Here's to the wife with a face full of woe, Let the toast pass, &c Let her be clumsy, or let her be slim, Let the toast pass, &e. THE BRITISH TRUE BLUE. When the drum beats to arms each bold British tar, Bids farewell to his girl, wife, or friend, Courageously flies to the dangers of war, His country and king to defend. His heart burns for victory, for honour and gain, Determined his foes to subdue, Thus flies to the bulwarks that sail on the main, None can equal the courage of true blue. Now noble is the sight of the grand British fleet His heart burns for victory, honour, and gain, Thus flies to the bulwarks that sail on the main, If our enemies should dare for to meet us once more, Like lightning to our quarters we'll fly, ke thunder in the air our great guns they shall roar, Determined to conquer or die; ir officers and tars, they are valiant and brave; Our admirals are loyal and true, ley die by their guns, Britons' right to maintain, None can equal the courage of true blue. yard arm and yard-arm alongside of our foes, Our foes we save from their watery grave, hen our prize we have taken and made her our own, For some port our ship gloriously steers, hen our harbour we've gained, and arrived at home, We give our admiral three cheers, e drink a good health to our kind loving wives, And each pretty girl that's constant and true; Now this is the way that we spend our lives, None can equal the courage of true blue. GOD SPEED THE PLOUGH. e me my plough and my song, n the fields shall my time pass away; About three I return to my stud, And unharness my team for a time, Full of health and good spirits I find, Let me breathe wholesome air to life's close And each night, when my labour is done, Have uninterrupted repose. To my work when from home I repair, List to the woodlark s soft note and the dove While the lad whisting, thinks not of care And the nightingales sing through the grove While the thrush, warbling loud from the tree And the blackbirds, melodiously sing, When the rooks all around me do play, What joys like the joys of the spring? When my masters to market will go, With the fruit of our industry joined, O'er a bowl of good liquor to show, In return is good Providence kind; When bright Phebus each morn does arise And join in glad thanks for the day; my health, my wealth, and my song, nd content, that smiles on my brow: lat night with my plough mates among, 'or my song sing "Good speed the plough!" AR FROM HIS NATIVE MOUNTAINS. Far from his native mountains torn The bird, on fearless rapid wing, So youthful maidens, doomed to wed HER MOUTH WITH A SMILE. Her mouth with a smile, Devoid of all guile, Half open to view Is the bud of the rose, More fragrant her breath, Or the blossoms of May. IRISH PROVIDENCE. My darling says Pat, to his spouse on his lap, backs, Our cow and our pig, my dear Norah are dead, For no babies have we, not a Jill nor a Jack;But when Pat was away, what did Providence do,~ Made the squire build for Norah a cabin quite new He furnished it gaily, to dry up her tears, And he peopled it too in the space of three years With his Jill, and his Jack, sing Biblio whack. But when Paddy return'd how it gladdened his heart, To see his dear Norah so fine and so smart, With her rings to her ears, and her silks on be back, And who furnished for you this cabin, says Pat? |