glory to this happy day. Thy cauſe, ſtruggling France, is the cauſe of the world; His tyranny over millions ſhall one man extend! From their thrones be theſe miniſters by liberty hurl'd, And each man to each prove protector and friend. The aera arrives, already 'tis near, When this found alone ſhall be brought to the ear: May freedom and friendſhip emit a joint ray, To gild and adorn this glorious day. New-York, July 17, 1793.

Occaſional ODE for the 17th of June, 1776. NOW let rich muſic ſound, And all the regions round With rapture fill; Let the full trump of ſame To Heaven itſelf proclaim The everlaſting name Of Bunker's Hill. Beneath this ſky-wrapt brow What heroes ſleep below; How dear to Jove! Not more belov'd were thoſe Who foil'd celeſtial ſoes, When the old giants roſe To arms above. Now ſcarce eleven ſhort years Have roll'd their rapid ſpheres, Through Heaven's high road! Since o'er you ſwelling tide Paſs'd all the Britiſh pride, And water'd Bunker's ſide With foreign blood. Then Charleſtown's gilded ſpires Felt unrelenting fires, And ſunk in night; But, Phoenix like, they'll riſe From where their ruin lies, And ſtrike the aſtoniſh'd eyes With glories bright. Meand'ring to the deep, Majeſtic, Charles Charles Liver, Boſton, 1776. ſhall weep Of war no more; Fam'd as the Appian Way, The world's firſt Bridge, to day, All nations ſhall convey From ſhore to ſhore. On our bleſs'd Mountain's head The feſtive board we'll ſpread With viands high; Let joy's broad bowls go round, With public ſpirit crown'd, We'll conſecrate the ground TO LIBERTY.

CIVIC SONG. The NEW "DAIPHIN" to the tune of the old. ALL hail! to Freedom's Sons, Who arms and arts combine, Whoſe brows the • urel-crown, And Olive wreath intwine! No perjur'd Monarch's firſt-born ſon, Inſpires our feſtive voice; A nation's natal day commands Columbia to rejoice! CHORUS. Let Fame her loudeſt Clarion found, To cecebrate the birth Of Freedom, child of Heaven, And Dauphin of the earth. No more the ſcepter'd knave, Nor vile aſſaſſin crown'd, A ſubject world ſhall ſway, And by that world renown'd, For equal, free-born man no more Will bear a tyrant's chains, Becauſe the blood of ages flows In his polluted veins. Cho. Let Fame, &c. Borne on the ſwifteſt wings, That plume the flight of time, Her flambeau Freedom flings, And kindles every clime; The fire of truth, which Bourbon's throne, With vollied flames o'er ran; Now ſpreads o'er earth the electric ſhock, And nerves the ſlave to man. Cho. Let Fame, &c. May that fair ſun whoſe beams Firſt ray'd Columbia's ſhore, Each diſtant zone illume, And riſe to ſet no more. And now, by deathleſs heroes rear'd, Behold a temple riſe, Whoſe baſe on Nature's rock is laid, Whoſe roof ſhall touch the ſkies! Cho. Let Fame, &c. Philadelphia, 1793.

ODE for the CIVIC FEAST. By a Citizen of Boſton. AGAIN by the ſpirit of Freedom invited, Round her fire we convene to rejoice in its rays; Th' ethereal flame, in America lighted, Throughout regions far diſtant burſt forth in a blaze. CHORUS.—Frenchmen are free! Our good allies Know how to prize "The Rights of Man" and Liberty. The fluid electric through other ſuſpended, In a torrent of light'ning ſurrounds our abode; So Freedom's pure fire has from Heav'n deſcended, And requires but a Franklin to manage the rod. Chorus.—Frenchmen are free, &c. GRAND CHORUS. Crowns and ſceptres yield their pow'r; Princely honors fade away; Deſpots will be known no more! Reaſon now aſſumes her ſway. In France true Patriots, as a Franklin, are guiding, O'er the heads of the foes of Juſt Rights the ſull ſtroke; The ſtorms which preceded the ſhock are ſubſiding. And the clouds which o'erhung, are diſperſing in ſmoke. Chorus.—Frenchmen are free, &c. Sad regions of ſorrow this flame ſhall enlighten: Where the groans of diſtreſs compoſe muſic for kings, Shall Liberty's rays the whole Atmoſphere brighten, And the bleſſings abound, which Equality brings. Chorus.—Frenchmen are free, &c. GRAND CHORUS. Crowns and ſceptres yield their pow'r; Princely honors ſade away; Deſpots will be known us • ore! Reaſon now aſſumes her ſway.

PADDY's FAREWELL; Or, An Iriſh 〈◊〉 of French Affairs.

Tune—When I was a young Man in ſweet Tipparary.

DON'T blubber, dear Norah, I beg you'd be eaſy, For ſoon will you ſee your ſond Paddy again, Returning with laurels, with liberty crazy, An eye or two leſs, or a limb or two lame. CHORUS. Sing ditheru, how d'ye do, Patrick Shelalay, To the right about, fight it out, all the day long; Cut and ſlaſh, Frenchmen haſh, pop away gaily, Suck away, while you may, whiſky ſo ſtrong! I'm going to beat all the Frenchmen, my jewel, Becauſe they preſume to make laws of their own; They want all men equal—that would be dam'd cruel, For then each great monarch muſt jump from his throne. Sing ditheru, &c. Then what do you think of their roguiſh convention? They plunder'd their biſhops becauſe they were poor; Depriv'd ev'ry knave of his title and penſion, And turn'd all the Nuns and the Monks out of door, Sing ditheru, &c. And then they've aboliſh'd belief in damnation, To ſave the expence of a prieſt or a church; For now, I am told, Sans Culottes congregation Have left popes and croſiers and beads in the lurch. Sing ditheru, &c. That prieſts have come over to live by ſubſcription, No doubt its much better than ſeeding on frogs; I'd make them a gift of a fitter deſcription, By ſubſcribing—a halter a piece to the dogs. Sing ditheru, &c. Of treaſon they think that a king can be guilty! Their own they condemn'd for not keeping his word; They ſay to their ſubjects, all kings ſhould ſwear fealty, Not their ſubjects to them—och monſtrous abſurd! Sing ditheru, &c. And as (what exceeds all their former tranſgreſſions) They've trampled on king craſt, and pull'd down her throne; Let's unite with the Auſtrians, Pruſſians, and Heſſians, As we're without ſin, let us caſt the firſt ſtone! Sing ditheru, &c.

ODE For SAINT TAMMANY's DAY, May 1, 1785. (Written by T • uxogrondi, a Delaware Chief.) DONNA makoo makoonas! Koſkoo donna makoo; Wawa nekoonos! Gwahee honigee. Full Chorus. Ever ſacred be this day, Genial morn of roſy May, Recitative. To Schuylkill's fair banks let us chearful repair, For pure is the oether, and fragrant the air; Soft Zephyrs ſhall ſan us, and eke thro' the grove, The genius of Tammany ſhield us with love. No foes ſhall intrude with inquiſitive eye, Our orgies, our dances, or myſt'ries to ſpy. Air. Adieu to your wives, Come gird on your knives, Your tamahawks, arrows, and bows! Your bodies beſmear, With oil of the bear, And look undiſmay'd on your foes. Recitative. Kindle up the council fires, Lo! our Saint the ſlame inſpires; Whilſt we paſs the flowing bowl, Let the ſmoaky volumes roll, From the calimut and pipe, Of ſweet Peace the welcome type. Let our Sachems healths go round, Beat with nimble foot the ground: 'Till the woods and hills reply, Vocal mirth and ſymphony. Chorus. Ever ſacred be this day, Ge • al morn of roſy May. Recitative. Now the Hatchet we'll bury, ſince War is no more, And Peace with rich plenty reviſits our ſhore; To hun • the fleet Stag o'er the mountains we'll run, In ſports we alone will employ the fell gun. Our fields ſhall be cloath'd with gay harveſts again, And friendſhip will brighten the blood-ruſted chain: But ſhould war call us forth, then adieu to our glee, Each ſhoulders his rifle, and takes to his tree. Air. Hail, Columbia's Tutelar! Tho' thy aſhes, diſtant are, Hid beneath the mountain ſide, Or below the rapid tide: Still thy warlike ſhade attends, Smiling on thy filial friends; Leads their dances, aids their pleaſure, Joys diſpenſing, without meaſure. Recitative. Now each Sachem join hand round the Liberty Pole, And briſkly again, paſs the heart-cheering bowl: To Waſhington's mem'ry,—the chief of our train, The full-flowing goblet, repeated we'll drain: Then next, to each Cheiftain who fought and who bled, Let's ſing a Requiem, and toaſt him, tho' dead. Air. For Tammany, holy, Let's fire a volley, That hills, woods and rocks may reply; We'll ſound him in powder, Still louder and louder, 'Till echo ſhall rend the blue ſxy. Chorus. Ever ſacred be this day, Genial morn of roſy May. Recitative. In volumes of ſmoke, and in ſpires of flame, Our Tutelar flow to the Spheres; He left us his bleſſing, his weapons, his fame, And hearts unacquainted with fears. The ſhades of our anceſtors cluſter'd around, To welcome our Chief from the wars; With laurels celeſtial his temples they bound, Then thron'd him on high 'midſt the ſtars. Air. Sound the horns, ye tuneful choirs, 'Tis our Saint, the notes inſpires; Brace the drums, and make them roll, Martial Muſic charms the ſoul: Soon, reſponſive to the chorus, Tammany ſhall ſtand before us, On the moſſy, velvet green, Smiling on us, tho' unſeen. Chorus. Charge the bowl again with liquor, Paſs it briſkly, puſh it quicker; Sachems, Warriors, now advance, Form the ring, begin the dance! Muſic ſummons us to pleaſure, Mark the tune, and time the meaſure: Full of mirth, and full of glee, Thus concludes our Jubilee. Grand Chorus. Ever ſacred be this day; Genial morn of roſy May.

SONG.

AIR.—INDIAN CHIEF.

WHEN a nation's obſorb'd under Tyranny's chain, • ppreſs'd by the mandates of monarchical reign, 〈◊〉 the tyrants aroſe, ſo the ſubjects ſunk down, • nd the centre of glory remain'd in a crown. • ut a light breaking forth, ſent by Heaven's decree, • nd a voice from above, bids the nations be free; AMERICA anſwers—"We're young and but ſmall," Yet Great God of Nature, we riſe at thy call. Though ſhort is our arm, yet a banner we'll raiſe, Oppos'd to all tyrants, to freedom a praiſe: A period the goddeſs demands us to fix— It's the Fourth of July, in the year Seventy-Six! Feats of glory we paſs'd, too great to recount, While our Moſes extended his arm on the mount, Extirpated the ſoe, and aroſe to bright ſame; And the nations of Europe are catching the ſlame. Let Gallia's great name be remember'd this day, While the enſigns of freedom with us they diſplay; A ſound conſtitution our unity binds, Since all Arnold's and Dumourier's are purg'd from our lines. Let trumpets of joy, from the great Belvedere, Reach to France, by its echo ſalute the glad air; And the founder of this ſtill belong to the choir, Whom the ſpirit of freedom and zeal ſhall inſpire. The nations diſcover that freedom's the ſole, And their Crowns they'll exchange for a Cap or a Pole; And a head ſo preſumptuous a crown to ſupport, Will paſs condemnation in Liberty's court. Let bumpers be fill'd from that unfailing ſpring, Toaſt all ſons of earth, and drink Freedom—No King! 'Till time ſhall be ſwallowed in unfading day, For Freedom and • ace we'll occaſionally pray. Belvidore C • ouſe, N. York, July 4, 1793.

SONG. WHILE • yranny marſhals her minions around, And bid her fierce legions advance, Fair freedom, the hopes of thy ſons to confound, To reſtore her old empire in France. What friend among men, to the Rights of Mankind, But is fir'd with reſentment to ſee, The Satraps of pride and oppreſſion combin'd To prevent a great land's being free. Europe's fate on the conteſt's deciſion depends, Moſt important its iſſue will be; For ſhould France be ſubdu'd, Europe's liberty ends, If ſhe triumphs, the world will be free. Then let every true patriot unite in her cauſe, A cauſe of ſuch moment to man— Let all whoſe ſouls ſpurn at tyrannical laws, Lend her all the aſſiſtance they can. May the ſpirit of Sparta her armies inſpire, And the ſtar of America guide; May a Waſhington's wiſdom, a Hamilton's fire, In her camps and her councils preſide. May her ſons fatal diſcord no longer divide, 'Mong her chiefs may no Arnold's be found, But may they united, reſiſt the rough tide, 'Till their toils be with victory crown'd. And at length, when ſweet peace from her ſphere ſhall deſcend— When the fiends of oppreſſion have fled, Immortal renown, ſhall thoſe heroes attend, Who for freedom, fought, conquer'd and bled. Blazon'd high, then their deeds ſhall ſwell hiſtory's page, And adorn lofty poetry's lays 〈…〉 While the mem'ry of tyrants, the 〈…〉 In oblivion's dark baſtile decays 〈…〉 The Patriots have oblig'd the proud D • to retreat, And we dare to applaud the great deed; We dare to exult in a tyrant's deſeat, And rejoice that a nation is freed. For this we aſſemble, deſpiſing all thoſe Who wiſh to enſlave the free mind; France's foes we are conſcious are liberty's fors, And her friends are the friends of mankind. If angels e'er learn from the m • nſions above, The affairs of our planet to ſcan, They could not this glorious event but approve, As the nobleſt exertion of man. Patriots of each ſervile nation, ariſe, And enjoy what the Deity gave; To be free is the duty man owes the All Wiſe, And he ſins who is tamely a ſlave. On the rock of Man's Rights France a fortreſs has plann'd, Which thro' many a bright age ſhall endure; Like a crag 'midſt the waves undiſturb'd ſhall it ſtand, And preſerve Heaven's bleſſings ſecure. With electrical force thro the nations around, Her fire may dear liberty dart; 'Mong the ſons of the north may its glow ſoon be found, May it warm each American's heart. Croſs the huge ſnowy Alps, to a region once dear, May the ſoul liſting influence be hurl'd; May its radiance the whole human family cheer, And may tyrants be baniſh'd the world. New-Brunſwick ( 〈◊〉 J.) Jan. 1793.

MARY's DREAM. THE 〈◊〉 had climb'd the higheſt hill That 〈◊〉 o'er the ſource of Dee, And from the eaſtern ſummit ſhed Her ſilver light on tow'r and tree; When Mary laid her down to ſleep, Her thoughts on Sandy far at ſea: When ſoft and low a voice was heard Say—Mary, weep no more for me. She from her pillow gently rais'd Her head to aſk who there might be, And faw young Sandy ſhivering ſtand, With palid cheek and hollow eye. O, Mary dear! cold is my clay, It lies beneath a ſtormy ſea; Far, far from thee, I ſleep in death, So, Mary, weep no more for me. Three ſtormy nights and ſtormy days, We toſs'd upon the raging main, And long we ſtrove our bark to ſave, But all our ſtriving was in vain: E'en then, when horror chill'd my blood, My heart was fill'd with love for thee; The ſtorm is paſt, and I at reſt, So, Mary, weep no more for me. O! Maiden dear, thyſelf prepare, We ſoon ſhall meet upon that ſhore, Where love is free from doubt or care, And thou and I ſhall part no more. Loud crow'd the cock! the ſhadow fled! No more of Sandy could ſhe ſee; But ſoft the paſſing ſpirit ſaid, O! Mary! weep no more for me.

WHILE HIGH THE FOAMING • URGES RISE. WHILE high the foaming ſurges riſe, And pointed rocks appear, Loud thunders rattle in the ſkies, Yet ſailors muſt not fear. In ſtorms, in wind, Their duty mind; Aloft, below, They cheerful go, To reef or ſteer, as 'tis deſign'd, No fear or dangers fill the mind. The ſignal for the line is made, The haughty foe's in ſight; The bloody flag's aloft diſplay'd, And fierce the dreadful fight. Each minds his gun, No dangers ſhun; Aloft, below, They cheerful go, Tho' thunders roar, yet ſtill we find No fears alarm the ſailor's mind. The ſtorm is huſh'd, the battle's o'er, The ſky is clear again; We toſs the cann to thoſe on ſhore, While we are on the main. To Poll and Sue, Sincere and true; The grog goes round, With pleaſure crown'd. In war or peace, alike you'll find, That honor fills the ſailor's mind.

AN ODE, On the adoption of the FEDERAL CONSTITUTION.

Tune—The Dauphin.

CROWN'D with auſpicious light, Columbia's Eagle riſe; Thine emblems bleſs our ſight, Thine honours greet our eyes. Nations admire thy riſing dawn, And ſhall ſalute thy day, While generations yet unborn, Receive the genial ray. CHORUS. An empire's born, let cannon roar, Bid echo rend the ſky; Let every heart adore, High Heaven, our great ally. Illuſtrious aera, hail— Thy ſtars in union grow, Oppoſing miſts diſpell, And with freſh ſplendor glow. Thy glories burſt upon the gloom, Where darkneſs dragg'd her chain; The ſons of cruelty and death, Shall own thy gentle reign. Cho. An Empire's born, &c. Let joy our hearts engage, Let foul contention ceaſe; Exchange for jealous rage, The enrapturing ſmile of peace. No genius human e'er devis'd A federal plan more pure; Wiſdom and ſtrength, and freedom guard, Columbia's rights ſecure. Cho. An Empire's born, &c. Now Fame exert your powers. Your ſilver trumpet raiſe: Still Waſhington is ours, Though earth proclaim his praiſe. He once in crimſon fields of blood, Forbade us to be ſlaves; And now with an illuſtrious hand Again his country ſaves. Cho. An Empire's born, &c. Diſcord aghaſt ſhall frown, Science her temple rear; Labour enſure her crown, And uſeful arts appear. Then bend your ſpears to pruning hoods, Break up the gen'rous ſoil, While fruits of plenty round the land, Reward the reaper's toil. Cho. An Empire's born, &c. Commerce your ſails diſplay, While agriculture ſings: Where late the bramble lay, The roſe of beauty ſprings. Union ſhall glad revolving year, No partial views remain; Juſtice aloft advance her ſcale, And public virtue reign. Cho. An Empire's born, &c.

ON SLAVERY.

Tune—The Son of Alknomack, &c.

THE power that created the night and the day, Gave his image divine to each model of clay: Tho' on different features, the God he impreſt, One ſpirit immortal pervades ev'ry breaſt. And Nature's great Charter the right never gave, That one mortal another ſhould dare to enſlave. The ſame genial ray that the lillies unfold, Gives the diamond its luſtre, its brightneſs to gold— That which Europe's proud ſons to rapture inſpire, Warms each African breaſt with as genial a fire. And Nature's great Charter, &c. May the head be corrected, ſubdo'd the proud ſoul, That would fetter free limbs, and free ſpirits controul: Be the gem or in ebon, or iv'ry enſhrin'd, The ſame form of heart, warms the whole human kind. And Nature's great Charter, &c. May Freedom, whoſe rays we are taught to adore, Beam bright as the ſun, and bleſs every ſhore; No Charter that pleads for the rights of mankind, To inveſt theſe with gold, thoſe with fetters can bind. And Nature's great Charter, the right never gave, That one mortal another ſhould dare to enſlave.

A NEW SONG.

Tune—Hark! hark! the joy inſpiring Horn!

HARK! Hark! a joyous, cheering ſound Hails thoſe, in chains monarch'al, bound; Greets every Freeman's ear! 'Tis Freedom's voice! the glad'ning ſong Burſts forth in raptures from her tongue, Her Gallic cauſe to cheer! My Sons, ſhe cried, the day's your own, And vict'ry all your toils ſhall crown; Fell Monarchy muſt die! In Europe's climes, no King ſhall reign; But Liberty rule each domain Supreme in majeſty! Columbia ſmiles! her joys encreaſe! Her ſons are bleſs'd with Plenty—Peace! The fruits of Bravery! Her heroes, boldly, took the field; Determin'd, nobly, not to yield To Kingly knavery! From her example—Frenchmen, then, Perſiſt—Support your Rights as Men; And bravely, whilſt you can, My Standard plant in Gallia's ground; And thunder to the Nations round, THE DIGNITY OF MAN!!!

THE MULBERRY TREE. A NEW SONG. THE ſweet briar' grows in the merry green wood, Where the muſk-roſe diffuſes its perfume ſo free; But the blight often ſiezes both bloſſom and bud, While the mildew flies over the Mulberry Tree. In the nurſery rear'd like the young tender vine, Mankind of all orders, and ev'ry degree, Firſt crawl on the ground, then ſpring up like the pine, And ſome branch and bear fruit, like the Mulberry Tree. To the fair tree of knowledge ſome twine like a twig, While ſome ſappy ſprouts with their fruits diſagree; For which we from birch now and then pluck a twig, Which is not quite ſo ſweet as the Mulberry Tree. The vaſt tree of life we all cagerly climb, And impatiently pant at its hightop to be, Tho' nine out of ten is lopp'd off in their prime, And they drop like dead leaves from the Mulberry Tree. Some live by the leaf, and ſome live by the bow, As the ſong, or the dance, their vocation may be, And ſome live and thrive, tho' we know no more how, Than the dew that flies over the Mulberry Tree. But like weeping willows we hang down the head, When poor wither'd elders we're deſtin'd to be, And we're minded no more than mere logs when we're dead, Or the dew that flies over the Mulberry Tree. Yet like lignum-vitae we hearts of oak wear, Or the cedar that keeps from the canker worm free, While the vine-juice we drain to diſſolve ev'ry care, Like the dew that flies over the Mulberry Tree.

ODE, On the FOURTH of JULY. COME all ye ſons of ſong, Pour the full ſound along, In joyful ſtrains. Beneath theſe weſtern ſkies, See a new empire riſe, Burſting with glad ſurpriſe, Tyrannic chains. Liberty, with keen eye, Pierc'd the blue vaulted ſky, Reſolv'd us free; From her imperial ſeat, Beheld the bleeding ſtate, Approv'd this day's debate, And firm decree. Sublime, in awful form, Amid the whirling ſtorm, The Goddeſs ſtood: She ſaw with pitying eye, War's tempeſt raging high Our heroes bravely die, In fields of blood. High on his ſhining car, Mars the ſtern god of war, Our ſtruggle bleſt. Soon vict'ry wav'd her hand, Fair freedom cheer'd the land, L • d on Columbia's band, To glorious reſt! Now then, ye ſons of ſong, Pour the full ſound along; Who ſhall control? For in this weſtern clime, Freedom ſhall riſe ſublime, 'Till ever changing time Shall ceaſe to roll.

THE HUE AND CRY. OYES, my good people, draw near, My ſtory ſurpaſſes belief, Yet deign for a moment to hear, And aſſiſt me to catch a ſtray thief. Have you chanc'd a fair damſel to meet, Adorn'd like an angel of light, In a robe that flow'd down to her feet, No ſnow on the mountain ſo white. Silver flowers beſpangled her ſhoe, Amber locks on her ſhoulders were ſpread, Her waiſt had a girdle of blue, And a beaver plum'd hat had her head. Her ſteps an impreſſion ſcarce leave, She bounds o'er the meadow ſo ſoon; Her ſmile is like Autumn's clear eve, And her look as ſerene as his moon. She ſeems to have nothing to blame, Deceitleſs and meek as the dove; But there lives not a thief of ſuch fame, She has pilfer'd below and above. Her cheek has the bluſhes of day, Her neck has undone the ſwain's wing, Her breath has the odors of May, And her eye has the dews of the ſpring. She has robb'd of its crimſon the roſe, She has dar'd the carnation to ſtrip, The bee who has plunder'd them knows, And would fain fill his hive at her lip. She has ſtol'n for her forehead ſo even, All beauty by ſea and by land. She has all the fine azure of Heaven, In the veins of her temple and hand. Yes, yes, ſhe has ranſack'd above, And beggar'd both nature and art, She has got all we honor and love, And from me ſhe has pilfer'd my heart. Bring her home, honeſt friends, bring her home, And ſet her down ſafe at my door, Let her once my companion become, And I ſwear ſhe ſhall wander no more. Bring her home, and I'll give a reward, Whoſe value can never be told, More precious than all you regard. More in worth than a houſe full of gold. A reward ſuch as none but a dunce, Such as none but a madman would miſs, O yes, I will give you for once, From the charmer you bring me, a kiſs.

A LIBERTY SONG.

From a London Paper.

NO longer let kings and baſe princes decree, That men have no rights, nor ſhall ever be free: But let us unite, and our freedom maintain, Aſſiſted by reaſon, and honeſt Tom Paine. From deſpots the people no bleſſings can feel For their laws are injuſtice, their arguments ſteel; But ſuch laws and ſuch arguments never can gain The voice of a nation, inſtructed by Paine. When kings, who are tyrants, are deſtin'd to fall, And the people of England ſhall liſt to the call Of Liberty's ſons—they then will diſdain All the venal revilers of honeſt Tom Paine. Then true to his merits let each man be found, And let virtue, like his, be with victory crown'd; So may we his ardor and judgment retain, When to Heaven is call'd the philanthropic Paine.

SONG, Sung at the Celebration of the Anniverſary of the Liberty of the French, at Liverpool, in England. UNFOLD, Father TIME, thy long records unfold, Of noble atchievments accompliſh'd of old; When men, by the ſtandard of Liberty led, Undauntedly conquer'd, or cheerfully bled; But know, 'midſt the triumphs theſe moments reveal, Their glories ſhall fade, and their luſtre turn pale; Whilſt France riſes up, and confirms the decree. That bids millions rejoice, and a nation be free. As ſpring to the field, or as dew to the flower, To the earth parch'd with heat, as the ſoft dropping ſhower; As health to the wretch who lies languid and wan, Or as reſt to the weary—is Freedom to man. Where Freedom the light of her countenance gives, There only he revels, there only he lives. Seize then the glad moment, and hail the decree, That bids millions rejoice, and a nation be free. Too long had oppreſſion and terror entwin'd Thoſe fancy form'd chains that enſlave the free mind; Whilſt dark ſuperſtition, with nature at ſtrife, Had lock'd up for ages the fountains of life: But the demons are fled—the deluſion is paſt— And reaſon and virtue have conquer'd at laſt: Seize then the glad moment, and hail the decree, That bids millions rejoice, and a nation be free. France! we ſhare in the rapture thy boſom that fills Whilſt the ſpirit of Liberty bounds o'er thy hills, Redundant henceforth, may the purple juice flow, Prouder wave thy green woods, and thine olive trees grow: For thy brows, may the hand of philoſophy twine (Bleſt emblems!) the myrtle, the olive, and vine; And Heaven thro' all ages confirm the decree, That tears off thy chains, and bids millions be free.

A NEW SONG. COLUMBIA.

Tune—From the Eaſt Breaks the Morn.

WHEN our Fathers came o'e, To this wilderneſs ſhore, They all hazards and dangers deſpiſed; For by tyrants oppreſs'd, They came hither in queſt, Of Freedom, by the brave ever priz'd. 'Twas with labor and toil, They improved the ſoil, For the wilderneſs bloom'd like the roſe; And with plenty being crown'd, To the nations around, Terms of friendſhip and peace did propoſe. But, lo! each ſavage tribe, With perfidy ally'd! Were ſtrangers to peace, friendſhip, and truth; For 'tis Scalps that they prize, They are deaf to the cries, Of the inſant, the aged, or youth. At length they were quell'd, And by valor compell'd, With ſubmiſſion to ſue for a peace; Thus our fathers renown'd, Were with victory crown'd, And their offspring began to encreaſe. So with Liberty bleſs'd, They departed to reſt, And the fruits of their toil left their ſons; Whoſe firm hearts, like their fires, Love of Freedom inſpires, And the ſhackles of Slavery ſhun. For, behold Britiſh pride, With oppreſſion ally'd, Soon diſturb'd this our envied ſtate: Firſt, with Stamps they oppreſs'd, Which, though quickly redreſs'd, They ſtill cheriſh foul envy and hate. But the tale is too long, It would burthen my ſong, To relate how they threaten'd us all i That unleſs we'd ſubmit, To the terms they thought fit, Without mercy they on us would fall. That ſuch threats were in vain, Is well known to each ſwain, Who rambles thro' the lawn or the grove; For, proud Britons, diſmay'd, Quickly beat the ſhamade, And ſurrender'd to HIM, whom all love. No more let Britain boaſt, Of her powerful hoſt, Nor her ſov'reignty over the main; For we've taught them to know, That, though num'rous our foe, We can Conquer again and again. Now to HIM that rules all, Who inhabits this ball, Our warm gratitude ſure will ariſe; And, in thanks we'll repeat, The deliv'rance ſo great, And the Bleſſings of Liberty prize.

A NEW SONG. WASHINGTON. GOD ſave great WASHINGTON, His worth from ev'ry tongue Demands applauſe; Ye tuneful pow'rs combine, And each true whig now join, Whoſe heart did ne'er reſign The glorious cauſe. Let's fing his martial deeds, When to Trenton he ſpeeds With willing bands; See there he leads them on, To glory and renown, And then with vict'ry's crown Triumphant ſtands. Next to Princeton he goes, Where the aſtoniſh'd foes, With fear ſtruck pale, Vainly attempt to ſtand; For the brave choſen band, Soon charge them ſword in hand, Britons turn tail: Where e'er the Hero comes, The valiant boaſting ſons Of Britain run; Helter ſkelter they fly, When Waſhington comes nigh, Or elſe, ſubmiſſively, Each grounds his gun. Let each Columbian ſon, In grateful accents mourn The loſs of thoſe, Who freely bled and fell, And thus their lives did ſell, For Liberty lov'd well, And our repoſe. May God the Congreſs bleſs With power (nor more nor leſs) To make us great, In INDEPENDENCY; And from all diſcord free, Grant this may truly be Our happy fate; Sweet Liberty all hail! Should Tyrants e'er aſſail, Grant us thy aid; May our poſterity, Continue to be free, And may they ever ſee The Flag diſplay'd,

ODE, Sung at the Great Wigwam of the Tammany Society, or Columbian Order, of New-York, on the celebration of the Third Centuary of the diſcovery of America by Chriſtopher Columbus, on the 14th October, 1492. YE Sons of Freedom hail the day, That brought a ſecond world to view; To great Columbus' mem'ry pay The praiſe and honour juſtly due. CHORUS. Let the important theme inſpire, Each breaſt with patriotic fire. Long did oppreſſion o'er the world, Her ſanguine banners wide diſplay: Dark bigotry her thunders hurl'd, And freedom's domes in ruins lay. CHORUS. Juſtice and liberty had flown, And tyrants call'd the world their own. Thus heaven our race with pity view'd; Reſolv'd bright freedom to reſtore: And heaven directed o'er the flood, Columbus found her on this ſhore. CHORUS. O'er the bleſs'd land with rays divine, She ſhown, and ſhall forever ſhine. Hark! from above, the great decree Floats in celeſtial notes along; "Columbia ever ſhall be free—" Exulting thouſands ſwell the ſong. CHORUS. Patriots revere the great decree, Columbia ever ſhall be free. Here ſhall th' enthuſiaſtic love, Which freemen to their country owe; Enkindled, glorious from above, In every patriot boſom glow. CHORUS. Inſpire the heart, the arm extend, The rights of freedom to defend. Secure forever, and entire, The Rights of Man ſhall here remain: No nobles kindle diſcord' • fire, Nor deſpots load with flavery's chain. CHORUS. Here ſhall th' oppreſs'd find ſweet repoſe, Since none but tyrants are our foes. Here commerce ſhall her ſails extend, Science diffuſe her kindeſt ray: Religion's pureſt flame aſcend, And peace ſhall crown each happy day. CHORUS. Thrice favor'd land, by Heaven deſign'd, A world of bleſſings for mankind. Then while we keep this jubilee, While ſeated round this awful ſhrine, Columbus' deeds our theme ſhall be, And liberty that gift divine. CHORUS. Let the tranſporting theme inſpire, Each breaſt with patriotic fire.

ANNA, OR, THE ADIEU. WHEN the ſails catch the breeze, and the anchor is weigh'd, To bear me from Anna, my beautiful maid, The top-maſt aſcending, I look for my dear, And ſigh that her features imperfect appear, Till aided by fancy her charms I ſtill trace, And for me ſee the tears trickle down her pale face, While her handkerchief waving ſolicits my view, And I hear her ſweet lips ſadly ſigh out adieu. The pleaſing deluſion not long can prevail, Higher riſe the proud waves, and more briſk blows the gale; The gale that regards not the ſighs that it bears; The proud waves ſtill unmov'd, tho' augmented by tears. Ah! will ye not one ſingle moment delay, Oh! think from what rapture you bear me away! Then my eyes ſtrain in vain my dear Anna to view, And a tear drops from each, as I ſigh out adieu. Yet ſome comfort it gives to my agoniz'd mind, That I ſtill ſee the land where I left her behind; The land that gave birth to my charmer and me, Tho' leſs'ning, my eyes beem with pleaſure to ſee; 'Tis the caſket that holds all that's dear to my heart, 'Tis the haven where yet we ſhall meet ne'er to part, If the fates are propitious to lovers ſo true; But if not, deareſt Anna! a long, long adieu!

ODE On the DEATH of Dr. FRANKLIN.

AIR—"Return enraptured Hours."

THE faireſt flow'rets bring In all their vernal bloom, And let the ſweets of ſpring Adorn great Franklin's tomb. The patriot's toil is done, At length his labours ceaſe; The unfading crown is won, His ſun deſcends in peace, The ſons of ſcience grieve, Each patriot heaves a ſigh, Yet ſcarcely can believe Such worth could ever die. No! deathleſs is that name, Whoſe glory muſt increaſe, And Franklin's ſplendid fame, With time alone can ceaſe. While nimble light'nings fly, While awful thunders roll, While metoors gild the ſky, And dart from pole to pole, Mankind will ſtill admire, When Franklin's name they hear, Who ſnatch'd celeſtial fire, And broke th' oppreſſor's ſpear. Thro' ev'ry future age, Whilſt hiſt'ry holds her pen, She'll rank our honour'd ſage Among the firſt of men; And when ſhe counts her ſons, Who've earn'd immortal fame, Shall next to Waſhington's, Record great Franklin's name.

SONG, Written on the taking of ST. JOHN's.

AIR—"Hark! Hark! the Joy Inſpiring Horn."

HARK! hark! the joyful News is come, Sound, ſound the trumpet, beat the drum, Let manly joy abound, Where freedom's ſacred enſigns wave, Supported by the free and brave, There vict'ry is found. From eaſt from weſt, from ſouth from north, America's brave ſons come forth, All terrible in arms. Their right and freedom to maintain; They dauntleſs tread the bloody plain, And laugh at war's alarms. Kind Providence, our troops inſpire With more than Greek or Roman fire, Our cauſe, therefore, prevails. Favour'd by Heav'n, a free-born few, Tyrannic legions ſhall ſubdue, For juſtice ſeldom fails. Let joyful temp'rate bowls paſs round, And ſongs to their juſt praiſe reſound, Who have their valour ſhewn. To Putnam, and to Montgomery, To Wooſter, Gates, to Wayne, to Lee, And glorious WASHINGTON.

On the BIRTH-DAY of WASHINGTON. AMERICANS rejoice! While ſongs employ each voice, Let trumpets ſound: The thirteen ſtripes diſplay, On flags and ſtreamers gay, 'Tis WASHINGTON birth day, Joy ſhall abound. From ſcenes of rural peace, From affluence and eaſe, At Freedom a call; A hero from his birth, Great Waſhington ſtands forth, The ſcourge of George and North, And tyrants all. Thoſe renown'd chiefs of old, Caeſars and heroes bold, Who realms have won, Smit by his brighter blaze, Hide their diminiſh'd rays, And yield the palm of praiſe To WASHINGTON. The ſilver trump of fame, His glories ſhall proclaim, 'Till time is done; Genius, with taſte refin'd, Valor, with courage join'd, 'Bove all, an honeſt mind, Has WASHINGTON. Long may he live to ſee, This land of liberty, Flouriſh in peace; Long may he live to prove A grateful people's love, And late to Heaven remove, Where joys ne'er ceaſe. Fill the glaſs to the brink, Waſhington's health we'll drink, 'Tis his birth day: Glorious deeds he has done, By him our cauſe is won, Long live our WASHINGTON, Huzza! huzza!

THE INDIAN STUDENT. A celebrated NEW SONG. FROM Suſquehannah's utmoſt ſprings, Where ſavage tribes purſue their game, His blanket ty'd with yellow ſtrings The ſhephard of the foreſt came. Not long before a wandering prieſt Expreſt his wiſh with viſage ſad, Ah why he cried, in Satan's waſte, Ah why detain ſo fine a lad. In yankee land there ſtands a town Where learning may be purchas'd low, Exchange his blanket for a gown, And let the lad to college go. From long debate the council roſe, And viewing Shallum's tricks with joy, To Harvard hall o'er drifted ſnows, They ſent the tawny colour'd boy. Awhile he wrote, awhile he read, Awhile attended grammar rules, An Indian ſavage, ſo well bred, Great credit promis'd to the ſchools. Some thought he would in law excel, Some ſaid in phyſic he would ſhine, And ſome who lik'd him paſſing well, Beheld in him a ſound divine. But thoſe of more diſcerning eye, Even then could other proſpects ſhow; They ſaw him lay his Virgil by, To wander with his dearer bow. The tedious hours of ſtudy ſpent, The heavy moulded lecture done, He to the woods a hunting went, But ſigh'd to ſee the ſetting ſun. The ſhady banks, the purling ſtreams, The woody wild his heart poſſeſt. The dewy lawn his morning dreams, In fancy's fineſt colours dreſt. Ah why he cry'd did I forſake My native woods for gloomy walls, The ſilver ſtream, the limpid lake, For muſty books, and college halls. A little could my wants ſupply, Can wealth or honor give me more? Or will the Sylvan God deny The humble treat he gave before? Where nature's ancient foreſts grow, And mingled laurel never fades, My heart is fixt, and I muſt go To die among my native ſhades. He ſpake, and to the weſtern ſprings, His gown diſcharg'd, his money ſpent, His blanket tied with yellow ſtrings, The ſhepherd of the foreſt went. Returning to his rural plain, The Indians welcom'd him with joy: The council took him home again, And bleſt the tawny colour'd boy.

LIBERTY TREE. WHILE war's crimſon carnage is drenching the plains Of Europe, and tyrants are forging their chains, Our brethren to ſhackle, our ſong ſtill ſhould be Succeſs to the growth of the Liberty Tree! On the blood of "their people" have tyrants long fed, While to ſwell their curſt coffers that blood hath been ſhed; But their teeth, lo! they gnaſh, while in anguiſh they ſee Nations hailing triumphant the Liberty Tree! Yes! the time is approaching, and faſt rolls along, When "air, earth and ocean," ſhall ring with the ſong, And The Great Common Father his children ſhall ſee, Auſpiciouſly bleſt under Liberty Tree! For tho' clouds for a whiſe dim the glory of France, Still her heroes invincible brandiſh the lance Of war, and her ſoes, in confuſion, ſhall ſee O'er creation expanding the Liberty Tree! With your gen'rous Franks, our hearts they do beat, Sympathize in diſtreſs, and vict'ry greet, Still wiſhing the joyful glad aera to ſee, When the ſhade's univerſal of Liberty Tree! Then go on with the glorious work you've begun, Independency take for your SHIELD and SUN; That deſpots may tremble with dread while they ſee The branches extending of Liberty Tree! Lo! their ſlaves now they muſter, and think to prevail, But Freedom's victorious, tho' millions aſſail, Which haſtens the moon, when, in jubilee, Mankind ſhall rejoice under Liberty Tree! May Truth, Light and Virtue, deſcend from above, And ſix the fair empire of Reaſon and Love! From king-croft, and prieſt-craft, mankind they free, And forever entwine round the Liberty Tree! The plant of Columbia's ſoil the produce, Of its fruit how ennobling, and mild is the juice, Which, the moment they taſte it, gives mortals to ſee What Beauties are center'd in Liberty Tree! No rays of falſe ſplendor, reflected from courts, Can light a deſire in Columbian hearts, Such gewgaws of pride, and ambition to ſee, By Reaſon united to Liberty Tree. Columbia, while Lleſs'd with the fair ſmiles of peace, Stands a rival in glory with Rome and with Greece; Let her ſons then forget not "they fought to be free," And in blood that they planted their Liberty Tree! Having faith that e'er long the whole world will enjoy What the ſhade of ages ſhall never deſtroy; Turks, Africans, Ruſſians, enlighten'd, ſhall ſee, And pluck the fair bloſſoms of Liberty Tree! That ſoon the mild goddeſs, ſweet Peace with her wings Shall ſhelter the globe, and e'en tyrants and kings, To citizens chain'd, with rapture ſhall ſee, The wide ſpreading glory of Liberty Tree! That eaſt, weſt, north and ſouth, ſhall catch the glad ſound, And loud Hymns of Freedom re-echo around: While the one univerſal grand chorus ſhall be, May immortality flouriſh our Liberty Tree! Albany (N. York) June 26, 1793.

SONG. WHY ſtands the tear in Mara's eye, And why that touching, penſive air; For whom, dear Mara, doſt thou ſigh, For whom let fall that virgin tear? Say hath ſome youth to virtue loſt, Beguil'd thee of thy tender heart, Then of thy favors made his boaſt, And pierc'd thee with detraction's dart? If ſo, dear Mara, check the ſigh, That riſes from thy wounded heart; No longer let thy dewy eye, The tale of inward grief impart. The youth who ſlights thy virgin love, And throws detraction's venom'd dart; Believe me, Mara, ſoon will prove, What anguiſh rends a guilty heart!

THE CAMP OF BEAUTY. A NEW SONG. COME all, ye lovely virgins, come, Obedient to the beat of drum, Which calls for volunteers: Hark! hark! the joy inſpiring ſound Will make each captur'd heart rebound, And chace all qualmiſh fears. Then haſte to Beauty's Camp away, Where Cupid arm'd in proud array, With quivers, bows and darts, Invites you all—come follow me, To happineſs and victory, To conquer ſoldiers hearts. Come all, ye lovely virgins, &c. Each blooming maid, who wants a mate, To bleſs her in the bridal ſtate, Not bent on leading apes, To Beauty's Camp with me repair, For O, how happy is the fair, Who ſuch a doom eſcapes? Reflect then—O reflect on this, And fly to meet the proffer'd bliſs, That Hymen holds in view; For, chear'd by Love's delighting ray, Each virgin fair may glad obey My charming rat-tat-too! Come all, ye lovely, &c. See Venus, Cupid, Hymen too, (Who form a league in aid of you) Encamp'd in Beauty's field: Soon to your bright enchanting eyes, Supported by ſuch great allies, The braveſt heart muſt yield. For till in parley they produce, In Beauty's Camp a flag of truce, The cannon of your charms Shall ply their breaſt at ſuch a rate, They'll ſoon ſurrender to their fate, And gladly club their arms. Then come, ye lovely virgins, &c.

THE TENDER's HOLD. WHILE landmen wander uncontroul'd, And boaſt the rights of freemen, O! view the Tender's loathſome hold, Where droop your injur'd ſeamen; Dragg'd by oppreſſion's ſavage graſp, From every dear connection, Midſt putrid air, O! hear them gaſp, And mark their deep dejection. CHORUS. Bluſh then, ye mean, ye penſion'd hoſt, Who wallow in profuſion, For you foul cell proves all your boaſt To be but mere deluſion. If freedom be our birth-right, ſay, Why are not all protected? Why is the hand of ruffian ſway 'Gainſt ſeamen thus directed? Is this your proof of Britiſn rights? Is this rewarding bravery? O ſhame! to boaſt your tars exploits, Yet doom thoſe tars to ſlavery. Bluſh then, &c. O! that ambition's callous train, Who wiſh to ſhine in ſtory, Who tinge with blood the earth and main, And call their havoc glory, O! that theſe ſcourgers of the world, Who ſmile at man's undoing, Might from their lordly ſeats be hurl'd, And taſte the cup of ruin. Bluſh then, &c. Are Britons free?—ye vaunting crew, Who damn all reformation, Deep in the Tender's Hold, O! view, The guardians of your nation: Yes, view them thus in durance laid, Though void of all tranſgreſſion, Then ſay, could Ruſſia's bloody jade Diſplay more ſoul oppreſſion? Bluſh then, &c. But juſt return'd from noxious ſkies, And winter's raging ocean, To land the ſun-burnt ſeaman flies, Impell'd by ſtrong emotion; His much loved Kate, his children dear, Around him cling delighted, When lo! the impreſſing fiends appear, And every joy is blighted! Bluſh then, &c. Thus from each ſoft endearment torn, Here view the ſeaman languiſh, His wife, his children left forlorn, The prey of bitter anguiſh; 'Reſt of thoſe arms whoſe vigorous ſtrength Their ſhed from want defended, They droop, and all their woes at length Are in a workhouſe ended. Bluſh then, &c. Mark then, ye minions of a court, Who prate of freedom's bleſſing, Yet every hell-born war ſupport, And vindicate impreſſing; A time will come, when things like you, Mere baubles of creation, No more ſhall make mankind purſue, The work of devaſtation. CHORUS. Bluſh then, ye mean, ye penſioned hoſt, Who wallow in profuſion, For you foul cell proves all your beaſt To be but mere deluſion.

AN ODE, FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY. (Compoſed by Mr. Lathrop, of Boſton.) FILL! fill to WASHINGTON, Liberty's valiant ſon, Let the toaſt paſs! From each convivial band; From this vaſt, grateful land, His deeds due praiſe demand, Fill, fill the glaſs! Heaven on our labour ſmiles, Fair Freedom crowns our toils, And juſtice reigns; Peace ſhines with cheerful mein, Happineſs beams ſerene, And plenty, cloath'd in green, Bleſſes our plains. On ocean's ſwelling tide, See our ſhips proudly ride, Laden with wealth! Round fair Columbia's ſeat, Virtues and graces meet, Pleaſures which make life ſweet, Honour and health. O'er Europe's fields afar, Bold thouſands ruſh to war, With dauntleſs ſouls! In Freedom's glorious cauſe, To ſave their rights and laws, From grim oppreſſion's jaws, War's thunder rolls. Such was the god-like fire, Which did our breaſts inſpire, When great in arms— Heroes like Jove in might, Rag'd in the bloody fight, Throughout the realms of night, Spread dire alarms. Down fell old ſlav'ry power, Thank God! to riſe no more, To curſe the world. In the abyſs of hell, Where kindred furies dwell, And in mad ravings yell, Groaning, ſho's hurl'd! Now war's rude clangours ceaſe, And olive-ſcept'red peace Reigns all around; Raiſe high the cheerful ſong, Heaven ſhall the notes prolong, And the angelick throng Echo the ſound!

A NEW SONG, ON THE FOURTH OF JULY. INDEPENDENCE! how bright are the bleſſings you give! They teach hapleſs mortals in comfort to live: Remote from ambition and folly's career, No monarch we flatter, no nation we fear. The gun, drum, and trumpet have yielded to peace, And our ſoil every year boaſts plenteous increaſe; Gay commerce ſecurely now hoiſts the bold ſail, And, by Liberty bleſt, can Americans fail? Her efforts now induſtry fully diſplays; And on our exertions proud foreigners gaze. Then let all degrees reap th' expected reward, Independence we gain'd—Independence we'll guard. On the Fourth of July the bleſt guardian appear'd, Which patriot boſoms with confidence cheer'd. Your glaſſes then fill, ye who liberty favour, And this be your toaſt—"Independence forever." Now Monarchy droops—Ariſtocracy too; And all with content may their labours purſue: Over us the bright ſtar of bleſt Freedom aroſe, Which enlightens our friends, and ſhall bleſs e'en our ſoes.

ODE, On Gen. WASHINGTON's Birth-day. HAIL to the Sun, whoſe circling ray Once more revolves the happy day, That gave our HERO birth: Prepare the feaſt, in pairs advance, To raiſe the ſong, or lead the dance To jolity and mirth. CHORUS. Blow the trumpet, found the flute, Tune the viol, ſtrike the lute, And let every free-born ſoul Chant his name from pole to pole. Ambition fir'd the chiefs of old To fight for empire or for gold, How few for Liberty: But he was born by Heav'n deſign'd To ſcourge the oppreſſors of mankind, And ſet th' oppreſſed free. Caeſar and Philip's frantic ſon With arms and chains the world over run, To gratify their pride; Benevolence and valor join'd, Diſplay the greatneſs of his mind, And all his actions guide. Naſſau ſoroſok his native land, Great Britain's ruin to withſtand, And he the nation ſav'd: Great Malbro' led her conquering force Where nothing could retard his courſe, And ev'ry danger brav'd. William's high deeds a crown obta • 'd; A prince's title Malbro' gain'd: But greater is his claim— Thirteen United People's prayers, Their ſoldiers, hearts, their ſenate's cares, Are offer'd all for him. Propitious victory has ſpread A grove of laurels round his head, And peace his conqueſt crown'd: May no malignant ſpirit dare, With bainful breath, God grant my prayer, His fame or peace to wound. But may good angels near him wait, To bear him late, O very late, From hence to realms above; And may he be permitted there, As with his arm he freed us here, To ſpeed us with his love. Chorus—Blow the trumpet, &c.

RECITATIVE. Had I my favorite prior's happy vein, I'd ſing his triumphs in a noble ſtram; Naſſau or Malbro' ſhould not brighter ſhine In bolder figure, or a ſmoother line; Enſigns and trophies ſhou'd adorn his bowers, And Vernon's Mount riſe high as Blenheim's towers. Chorus—Blow the trumpet, &c.

To COLUMBIA's FAVORITE SON. GREAT Waſhington! the Hero's come, Each heart exulting, hears the ſound; Thouſands to their Deliverer throng, And ſhout him welcome all around. Now in full chorus join the ſong, And ſhout aloud great Waſhington. There view Columbia's favorite ſon. Her Father, Saviour, Friend, and Guide, There ſee th' immortal Waſhington, His country's glory, boaſt, and pride. Now in full chorus, &c. When th' impending ſtorm of war, Thick clouds and darkneſs hid our way— Great Waſhington, our polar ſtar, Aroſe—and all was light as day. Now in full chorus, &c. 'Twas on yon plains thy value roſe, And ran like fire, from man to man. 'Twas here thou humbled Paria's foes, And chac'd whole legions to the main. Now in full chorus, &c. Thro' countleſs dangers, toils, and cares, Our Hero led us ſafely on— With matchleſs ſkill directs the wars, 'Till victory cries—the day's his own. Now in full chorus, &c. His country ſav'd—the conteſt o'er, Sweet peace reſtor'd, his toils to crown. The warrior to his native ſhore Returns, and tills his fertile ground. Now in full chorus, &c. But ſoon Columbia call'd him forth, Again to ſave her ſinking fame, To take the helm, and by his worth, To make her an immortal name. Now in full chorus, &c. Nor yet alone through Paria's ſhores, Her fame—her mighty trumpet's blown, E'en Europe, Afric, Aſia hears And emulate the deeds he's done. Now in full chorus, &c.

ANTHEM, For the FOURTH of JULY. I. HAIL! the firſt, the greateſt bleſſing, God hath given to man below; Hail to freedom, independence, Boundleſs, boundleſs may they flow! Favor'd people, bleſt Columbia, happy nation, Freedom, peace, be ever thine. II. Give to God the pow'r and glory, Own 'twas his almighty hand, Which from Britain's iſle conducted, Patriot heroes to this land; Then a deſert, waſte and howling, then a deſert, Now the aſylum of the Earth. III. Who ſubdu'd the warlike ſavage, Nimrod hunter of the wood? Who, amid the ſtorm of battle, In the cloud or pillar ſtood? 'Twas Jehovah, 'twas Jehovah, 'twas Jehovah, Univerſal nature's Lord. IV. When a parent to the children Scorpions gave inſtead of bread, Who, educing good from evil, Hungry babes with plenty fed? Shout Jehovah, ſing Jehovah, ſhout Jehovah, Praiſes, praiſes be to him. V. High exalted, firmly ſeated, Independent, ſovereign, free, May Columbia's grateful millions Glory, Glory give to thee. Might, dominion, praiſes, bleſſing, glory, glory, All the glory, Lord, be thine. VI. Ev'ry nation, all the kingdoms, Bleſs, oh bleſs, eternal ſire! Man adoring; angels hymning, Rapture feeling, tranſports ſhouting, praiſes ſounding, Hail! they cry, amen! amen!

THE RAISING: A new Song for Federal Mechanics. I. COME muſter, my lads, your mechanical tools, Your ſaws and your axes, your hammers and rules; Bring your mallets and planes, your level and line, And plenty of pins of American pine; For our roof we will raiſe, and our ſong ſtill ſhall be, A Government firm, and our Citizens free. II. Come, up with the plates, lay them firm on the wall, Like the people at large, they're the ground-work of all; Examine them well, and ſee that they're ſound, Let no rotten parts in our building be found; For our roof we will raiſe, and our ſong ſtill ſhall be, Our Government firm, and our Citizens free. III. Now hand up the girders, lay each in his place, Between them the joiſts muſt divide all the ſpace; Like aſſembly-men, theſe ſhould lye level along, Like • irders, our ſenate prove loyal and ſtrong; For our roof we will raiſe, and our ſong ſtill ſhall be, A Covernment firm, over Citizens free. IV. The r • ſters now frame—your king-poſts and braces, And drive your pins home, to keep all in their places; Let wiſdom and ſtrength in the fabric combine, And your pins be all made of American pine; For our roof we will raiſe, and our ſong ſtill ſhall be, A Government firm, over Citizens free. V. Our king-poſts are judges—how upright they ſtand, Supporting the braces, the laws of the land; The laws of the land, which divide right from wrong, And ſtrengthen the weak, by weak'ning the ſtrong; For our roof we will raiſe, and our ſong ſtill ſhall be, Laws equal and juſt, for a People that's free. VI. Lo! Up with the rafters—each frame is a ſtate! How nobly they riſe! their ſpan, too, how great! From the north to the ſouth, o'er the whole they extend, And reſt on the walls, while the walls they defend! For our roof we will raiſe, and our ſong ſtill ſhall be, Combined in ſtrength, yet as Citizens free. VII. Now enter the purlins, and drive your pins through, And ſee that your joints are drawn home, and all true; The purlins will bind all the rafters together, The ſtrength of the whole ſhall defy wind and weather; For our roof we will raiſe, and our ſong ſtill ſhall be, United as States, but as Citizens free. VIII. Come, raiſe up the turret, our glory and pride; In the centre it ſtands, o'er the whole to preſide; The Sons of Columbia ſhall view with delight Its pillars and arches, and towering height; Our roof is now rais'd, and our ſong ſtill ſhall be, A federal Head, o'er a People ſtill free. IX. Huzza! my brave boys, our work is complete, The world ſhall admire Columbia's fair ſeat; Its ſtrength againſt tempeſt and time ſhall be proof, And thouſands ſhall come to dwell under our Roof. Whilſt we drain the deep bowl, our toaſt ſtill ſhall be, Our Government firm, and our Citizens free.

A SONG. HAIL, Freedom all hail! on the top of Mount Bleed, Where Grand Maſter Warren was deſtin'd to bleed, We ſaw thee in ſpirit with favor of Heav'n, The Hero and Patriot to whom it was giv'n, Mid clouds and thick darkneſs to lead forth the day, Which Europe new lightens with liberty's ray. Hail, Freedom, all hail! thy life kindling beams, Which broke on Monnt Breed, ſheds of reaſon the gleams, Ov'r kingdoms and nations loug hid from its light, Lo, darkneſs recedeth, and paſt is the night: To nature's wide limits thy ſplendour ſhall blaze, And myriads on millions ſalute thee with praiſe. Hail, Freedom, all hail! riſe on pinions out ſpread: From France be thy courſe thro' the Univerſe ſped; Teach monarchs and prieſts, with the nobles of earth, To own that from Heav'n ſprings Liberty's birth: Whilſt the ſouth and north, the eaſt and the weſt, With Liberty, Life, Peace, and Freedom are bleſt.

PATRIOTISM, An ODE, in honor of thoſe who diſtinguiſhed themſelves in the late WAR. YE patriots, liſten to my ſtrain, Nor thou, philoſophy, diſdain A theme, which every mind muſt raiſe; Which angels might deſeend to praiſe, Methinks I hear the ſong again, Glory to God, and Peace to Men. What merit ſhall I firſt record, The patriots' eloquence or ſword? Great Waſhington, in valor's field, Compell'd our haughty foes to yield. Franklin, in France, who mildly ſhone, Prov'd both Minervas are our own. Of thoſe who oft their courage tried, Who nobly liv'd, or nobly died. Good Waſhington we own ſupreme, The ſoldier's pride, the patriot's theme. He knew in battle to excel; The arts of peace he knows as well. How many deathleſs praiſe have won! Bold Adams—gentler Dickinſon— Hancock's determin'd ſoul, combin'd With Jefferſon's enlighten'd mind. Our breaſts with worth were taught to glow, And honor'd foreign Rochambeau. O France! thy virtues we confeſs; May Heaven reward thee with ſucceſs! Thy ſtruggles let the world revere; Fayette is thine—and canſt thou fear! France taught our haughty foes to bow; In freedom we inſtruct her now. Still let us ev'ry tribute give To thoſe who died, or thoſe who live; To thoſe who felt the battle's rage, Or now in peaceful arts engage. To Gates immortal praiſe be given, Whilſt Warren's ſpirits reſt in Heaven; Ye ſoldiers who in battle glow'd! Ye artiſts, who true genius ſhew'd! Ye ſtateſmen, firm at once and juſt, Whether ye live or reſt in duſt, The muſe ſhall crown you with applauſe: Great were your deeds, and juſt your cauſe. I ſing (attend me, age and youth!) The ſtrains of glory and of truth. See! a new government appears, Doubts to diſpel, and baniſh fears: And ſee! (whilſt rapture warms each breaſt) The ſtar of empire in the Weſt!

ON THE FOURTH OF JULY. ON the baſis of fame Columbia ſtands, Her pendants refulgent in foreign lands; Ages remote her exploits will extol, And waft the glad tidings from pole to pole. The records of Greece, and the annals of Rome, Are huſh'd in ſilence, and mute as the tomb. Since nature's grand fiat ſpoke realms to be, And chaos gave way to land and to ſea; A more lucid aera time ne'er enroll'd, Nor nations ſuch laurels did e'er behold. From the verge of ſpace to the centre of ſpheres, Columbia's thunders ſhall-wake diſtant fears; And th'oak, which now nods in foreſts unknown, Shall viſit all climes, and count them its own. Where Sol baths his ſteeds in the weſtern main, And from Indus's waves emerges again; The Stripes triumphant ſhall ride o'er the ſea, And the trumpet of fame echo us—free. May thoſe who preſide o'er councils and ſtates, With olives expanded, end our debates; And Ceres her gifts profuſely beſtow, 'Till the exit of time, and all things below.

ODE, ON THE FOURTH OF JULY. COME all ye ſons of ſong, Pour the full ſound along, In joyful ſtrains. Beneath theſe weſtern ſkies, See a new empire riſe, Burſting, with glad ſurpriſe, Tyrannick chains. Liberty, with keen eye, Pierc'd the blue vaulted ſky, Reſolv'd us free; From her imperial ſeat, Beheld the bleeding ſtate, Approv'd THIS DAY's debate, And firm decree. Sublime, in awful form, Amid the whirling ſtorm, The Goddeſs ſtood: She ſaw with pitying eye, War's tempeſt raging high, Our heroes bravely die, In fields of blood. High on his ſhining car, Mars, the ſtern god of war, Our ſtruggle bleſt. Soon victory wav'd her hand, Fair Fredom cheer'd the land, Led on Columbia's band, To glorious reſt. Now then, ye ſons of ſong, Pour the full ſound along; Who ſhall controul? For in this weſtern clime, Freedom ſhall riſe ſublime, 'Till ever changing time Shall ceaſe to roll!

SONG. A new Method of driving our Enemies without the expence of powder, ſhot, &c. as lately practiſed at Brighton (England.)

Tune—"Derry Down."

LET the foes of Great-Britain now wantonly brag, Let them ſhow their grim teeth, and their tails let them wag; For if Brighton's militia once have them in view, They'll be ſent away briſkly, with boo, d—me boo, Sing boo, boo, d—me, boo. 'Twas by that a wiſe Doctor was turn'd from the play, For preaching his duty, on a Sabbath day; Quick at him theſe glorious veterans ſlew, And made him retreat with a boo, d—me boo. Sing boo, &c. So after the Doctor was turn'd from the houſe, They proceeded to offer the ſame to his ſpouſe; She was puſh'd by the ſhoulder by one of the crew, With a "right about face, Madam," boo, d—me, boo. Sing boo, &c. Come then, let us rejoice, ſince a way we have got To deſtroy all our foes without powder or ſhot: We have no need in blood our brave hands to imbrue, For we'll ſend them all off with a boo, d—me, boo. Sing boo, &c. Let us heartily thank then, theſe ſons of defence, For ſhowing at once both their courage and ſenſe: Pray what more could contribute their wiſdom to ſhew, Than this learned expreſſion of boo, d—me, boo. Sing boo, &c, If the French ever dare on our coaſts to appear, We'll ſend them away with a flea in their ear; To our fears and our foes then we'll all bid adieu, As we're ſo well defended by boo, d—me, boo. Sing boo, &c.

THE DISH OF TEA. LET ſome in grog place their delight, O'er bottled porter waſte the night, Or ſip the roſy wine; A diſh of tea—more pleaſes me, Yields ſofter joys—provokes leſs noiſe, And breeds no baſe deſign. From China's clime this preſent brought, Enlivens every power of thought, Rigs many a ſhip for ſea; Old maids it warms—young widows charms, And miſſes' men—not one in ten, But court them for their tea. When throbbing pains aſſail my head, And dulneſs o'er my brain is ſpread, The muſe no longer kind; A ſingle ſip—diſpels the hyp, To chaſe the gloom—freſh ſpirits come, The flood-tide of the mind. When worn with toil, or vext with care, Let Suſan but this draught prepare, And I forget my pain; This magic bowl—revives the ſoul, With gentle ſway—bids care be gay, Nor mounts to croud the brain. If learned men the truth would ſpeak, They priſe it far beyond their Greek, More fond attention pay; No Hebrew root—ſo well can ſuit, More quickly taught—leſs dearly bought, And ſtudied twice a day. This leaf from diſtant regions ſprung, Puts life into the female tongue, And aids the cauſe of love. Such power has tea—o'er bond and free, Which prieſts admire—delights the 'ſquire, And Galen's ſons approve.

"MARCHE DES MARSEILLOIS,"

Attempted in Engliſh.

ARISE ye generous youths of France, And mark the glory of this day; 'Gainſt us the tyrant throng advance, And high the bloody flag diſplay. (twice.) Our field ferocious hirelings dare, And ſend fierce howlings to the ſky; They come! and from your arms they tear Your pratling babes, who bleeding die! To arms, ye patriot band, In firm battalions riſe; March on, march on, Leſt blood diſguiſe Your own native land. We march, we march, Leſt blood diſguſſe Our own native land. What would this herd of conjur'd kings, Vile ſlaves and traitors, ghaſtly throng • For whom the chain ignoble brings The bondage we have ſuffered long. (twice.) In vengeance, French, let every breaſt With ſwelling tranſport ceaſeleſs burn, Fair freedom teaches to deteſt The ſlavery they bid return. To arms, &c. What! would theſe proud outlandiſh foes Be legiſlators in our land? What! would theſe hireling crowds oppoſe And lay in duſt our warlike band! (twice.) Great God! ſhall then the enſlaving rod Subject us to our former ſtate? Shall a vile deſpot's ſov'reign nod Decide at will our abject fate! To arms, &c. Our warriors now the glory ſhare, By them you fall, by them ſucceed; Spare then the wretched victims, ſpare, We arm to die or make you bleed. (twice.) But lo! theſe ſanguinary lords Joyous exert their ſavage pow'r, Theſe bloody tygers lift their ſwords, And their own country's peace devour. To arms, &c. Tremble, proud tyrants, traitors bluſh, Quick, quick reſign the victor's plume, The arm of juſtice, rais'd to cruſh, Deſcends, and you muſt meet your doom. (twice.) All, all are ſoldiers now in France, And ſhould we fall, new legions riſe, Our youth to join the fight advance, And learn all danger to deſpiſe. To arms, &c. [THE CHILDREN.] With joy we will aſſume the truſt, When down death's hill our fathers roll, Then ſhall we find their ſacred duſt Will animate th' aſpiring ſoul. (twice.) Leſs zealous to ſurvive our ſires, Than ſhare the death we all contemn, Their ſons a glorious pride inſpires T'avenge their wrongs, or follow them. To arms, &c. Oh! "ſacred love of country," aid Our vengeful arms, our footſteps guide; And Liberty, celeſtial maid, Adhere to thy defenders' ſide. (twice.) When victory our tents ſhall leave, To ſpread the joyous tidings round, Thy triumph and our fame ſhall give Our enemies their dying wound. To arms, &c. Our native ſoil and ſocial love Together limit our deſires; Then ever let our ſouls improve The glow the virtuous wiſh inſpires. (twice.) By union ſhall our pow'r increaſe, Our enemies ſhall hug their chains, And then the happy French ſhall ceaſe To chant the harſh incongruous ſtrain. To arms, &c.

A SONG. On the FOURTH of JULY.

[Tune—Great Waſhington.]

HAIL thou auſpicious day, Long may America Thy praiſe reſound; This is a nation's birth, Freemen come raiſe your mirth, See tyrants quit the earth, When Freedom's found. Now eighteen years are ſpent Since (O the great event) America was freed; We deſpots did withſtand, And drove the ſlaviſh band, And in Columbia's land Made tyrants bleed. Behold brave Gallia's ſons, They fear not dukes nor dons, Princes nor ſlaves; They Freedom will maintain, 'Till they their rights obtain, Great vict'ry ſhall they gain, In ſpite of knaves. May Heaven their cauſe ſtill bleſs, And grant their arms ſucceſs, Down be kings hurl'd; May all their rulers prove, Men who fair Freedom love, May deſpots all be drove Out of the world. Pruſſians will fight no more, Auſtrians will ſoon give o'er, And quit the field; Dutchmen are weary grown, Spaniards their weakneſs own, Britons may fight alone, But ſoon ſhall yield. See Britain's glory fade, Ever by knaves betray'd, While kings remain; But ſoon the cry ſhall ſpread, "Down with the monarchs' head, "Mankind muſt no more dread Prieſtcraft nor chains." Frenchmen your courage raiſe, You ſhall have laſting praiſe All the world round: Millions unborn ſhall bleſs Your acts of faithfulneſs, Diſpelling wretchedneſs Where men are bound. Dem'crats, we bid you hail! Ne'er let the ſpirit fail Of ſeventy-ſix. If tories ſhould intrude, Baniſh their envious brood, This will prove laſting good, Peace firm to fix. Americans all rejoice, Raiſe up your cheerful voice, Let cannon roar; Tell princes, lords, and kings, Freedom each bleſſing brings, Hark how her glory rings, All the world o'er.

AN ODE, For the FOURTH of JULY.

(To the Tune of Columbia.)

AMERICA's birth day bids Freemen ariſe, And ſound in loud triumph her fame to the ſkies; Independence! thy ſtandard to Liberty's ſhore Shall ever be welcome 'till time is no more. May feſtive oblations forever adorn The Fourth of July, the bright ſtar of our morn; And may each Annivers'ry illumine the mind, And knowledge diffuſe thro' the maſs of mankind. May the Ruler of nations bid diſcord to ceaſe In our Cougreſs and Senate, and bleſs us with Peace; And may infinite wiſdom inſpire them to plan Such laws as inſure the Divine Rights of Man! May the deſpots of Europe, with armies combin'd Againſt ſacred Freedom, defeats ever find; May diſcord in council their diets confound, And their ſubjects awake at fair Liberty's found. May wiſdom direct the Convention of France, Pure Liberty's cauſe and Man's Rights' to advance; May her armies, ſtill firm and united as one, Complet in full conqueſt the taſk they've begun. May virtue ſecure us from evils to come, From tyrants abroad, and from deſpots at home; May the foes of Columbia be cruſh'd in the duſt, 'Till haughty Great-Britain ſhall learn to be juſt!

AN ODE. For the FOURTH of JULY. 'TIS done! the edict paſt by Heav'n decreed, And Hancock's name confirms the glorious deed. On this auſpicious morn Was Independence born, Propitious day! Hail the United States of bleſt America. CHORUS. Fly, ſwift wing'd fame, The news proclaim; From ſhore to ſhore, Let cannons roar, And joyful voices ſhout Columbia's name. See haughty Britain, ſending hoſts of foes, With vengeance arm'd, our Freedom to oppoſe; But Waſhington the Great, Diſpell'd impending fate, And ſpurn'd each plan; Americans, combine to hail the god-like man! Fly, ſwift wing'd fame, &c. Let Saratoga's crimſon plains declare The deeds of Gates, that "thunder-bolt of war;" His trophies grac'd the field, He made whole armies yield— A vet'ran band; In vain did Burgoyne ſtrive his valor to withſtand. Fly, ſwift wing'd fame, &c. Now York-Town's heights attract our wond'ring eyes, Where loud artill'ry rends the lofty ſkies: There Waſhington commands, With Gallia's choſen bands, A wat-like train; Like Homer's conquering gods, they thunder o'er the plain. Fly, ſwift wing'd fame, &c. Pale terror marches on, with ſolemn ſtride, Cornwallis trembles, Britain's boaſted pride; He, and his armed hoſts, Surrender all their poſts To Waſhington, The friend of Liberty—Columbia's favorite ſon. Fly, ſwift wing'd fame, &c. Now from Mount Vernon's peaceful ſhades again The Hero comes, with thouſands in his train; 'Tis Waſhington the Great Muſt fill the chair of ſtate, Columbia cries; Each tongue the glorious name re-echoes to the ſkies. Fly, ſwift wing'd fame, &c. Now ſhall the uſeful arts of peace prevail, And commerce flouriſh, favor'd by each gale; Diſcord forever ceaſe! Let Liberty and Peace And Juſtice reign; For Waſhington protects the ſcientific train, Fly, ſwift wing'd fame, &c.

COLUMBIA RELIEVED.

Tune—The Death of General Wolfe.

TO a mouldering cavern, the manſion of woe, Columbia did often repair; She tore the freſh laurel that bloom'd on her brow, And threw it aſide in deſpair. She wept for the fate of her ſons that were ſlain, When the flames of fierce battle were ſpread, When diſcord and carnage, relaxing the reign, Rode ſmiling o'er mountains of dead. II. As thus the bright Goddeſs revolv'd in her breaſt The wrongs which her country had borne, A form more than human the Genius addreſt, "Ah ceaſe, fair Columbia, to mourn. Now liſt up thine eyes, and thy records behold, Inſcrib'd in the archives of fame, The Fourth of July, in rich letters of gold, Foretells the renown of thy name. III. From the caverns of darkneſs thy day-ſpring ſhall dawn, Ye kings and ye tyrants, beware; Your names ſhall decay like the vapours of morn, Or vaniſh in phantoms of air: They temple, O Freedom, with grandeur ſhall riſe, Unſhaken by tyranny's blaſt; Its baſis the earth, and its ſummit the ſkies, And firm as creation ſhall laſt." CHORUS. Then rouſe, fair Columbia, to glory aſpire; All nature with tranſport ſhall gaze: E'en now the dark ſhadows of diſcord retire, And Europe is loſt in thy blaze.

GOD ſave great WASHINGTON. TO Heaven's empyreal height Did miniſters of light Their ſeats aſcend; A glorious Order ſhone Around th' Almighty throne, Who thus his will made known; Angels attend! II. Mankind on earth below Shall more enlighten'd grow; Be this our care; The world ſhall now be free, Columbia, firſt to thee We give the ſacred tree; Preſerve it fare. III. He ceas'd and ſnook the ſpheres; With loud applauding cheers All nature rung: Seraphs the concert join'd, And heaven and earth combin'd, And with enraptur'd mind His praiſes ſung. IV. To guide us through the war, Virginia's blazing ſtar Beam'd bright its rays: Tyrants beheld the ſight, And ſtruck with wild affright, Like the pale bird of night, In morning blaze. V. Diſcord abounds no more, Nor leaves our fields in gore; She's broke her chains: The gentle voice of peace Bids all commotions ceaſe, And plenty's rich increaſe Adorns our plains. VI. O! may this fabric ſtand, And may its name expand 'Till nature dies: When earth's majeſtic frame Shall ſink abſorb'd in flame, And Waſhington's bright fame To Heaven ſhall riſe.

SONG. COME, come, my friends, let's hail the day, That broke our chains, and ſet us free; May all the nations quick advance, And fix their rights, like us and France! America was young and ſtrong; Not rich, but generous was the throng Of free born lads, who flew to arms— Ye deſpots ſay, has freedom charms? They fought, they bled—ſometimes were beat, Yet never made a baſe retreat; Let Trenton's ſtreets, and Princeton prove The force of Liberty and Love. Our wiſes, our children, left behind, We graſp'd our arms, the foe to find: And Brimus' heights, and Yorktown's field May tell how mercenaries yield. Fill up the glaſſes, toaſt to France, May ſhe to ſtrength and fame advance; May commerce all her ſtore increaſe, And all her ſtruggles end in peace.

ODE TO PEACE. COME, peace of mind, delightful gueſt! Return, and make thy downy neſt Once more in this ſad heart: Nor riches I, nor pow'r purſue, Nor hold forbidden joys in view, We, therefore, need not part. Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me, From av'rice and ambition free, And pleaſure's fatal wiles? For whom, alas! doſt thou prepare The ſweets that I was wont to ſhare, The banquet of thy ſmiles? The great, the gay, ſhall they partake The heav'n alone that thou canſt make? And wilt thou quit the ſtream That murmurs through the dewy mead, The grove and the ſequeſter'd ſhed, To be a gueſt with them? For thee I panted, thee I priz'd For thee I gladly ſacrific'd Whate'er I lov'd before; And ſhall I ſee thee ſtart away, And helpleſs, hopeleſs, hear thee ſay, "Farewell, we meet no more!"

A NEW SONG. I. WHILST ſycophantic trembling ſlaves To deſpots bend the knee, Fair Gallia ev'ry danger braves, Determin'd to be free. With eager joy, her ſons we meet, To take them by the hand; For Freedom's ſons, in ev'ry clime, Will by each other ſtand. II. With ſmiles by ſome you'll be receiv'd, Whilſt in proſperity; But gallant friends! be not deceiv'd By foul hypocriſy. Truſt none but thoſe who've ſteadily Held forth a friendly hand; Such men (let fortune ſmile or frown) Will by each other ſtand. III. What! tho' oppreſſion's imps may join Your freedom to annoy; What! tho' tyrannic friends combine That freedom to deſtroy: Yet ſhall celeſtial Liberty Conduct you by the hand, And Democratic Citizens Will by each other ſtand. IV. Againſt thoſe execrable foes Deſtruction ſhall be hurl'd; And may your ſalutary blows Regenerate the world; Then ſhall our two Republics firm, United hand in hand, Progreſs towards eternity, And by each other ſtand. V. Your efforts crown'd with victory, Deſpots are trembling ſeen! And may each tyrant ſpeedily Obtain a guillotine; Then ſhall fair Peace, with Liberty, Cloſe joining hand in hand, Succeed to war, and diſcord fell, And by each other ſtand.

ODE, ON THE FOURTEENTH OF JULY. THE red arm of ſlaughter is ſtretch'd o'er the plain, But Liberty ſprings from the blood of the ſlain; Baſe tyranny trembles, and cruelty fails, As bright to the world ſhe her ſtandard unveils; To the earth's utmoſt verge ſhall her power extend, And her ſmile the hard reign of oppreſſion ſhall end. On this day remember the black fabric The Baſtile. fell, By tyrants invented, curſt emblem of hell; Where hid from the light, and confin'd from the air, Conſum'd the pale victims of frantic deſpair; Where anguiſh, unpitied, was heard to complain, And innocence ſuffer'd the wheel and the chain. 'Tis paſt, and on adament records ſhall ſtand The day that ſhed light on the gloom of the land, While gratitude loudly to fame ſhall proclaim, With heart proudly ſwelling, each patriot name, Who, fearleſs of danger, ruſh'd on to ſecure That Freedom which Heaven decrees ſhall endure. Who fall in this cauſe, are tranſlated on high, Where glory prepares them rewards in the ſky; The turf which enwraps them, ſhall oft be bedew'd With the tears of the beauteous, the brave, and the good; Senſibility breathing her incenſe divine, Round their urns ſhall th' laurel unfading entwine. Thy cauſe, ſacred freedom, ſhall ever ſucceed, While patriots have boſoms to feel and to bleed; Not a tear-drop for ſelf ſhall e'er ruſh to their eye, For their Country they fight, and for Liberty die; Purſue then, ye heroes, the glorious plan, Which gives to the People the true Rights of Man.

AN ODE.

Tune—The Hero comes.

WHEN firſt the mitre's wrath to ſhun, Our grandſires travell'd with the ſun, Columbia's wilds they ſought from far, And Freedom ſhone their guiding ſtar. Freedom, &c. CHORUS. Seize thy clarion, fame, Let the poles proclaim Each illuſtrious name That croſs'd the pathleſs wave; Join, ye martial throng, Fame's immortal ſong, Bid the chorus roll along, Long live the brave. In battle brave, in council wiſe, They bade the ſchool of valour riſe, Whoſe pupils aw'd th' aſtoniſh'd world, And Freedom's ſacred flag unfurl'd, Freedom's, &c. CHORUS. Seize thy clarion, ſame, Let the poles proclaim Each illuſtrious name That bade theſe banners wave; Join, &c. While o'er our fields with havoc dy'd, Bellona roll'd her crimſon tide, Like beauty's lovely goddeſs, roſe Bright Freedom, from our ſea of woes. Freedom, &c. CHORUS. Seize thy clarion, fame, Let the poles proclaim Every Hero's name, That dar'd our rights to ſave; Join, &c. Well ſkill'd to guide the helm of ſtate, Like Howard good, like Chatham great, A chief was ours, of deathleſs ſame, And Hancock was the god-like name. Hancock, &c. CHORUS. Seize thy clarion, fame, Let the poles proclaim Hancock's glorious name, Whoſe ſoul diſdain'd the ſlave; Join, &c. Columbia wept—the Virtues ſigh'd— And Freedom mourn'd when Hancock died; While choirs of Seraphs ſung on high, He's welcome to his native ſky. Welcome, &c. CHORUS. Seize thy clarion, ſame, Let the poles proclaim, Hancock's deathleſs name Has tri • ph'd o'er the grave; Join, &c. To arms! to arms! when Freedom calls, No pang the Hero's breaſt appals; But when the trumpet's clangours ceaſe, Let Virtue tune the lute of peace. Virtue, &c. CHORUS. Seize thy clarion, fame, Let the poles proclaim, Freedom's glorious flame Shall ſoon inſpire the ſlave; Join, ye martial throng, Fame's immortal ſong, Bid the chorus roll along, Long live the brave!

ODE TO TYRANTS.

Peter Pindar, with his poetical broomſtick, belaboreth foreign tyrants—Taketh the pa • t of the oppreſſed poor—Aſheth tyrants knotty and puzzling queſtions —Giveth a ſpeech of Cato—Peter ſeriovſly informeth them that they are not like the Lord—Peter taketh a ſurvey of the furniture of their heads—Peter ſolemnly declareth that the million doth not like to be ridden— Growth an inſolent ſpeech of tyrants, and • alleth them high way men—The Taylor and the ſatin breeches— The Shoe maker and the ſhoes—Peter lamenteth that there ſhould be ſome who think it a ſin to reſiſt tyrants—Adviſeth them to read Aeſop's fables.

WHO, and what are you, ſceptred bullies?— ſpeak, That millions to your will muſt bow the neck, And, ox-like, meanly take the galling yoke? Philoſophers, your ignorance deſpiſe; E'en folly, laughing, lifts her maudlin eyes, And freely on your wiſdom cracks her joke. How dare you on the men of labor tread, Whoſe honeſt toils ſupply your mouths with bread: Who, groaning, ſweating, like ſo many hacks, Work you the very cloaths upon your backs? Cloaths of calamity, I fear, That hold in ev'ry ſtitch a tear. Who ſent you?—Not the Lord who rules on high, Sent you to man on purpoſe from the ſky, Becauſe of wiſdom it is not a proof; Show your credentials, Sirs: if you refuſe, Terrific gentlemen, our ſmiles excuſe, Belief moſt certainly will keep aloof. Old virtuous rugged Cato, on a day, Thus to the ſoothſayers was heard to ſay, "Augurs! by all the Gods it is ſhame To gull the mole-ey'd million at this rate; Making of gaping blockheads ſuch a game, Pretending to be hand and glove with fate! On guts and garbage when ye meet, To carry on the holy cheat, How is it ye preſerve that ſolemn grace, Nor burſt with laughter in each other's face?" Thus to your courtiers, Sirs, might I exclaim, "In wonder's name, How can ye meanly grov'ling bow the head, To pieces of gilt ginger-bread, Fetch, carry, ſawn, kneel, ſlatter, crawl, tell lies, To pleaſe the creature that ye ſhould deſpiſe?" Tyrants, with all your pow'r and wide dominion, Ye ar'n't a whit like Cod, in my opinion; Though you think otherwiſe, I do preſume; Hot to the marrow with the ruling luſt, Fancying your crouching ſubjects ſo much duſt, Your loſty ſelves the mighty ſweeping broom. Open the warehouſes of all your brains; Come, Sirs, turn out—let's ſee what each contains; Heav'ns how ridiculous! what motley ſtuff! Shut, quickly ſhut again the brazen doo • s; Too much of balderdaſh the eye explores; Yes, ſhut them, ſhut them, wo have ſeen enough. Are theſe the beings to beſtride a world? To ſuch ſad beaſts, has God his creatures hurl'd? Men want not tyrants—overbearing knaves; Deſpots that wiſh to rule a realm of ſlaves; Proud to be gaz'd at by a reptile race: Charm'd with the muſic of their clanking chains, Pleas'd with the • ng of ſtate that clouds their brains, Who cry with all the impudence of face, "Behold your gods!—down raſcals on your knees; Your money, miſcreants—quick, no words, no ſtrife; Your lands too, ſcoundrels, vermin, lice, bugs, ſleas; And thank our mercy that allows you life!" Thus ſpeaks the highwayman in purple pride, On ſlavery's poor gall'd back ſo wont to ride. Who would not laugh to ſee a taylor bow Submiſſive to a pair of ſatin breeches? Saying, "O breeches, all men muſt allow There's ſomething in your aſpect that bewitches! "Let me admire you, breeches, crown'd with glory; And though I made you, let me ſtill adore ye: Though a rump's humble ſervant, form'd for need, To keep it warm, yet, Lord! you are ſo fine, I cannot think you are my work indeed— Though merely mortal, • o, you ſeem divine!" Who would not quick exclaim, "the taylor's mad?" Yet tyrant adoration is as bad. See! Criſpin make a pair of handſome ſhoes, Silk and beſpangled, ſuch as ladies uſe— Suppoſe the ſhoes ſo proud, upon each heel, Peak it in Criſpin's face, with ſaucy pride, And all the meanneſs of his trade deride, And all the ſtate of ſelf-importance feel; Tell him the diſtance between them and him; Criſpin would quickly cry, "a pretty whim! "Confound your little bodies, though ſo fine, Is not the ſilk and ſpangles that ye boaſt, Put on you at my proper coſt? Whatever's on ye, is it not all mine? Did not I put you thus together pray?" What could the ſimple ſhoes in anſwer ſay? There too are ſome (thank Heaven they do not ſwarm) Who deem it ſoul to ſtay a tyrant's arm, That falls with fate upon their humble ſculls; Some for a deſpot's rod have heav'd a ſigh! Let ſuch on wiſer Aeſop caſt an eye, And read the fable of the frogs—the fools.

Burke's Addreſs to the SWINISH The following paſſage is extracted verbatum from Mr. Burke's reflections on the French Revolution, page 117—"Along with its natural protectors and guardians, learning will be caſt into the mire, and trodden under the hoofs of a ſwiniſh multitude." MULTITUDE.

Tune—Derry Down, &c.

YE vile ſwiniſh herd in the ſty of taxation, What would you be after? diſturbing the nation: Give over your grunting, be off to your ſty, Nor dare to look up, if a king paſſes by. Get you down! down! down! keep you down. Do you know what a king is? by Patrick I'll tell you— He has power in his pocket to buy and to fell you, To make you all ſoldiers, or keep you at work, To hang you, and cure you for ham or ſalt pork. Get you down, &c. Do you think a king is no more than a man? Ye brutiſh, ye ſwiniſh, irrational clan; I ſwear by his office, his right is divine, To flog you, and feed you, and treat you like ſwine. Get you down, &c. To be ſure I have ſaid (but I ſpoke it abrupt) That the ſtate is defective, and alſo corrupt; Yet remember I told you, with caution to peep (For ſwine at a diſtance we prudently keep.) Get you down, &c. Now the church and the ſtate, to keep each other warm, Are married together, and where is the harm? How healthy and wealthy are huſband and wife! But ſwine are excluded the conjugal life. Get you down, &c. The ſtate, it is true, have grown fat upon ſwine, And church's weak ſtomach on tithe pig can dine; But neither, you know, as they roaſt at the fire Have a right to find fault with the cooks, or inquire. Get you down, &c. What uſe do we make of your money, you ſay? Why, the firſt law of nature—we take our own pay, And next on our friends a few penſions beſtow, And to you we apply, when our treaſures run low. Get you down, &c. Conſider our boroughs, ye grumbling ſwine, At corruption and taxes they never repine; If we only proclaim, "Ye are happy"—they ſay, "We are happy"—believe, and be happy as they. Get you down, &c. What know ye of commons, of kings, or of lords, But what the dim light of taxation affords? Be contented with that—and no more of your rout, Or a new proclamation ſhall muzzle your ſnout. Get you down, &c. And now for the ſun, or the light of the day, "It does not belong to a Pitt," you will ſay: I tell you be ſilent, and huſh all your jars, Or he'll charge you a farthing a piece for the ſtars. Get you down, &c. Here's myſelf, and his Darkneſs, and Henry Dundaſs, Scotch, Engliſh, and Iriſh, with fronts made of braſs; A cord platted threefold, will ſtand a good pull, Againſt Sawney and Patrick, and Old Johnny Bull. Get you down, &c. To conclude—then no more about man and his rights, Tom Paine, and a rabble of liberty lights, That you are but our ſwine, if ye ever forget, We'll throw you alive to the horrible Pitt, Get you down, &c.

CHARMING KITTY. THO' many a nymph may claim my ſong, For ſhape and grace, and feature handſome; Yet, Kate, ſuch charms to thee belong, As well are worth a monarch's ranſom: And had I India's wealth in ſtore, I'd ſhun with joy the court or city; And live ſequeſter'd evermore With thee, ſweet maid, my charming Kitty. I many an acre, Kate, can boaſt, Large tracts of land, and golden treaſure; Then come, ſweet girl, I love thee moſt, I'll lay it at thy feet with pleaſure. For thee I'll e'en the ſex reſign— The fair, the brown, the gay, the witty; If thou'lt be mine, and only mine, Sweet ruſtic maid, my charming Kitty. Then leave the ſhepherds, bonny Kate; Lay by thy crook, each care give over; And let me henceforth on thee wait, A taſk, how pleaſing to a Lover! My life I'll dedicate to thee, And ſing thee oft a tender ditty, If thou'lt conſent to live with me, Sweet ruſtic maid, my charming Kitty.

ON BEAUTY. EXULTING Beauty! phantom of an hour! Whoſe magic ſpells enchain the heart; Ah! what avails thy faſcinating power, Thy thrilling ſmile, thy witching art? Soon as thy radiant form is ſeen, Thy native grace, thy timid mien, Thy hour is paſt—thy charms are vain; Pale Envy haunts thee with her meagre train, Deluſive Flattery cheats thy liſt'ning ear, And Slander ſtains thy cheek with Sorrow's bitter tear. So have I ſeen an infant flow'r Beſpangled o'er with ſilv'ry dew, At purple dawn's refreſhing hour Glow with warm tints of Tyrian hue. Beneath an aged oak's wide-ſpreading ſhade, Where no rude winds, or beating ſtorms invade: Tranſplanted from its lonely bed, No more it ſcatters ſweets around, No more it rears its fragrant head, No more its ſparkling tears begem the ground: For ah! the beauteous flow'r, too ſoon Scorch'd by the burning glare of day, Faints, at the ſultry glow of noon, Droops its enamel'd head—and, bluſhing, dies away.

A SONG, Written at an Inn at Henley. TO thee, fair freedom, I retire, From flattery, cards, and dice and din; Nor art thou found in manſions higher Than the low cot, or humble Inn. 'Tis here with boundleſs pow'r I reign, And ev'ry health which I begin, Converts dull port to bright champagne, Such pleaſure crowns it at an Inn. I fly from pomp, I fly from plate, I fly from falſhood's ſpecious grin, Freedom I love, and form I hate, And chooſe my lodgings at an Inn: Here waiter, take my ſordid ore, Which lacqueys elſe might hope to win; It buys what kings have not in ſtore, It buys me pleaſure at an Inn. Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round, Where'er his ſtages may have been, May ſigh to think he ſtill has found The warmeſt welcome at an Inn.

LINES, From a diſappointed Lover to his obdurate Miſtreſs, after recovering from his paroxyſm of Love. AN angel of the darkeſt hue, Sent here from Satan's realm below, Would torture leſs by far than you, Maria, author of my woe. For you, by necromantick art, My ſoul did fill with dire deſpair; Of vivid joy bereft my heart, And plac'd it in corroding care. But now each charm, each winning grace, Which once my raviſh'd ſoul did pleaſe, And all the beauties of thy face, Have no effect—my mind's at eaſe. No more on bended knee I crave On me to look with piteous eye; No more I beg my life to ſave, No more ſhalt thou my ſuit deny. For, on thoſe ſparkling eyes ſo black, And lips ſo ſweet of roſy hue, And breaſts of ſnow, I've turn'd my back, Care not a fig for them or you.

HOPE. WHEN ſtranded on ſome deſart coaſt, Where hungry tygers roar, The Sailor hopes—though all is loſt, To reach his native ſhore. The Captive in ſome priſon drear, Oppreſt with grief and pain, Still fondly hopes, the coming year, His freedom to retain. The Lover, wretched and forlorn, Who now dejected roves, Yet hopes, on ſome auſpicious morn, To gain the Maid he loves. Thus Hope, thro'life, enchanting pow'r! Enlivens ev'ry breaſt; And ev'n in Death's terrific hour, Beguiles the ſoul to reſt.

A NEW SONG. PRAY kiſs me, gentle Chloe cry'd, For I am weak and tender! I will, my dear, the Swain reply'd, Forbearing to offend her. Then cloſely ſhutting both his lips, (Regarding well his honor) Her roſy mouth he lightly ſips, And fixt his eyes upon her. "O fie! (ſays ſhe) you make me bluſh, Be quick and have it over, I would not give a ſingle ruſh For ſuch a teazing lover." At length, inſtructed how to pleaſe, (Reſolving not to mind her) He preſt her cloſer by degrees, And found the damſel kinder.

SONG. AT THE CLOSE OF HARVEST. WITH thankful hearts and cheerful voice, Let all the nymphs and ſwains rejoice, And ſinging merry make; The plenteous harveſt now ſecure, Let old and young the pleaſures pure Of rural life partake. The barns now fill'd with hay and grain, To ſpend when ſtorms of ſnow and rain Wide devaſtation brings; Each breaſt let gratitude poſſeſs, Each willing foul forever bleſs The Giver of good things. Set round the board like chriſtian friends, Let us partake what Heaven ſends, The produce of the earth: Let foreign ſpirits ne'er intrude, To make us angry, rough, or rude, And poiſon all our mirth. The jovial ſong and lively dance, The joys of human life advance, Let no one then be ſad; Why with dull ſuperſtition's cloud, Should we th'Almighty's image ſhroud, When ſcripture bids be glad? Then let the hardy jovial ſwain, That lately mow'd the flow'ry plain, Unbend himſelf awhile; And Suſan quit her ſpinning wheel, And join to dance the country reel, Forgetting all her toil. The contemplative mind of age, And ſedate philoſophic ſage, Will join the ſocial band: While muſic's moſt enchanting ſound, And joy and virtue dance around, Forever hand in hand.

THE COQUETTE. HAVE I then committed treaſon? Why does Celia pout and fret? Damon ſure you know the reaſon— Every beauty's a Coquette. Why does Chloe ſcorn her lover, When my lord will flirting ſit? Sure 'tis eaſy to diſcover Pretty Chloe's a Coquette. Sylvia lips and thinks it pretty, A • her why, ſhe's in a pet; I grant you faith it is a pity, Yet Sylvia too is a Coquette. Ancient Sylla borrows graces (Every charm long out of date) Yet with youthful air ſhe paces, And is ſtill an old Coquette. Lucia, long in anguiſh ſighing, With the archer blind beſet, Wipes her eyes, forgets her crying, Paſſing now a grand Coquette. Never wonder, gentle Damon, Pretty Celia's airs forget, Tis inth y • n our only way, man; All exclaim ſhe's a Coquette.

AN ODE ON MUSIC. • ET Muſic's ſons rejoice, Her daughters join their voice, And all combine; Muſic, enchanting name, Thou doth our hearts inflame, Thy praiſe we will proclaim In ſongs divine. Muſic, thou pleaſing theme, On us thy beauties beam, And tune our lay; Thou will the foul refine To raptures all divine, 'Till we ſhall riſe and ſhine In endleſs day. Then do thou worthy Lamb, Who did'ſt our ſouls redeem From burning pains, Accept the ſongs we bring, Thou dear Almighty King, Thy praiſe we'll ſhout and ſing In endleſs ſtrains. While in this dark abode, Teach us, O God, the road To joys on high; There we'll our voices raiſe In moſt enraptur'd lays; The loftieſt note of praiſe Shall never die. Dear Lamb, who once was ſlain, With thee we'll live and reign To endleſs days; Muſic ſhall fill our tongue, Angels aſſiſt the ſong, While all the bliſsful throng Reſound thy praiſe.

ADDRESS TO THE GODDESS OF LOVE. THOU lovely daughter of the ſea, Smile now propitious upon me, And dry this gliſt'ning tear; Quick do thou my fond ſuit convey, With faireſt flowers ſtrew all the way To her I love moſt dear. While Phoebus' aids buckle his car, Steal ſoftly from thy Sylvan war, And take a lover's part: Send, ſend thy little boy before, With darts and arrows in full ſtore, To captivate her heart. Let the ſweet muſic of the grove, With am'rous doves ſurround my love, To raiſe the flame of joy! So ſhall I tread Elyſian ground, And ev'ry thing be rapture found, All bliſs without alloy.

DELIA—A SONG. DELIA, for thee I'd ſeek the fire Of millions 'volv'd in deadly war; Nor from the field would I retire, 'Till death or vict'ry crown'd my car. Tho' cannons ſound, And balls rebound; Tho' helmets meet, And troops retreat, It ſhould within no tremors raiſe, No ſigh ſhould draw, no tear ſhould cauſe, But in the ſun's all parching blaze I'd wield my ſword, and ſeek applauſe; Tho' Heaven's high arch, Deep veil'd, and dark With thunder roar'd, And lightning ſhower'd, I'd firm remain amidſt the field, Wide o'er the plain purſue my foe; 'Till in the combat he ſhould yield, Or ſtrike the laſt deciſive blow. If ſhe approv'd, She whom I lov'd, For one kind ſmile Would pay my toil. Young Cupid has ſo aim'd his dart, And Delia ſo impreſs'd my ſoul, That I've reſign'd to her my heart, For ſhe alone can bear controul. So life's a jeſt, A plague at beſt, Unleſs ſhe'll prove A friend to love. Her voice can ſooth the found of death, Can rob the grave of ev'ry ill. Like Hermon's dew deſcends her breath, And ſweetens life's all pois'ning pill. Delia, be kind, For I'm reſign'd To gloomy care And wild deſpair. To the cold manſions of the tomb, For I can bear misfortune's frown, And all the ills of life to come, If you will but the Stranger own. If you will rove To Hymen's grove, And heart with hand Confirm the band.

AN ODE, For the FOURTH of JULY. HAIL lovely maid! Hail power divine! Hail Independence! at whoſe ſhrine The juſt do tribute pay; May thy bright rays each patriot fire, May earth-born ſouls to thee aſpire, And hail th'auſpicious Day. On Europe's myſtic ſhore enchain'd By deſpots' mandates there reſtrain'd, By ſuperſtition bound; Columbus, like the orient morn, Aroſe, diſpell'd the black'ning ſtorm, And leap'd the gulph profound. The Curlew ſcream'd, the Tritons blew, While croſs th'Atlantic ſwift they flew, To reach Veſpacia's clime; The ſea-gods roſe from ocean's bed, The patriot band in ſafety led The radiant maid divine. The Dryads hail their Heaven-born gueſt, And Freedom rear'd its fulgent creſt, And hail'd the auſpicious rite; The clarions loud from ſtate to ſtate Fair Independence verberate, When firſt ſhe ſaw the light. The mandates of great Jove's obey'd, The wood-nymphs ſeize the infant maid, Like wiſdom fair ſhe ſtands; As rolling years matur'd her age, With bold oppreſſion ſhe engag'd, And burſt deſpotic bands. This day, this bleſt propitious day, The rolls of light ſhe did diſplay, Aſſerted Freedom's cauſe; She broke tyrannic Albion's chain, And drove him from fair truth's domain, Where nature's God forms laws. Then, patriots, join the feſtive throng, And hail this day with mirth and ſong, And harmony and glee; With ſhouts of joy from ſtate to ſtate, Let Heaven's bright ſpheres reverberate IMMORTAL LIBERTY.

A SONG, FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY.

[Tune—Yankee Doodle.]

WHEN Freedom's ſons, at Heav'n's command, Shook off the Britiſh nation, America did then aſſume An independent ſtation. The Congreſs then were men of ſenſe, And truly patriotic! They ſwore they would not pay their pence To any king deſpotic. CHORUS. And this the law of ſeventy-fix, We ſwear each to maintain, ſir, No ſuch vile things, as lords or kings, Shall in America reign, ſir. The laws they made were quick obey'd, Whigs vied with whigs for glory; And Jack Burgoyne, like creeping Ned, Went home to tell his ſtory. At Bunker's Hill—Howe had his fill, His troops were mow'd down, ſir, While Gage, poor ſoul! who lov'd bones whole, 'Fraid to quit the town, ſir. And this the law, &c. Cornwallis next, like frighted mole, At York Town burrow'd deep, ſir, But Waſhington, with bombs and gun, Soon rous'd him from his ſleep, ſir. He made them prance a Yankee dance, Whilſt martial muſic ſounded, Lay down their arms, five hundred ſcore, By rebel troops ſurrounded. And this the law, &c. Then ſtraight they flew, to George their king, And told the doleful tale, ſir, How th' rebels ſwarm'd throughout the land, And cover'd hill and dale, ſir. His courtiers too, did round him throng, And all to make him eaſy; No conſolation cou'd afford, Alas! it drove him crazy. And this the law, &c. And now, behold! he's vengeful frown, Brimful of wrath and chagrin, Keeps weſtern poſts, and takes our ſhips, And won't ſtand to his bargain. Then let's unite, aſſert our right, Thraſh his majeſtic back, ſir, Starve all their iſles, confound their wiles, And turn up t'other Jack, ſir. And this the law, &c. Whole hoſts of prieſts and kings combin'd, (For their own preſervation) With gogs and magogs, emp'ror too, A pretty combination! But Frenchmen they, march briſk away, And ſnoot, and flaſh, and ſcore 'em, Ca ira ſing, and Marſel'ois hymn, And bayonet all before them. And this the law, &c. The Duke of York—light as a cork, Iu' letter to his pappy, "My grenadiers have beat monſieurs, And made me truly happy! Then papoy baniſh all your fears, I've made this proteſtation, To fight it out, and bring about Their total extirpation." And this the law, &c. "Our loſs is ſmall, ſcarce none at all, Compar'd with th' en'mies loſſes, We've loſt, big, little, great and ſmall, Three men, two hundred horſes. I cou'd do no leſs, than ſend expreſs (For vict'ry always pleaſes) I've tak'n a town—it's all my own, The French call it—Landrecies. And this the law, &c. In vain the lion boaſts his ſtrength, That none's ſo ſtrong as he, ſir, For now, behold! reverſe of fate! Down his bended knee, ſir. Thus fares it with thoſe tyrant ſouls! Who th' rights of man oppoſe, ſir, While 'gallic-cock pick'd out his eyes, The ſnapper pinn'd his noſe, ſir. And this the law, &c. Prophets of old, have long foretold, And alſo Revelation, Moſt clear point out, beyond a doubt, Th' downfall of 'Britiſh nation. For their Alpha and Omega, Will ſure come to an end ſoon, Give 'em a kick, and tell old Nick, "Take crazy George"—his grand-ſon. CHORUS. And this the law of ſeventy-ſix, We ſwear each to maintain, ſir! No ſuch vile things, as lords or kings, Shall in America reign, ſir.

AN ODE, On the PRESIDENT'S BIRTH-DAY. ENTHRON'D in weeds of ſtate, The Goddeſs, Fredom, ſate Among her peers— What valliant ſon, ſhe cry'd, Dare on war's tempeſt ride, And check great Albion's pride Below the ſpheres? No one, great Jove maintain'd, In heav'nly armies train'd, Need wake alarms— This Day an Hero's born, The world's exalted Son. His name is WASHINGTON, Expert in arms. The Goddeſs ſaw below, On Vernon's ſky-wrapt brow, His noble form— On light'nings fierce ſhe ſped, And hover'd round his head. Her beauteous creſcent ſpread Before the ſtorm. Then trembling at the view, His glit'ring ſword he drew, With placid mein— 'Tis right! ſhe ſaid—ſtand forth, The god like ſon of earth, I come to bleſs thy birth In climes ſerene. With joy extatic crown'd, He heard the ſilver ſound, Awake! be free! Then graſp'd his ſword again, Saw armies croſs the main, Uſurp his native plain Of Liberty.

[By T. Paine, author of the Rights of Man, &c.] THE GREAT REPUBLIC: Or, the Land of Love and Liberty.

Tune, "RULE BRITANNIA."

HAIL! Great Republic of the world The riſing empire of the Weſt; Where fam'd Columbus, with mighty mind inſpirit, Gave tortur'd Europe ſcenes of reſt. Bethou for ever, for ever great and free, The land of Love and Liberty. Beneath thy ſpreading mantling vine, Beſide the flow'ry groves in ſpring: And on thy lofty, thy lofty mountain's brow, May all thy ſons and fair ones ſing. Chorus, &c. From thee may rudeſt nations learn, To prize the cauſe thy ſons began; From thee may future, may future tyrants know, That ſacred are the Rights of Man. Chorus, &c. From thee may hated diſcord fly, With all her dark, her gloomy train; And o'er thy fertile, thy fertile wide domain, May everlaſting friendſhip reign. Chorus, &c. Of thee may liſping infancy, The pleaſing, wond'rous ſtory tell; And patriot ſages in venerable mood, Inſtruct the world to govern well. Chorus, &c. Ye guardian Angels watch around, From harms pro • ect the new form State; And all ye friendly, ye friendly nations join, And thus ſalute the Child of Fate. Be thou for ever, for ever great and free, The land of Love and Liberty.

FREE AMERICA. THAT ſeat of ſcience A • ns and earth's proud miſtreſs Rome, Where now are all their glories we ſcarce can find their tomb; Then guard your rights Americans, nor ſtoop to lawleſs ſway, Oppoſe, oppoſe, oppoſe, oppoſe, for North America. Proud Albian bow'd to Caeſar, and numerous Lords before, To Picts, to Danes, to Normans, and many maſters more; But we the bold Americans, ne'er yet have fall'n a prey, Huzza, huzza, huzza, huzza, for free America. God bleſs this maiden climate, and thro' her vaſt domain, May hoſts of heroes cluſter, who ſcorn to wear a chain; And blaſt the venal ſycophants, who da • e our rights betray, And ſhout, huzza, huzza, huzza, for free America.

HAIL AMERICA. HAIL America ha • , unrival'd in fame, Thy foes in confuſion, turn pale at thy name; On thy Rockrooted virtue, firmly ſeated ſublime, Below thee break harmleſs, the billows of Time. May thy ſtarry flag, waving, ſtill glory purſue, And freedom find ever, a guardian in you. Huzza, huzza, huzza, brave America, Whom Freedom ſecures; The high car of creſt blazing glory is yours. Let Spain boaſt the treaſures, that grow in her mines, Let Gallia rejoice in her Olives and Vines; Let bright ſparkling Jewels in India prevail, Let thy odours, Arabia, diffuſe in each Gale; 'Tis America only is bleſs'd with the Soil, Where the fair fruits of Virtue and Liberty ſmile. Huzza, &c. For the bleſſings of Freedom and Plenty are yours. Our boſoms enraptur'd beat high at thy name, Thy health is our tranſport, thy triumph our fame; Like our Sires with our ſwords, we'll ſupport thy renown, What they bought with their blood we'll defend with our own. Smile ye guardians of Freedom, while our ſons implore, That America may floriſh 'til time b • no more. Huzza, &c. For the bleſſings of freedom and valor are yours. The muſes to thee their glad tribute ſhall pay, They flouriſh with freedom, with freedom decay; Their harps faintly murmur and ſilently ſtand, While the ſword of oppreſſion hangs over own land. Can the Eagle ſoar freely, or dart like the wind, When his limbs are oppreſs'd or his pinions confin'd. Huzza, &c. For ſcience and arts and fair freedom are yours. Unſheath'd while the ſword of oppreſſion remains, And the blood of our heroes ſtill crimſon the plains; See America weaping exhort each brave ſon, That their hearts, as their glory, might always be one, 'Tis the charter of freedom—attend to the call— United we ſtand, divided we fall. Huzza, &c. For Patriots, and Heroes, and Virtue are yours. With Sweetneſs and beauty thy daughters ſhall riſe, With role blooming cheeks and love languiſhing Eyes, The graces and virtue ſolid comforts prepare, For heroes deſerving the firſt of the fair. For to whom ſhould the bleſſings of freedom deſcend, But the ſoms of thoſe ſires who dar'd freedom defend.

FINIS.