Why doctor, says Pat, how is this? rather wild,
O, it's often the case, sir, with the first child.
Derry down, &c.

Invited to dine with a charming young maid,
A nice roasted goose on the table was laid;
Sir, what would you like, a wing or a thigh?
A bit under the apron, was Pat's reply.

Derry down, &c.

Why, sir, said the lady, I'm sorry it's true,
That I cannot oblige you with what you wish too;
But my geese don't wear any, I'd have you to

know,

For the petticoat, sure, is your meaning, I vow.

Derry down, &c.

An Irish perfumer once killing a bear,

For the sake of the grease, the hide, and the hair, The smell brought his neighbours such works to

oppose,

Well, after all, says Pat, he's led you by the nose, Derry down, &c.

My Irish bulls for the present I close,

If blundering thus I should chance you to please ; The wish of my heart is dull care to beguile, And amidst all my blunders to merit your smile, Derry down, &c.

LOVE IS A FLOWER.

Love is a flower of mental beauty,
Or breast impassioned blooming,
Unless the mind forsakes the duty,
The mind its bliss entombing ;

Soon will the breast that dares to scorn,
A wreck of pleasure, die forlorn.
Remember fair, are joys too cold
Shall strike thot peaceful form;
Oft clouds obscure that happy morn,
Which we in years behold,-
So love, our choicest blessing given,
We hail it as our earthly heaven.

OH! SAILOR BOY, PEACE TO THY SOUL. In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay,

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind,

But, watch worn and weary, his cares flew away, And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind; He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bowers, And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn, Whilst Mem'ry stood sideways, half covered with flowers,

And restored every rose, but secreted a thorn.

The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch, And the swallow sings sweet from his nest in

the wall,

All trembling with transport he raises the latch, And the voices of loved ones reply to his call; A father bends o'er him with looks of delight,

His cheek is impearl'd with a mother's fond tear, And the lips of the boy in a love kiss unite

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear.

Oh! sailor boy, sailor boy, never again

Shall peace, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay;

Unblest and unhonoured, down deep in the main,
Full many score fathom thy form shall decay,
Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away,
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll;
Earth loosens thy body for ever and aye—
Oh! sailor boy, sailor boy, peace to thy soul.

THE AMAZON QUEEN.

Pulkawulka, the queen of the Amazon people, Was not quite so tall as a country church steeple; Her skin it was tawny, her hair she would truss it, Its colour, a kind of a dandy grey russet;

Her eyes, they were great goggle blue ones, good

lack!

But so often she fought, that they mostly were black.

She'd always her eye teeth about her, no doubt,
But as for her other teeth they were knocked out.
With a toraloo, &c,

Her voice so sublime and delightfully rusky,
Like a Billingsgate porter, or sprat woman husky;
Her manner so gentle, I trod on her toe,
And she gracefully gave me a knock-me-down
blow;

Her dress too, so tasteful, charmed ev'ry beholder,
A bear skin, the head grinning over her shoulder.
So clean, and so delicate, too, and so sleek,
Her majesty always would shave once a week.
With her tooraloo, &c.

To have a successor, she wished to get married;
A seven-foot youth with her courtship on carried.

They were wed, but her tenderness meeting a check,
To cut short the matter, she twisted his neck;
Then resolv'd to live single, for ever delighting,
In teaching her daughter the best way of fighting;
Till death, who to have his trade stol'n had no
mind,

Popp'd in with a Belcher, and tipp'd out her wind.
With a tooraloo, &e.

TOO MANY LOVERS WILL PUZZLE A
MAID.

Young Susan had lovers so many that she
Hardly knew upon which to decide;
They all spoke sincerely and promised to be
So worthy of such a sweet bride,

In the morning she'd gossip with William, and then

The noon would be spent with young Harry, The evening with John, so amongst all the men, She never could tell which to marry.

Heigho! heigho! I'm afraid,

Too many lovers will puzzle a maid.

Now William grew jealous and so went away,
And Harry got tired of wooing;

And John having teazed her to fix on the day,
Received only frowns for so doing,

So amongst all her lovers, quite left in the lurch,
She wept every night on her pillow;
And meeting one day a pair going to church,
Turn'd away and died under a willow,
Heigho! heigho! &c,

TOM TOUGH.

My name d'ye see's Tom Tough, I've seen a little sarvice,

Where mighty billows roll and loud tempests blow,

I've sail'd with valiant Howe, I've sail'd with noble

Jarvis,

And in gallant Duncan's fleet I've sung out yo heave ho.

Yet more shall be knowing,

I was coxwain to Boscawen,

And even with brave Hawke I have nobly fac'd the foe,

Then put round the grog,

So we've that and our prog,

We'll laugh in care's face, and sing yo heave ho. When from my love to part I first weighed anchor,

And she was sniv'ling seed on the beech below, I'll like to-catch my eyes sniv'ling too, d'ye see, to thank her,

But I brought my sorrows up with a yo heave ho! For sailors though they have their jokes, And love and feel like other folks,

Their duty to neglect must not come for to go; So I seized the capstan bar,

Like a true honest tar,

And in spite of tears and sings sung heave ho;

But the worst on't was that time when the little ones were sickly,

And if they'd live or die the doctor did not know,