His form was of the manliest beauty,
His heart was kind and soft;
Faithful below he did his duty,
And now he's gone aloft.

Tom never from his word departed

His virtues were so rare;

His friends were many, and true-hearted,
His Poll was kind and fair

And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly,
Ah! many's the time and oft;
But mirth is turned to melancholy
For Tom is gone aloft.

Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
When he who all commands,

Shall give (to call life's crew together)
The word to pipe all hands

Thus death, who kings and tars despatches,
In vain Tom's life has doff'd;
For tho' his body's under hatches

His soul is gone aloft.

LET THE TOAST PASS.

Music at Leoni Lee's, Albemarle Street.

HERE'S to the maiden of bashful fifteen,
Here's to the widow of fifty:

Here's to the bold and extravagant queen,
And here's to the housewife that's thrifty.
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,
Likewise to her that has none, sir:

Here's to the maid with a pair of black eyes,
And to her that has only 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?
Here's to the wife with a face full of woe
And here's to the girl that is merry.
Let the toast pass, &c.

Let her be clumsy, let her be thin,

Young or ancient, I care not a feather:
So fill a pint bumper quite up to the brim,
And e'en let us toast them together.
Let the toast pass, &c.

HER MOUTH WITH A SMILE.
Music-at Z. T. Purday's, 45, Holborn.
HER mouth with a smile,
Devoid of all guile,

Half open to view
Is the bud of the rose,
In the morning that blows,
Impearl'd with the dew.

More fragrant her breath,
Than the flower-scented heath
At the dawning day;
The hawthorn in bloom,
The lily's perfume,

Or the blossoms of May.

HE WAS FAMED.

Music at Geoffery and Co.'s.

He was famed for deeds of arms,
She, a maid of envied charms,
Now, to him, her love imparts:
One pure flame pervades both hearts.
Honour calls him to the field,

Love to conquest now must yield:

Sweet maid, he cries, again I'll come to thee, When the glad trumpet sounds a victory.

Battle now with fury glows,
Hostile blood in torrents flows!
His duty tells him to depart:
She pressed the hero to her heart
And now the trumpet sounds to arms!
And now the clash of war alarms!

Sweet maid, he cries, again I'll come to thee,
When the glad trumpet sounds a victory.

He with love and conquest burns,
Both subdue his mind by turns:
Death the soldier now enthrals!
With his wounds the hero falls!
She, disdaining war's alarms,

Rushed, and caught him in her arms!

O death! he cried, thou'rt welcome now to me,
For, hark! the glad trumpet sounds a victory!

HERSELL BE HIGHLAND SHENTLEMAN Music-at Duncomb's, Middle-Row, Holborn. Hersell be Highland shentleman

Be auld as Pothwell prig man; And mony alterations seen

Amang te lawland Whig man.

Fal lal lal lal lal lal lal lal lal lal lal lal lal lal lal
Fal lal lal lal lal lal lal lal fal lal lal lal lal lal.

First when her to the Lawlands came,

Nainsell was driving cows, man;

There was nae laws about him's n
About the preeks or trews, man..

Nainsell did wear the philebeg,

The plaid prick't on her shoulder;
The guid claymore hung pe her pelt,
The pistol sharg'd wi' pouder.
But for wher' as these cursed preeks,
Wherewi' her n-be lockit,

O hon that e'er she saw the day

For a' her houghs be prokit.

Every t'ing in te Highlands now

Pe turn't to alteration;

The sodger dwall at our toor sheek,
And tat's te great vexation.

Scotland be turn't a Ningland now,
An' laws pring on te cadger:
Nainsell wad durk him for her deeds,
But Oh she fears te soger.

Anither law came after that
Me never saw te like, man;

They make a lang road on te crund, And ca' him Turnimspike, man.

An' wow! she be a ponnyroad
Like Louden corn rigs man;

Where twa carts may gang on her,
An' no preak ithers legs, man.
They sharge a penny for ilka horse
In troth, she'll no pe sheaper,

For nought but gaen up o' the crund,
And they gi'e me a paper.

Nae doubts Nainsell maun tra her And pay them what hims like, man: I'll see a shugement on his toor; T'at filthy Turnimspike, man.

But I'll awa' to te Highland hills,

Where te'il a ane dare turn her,

purse

And no come near her Turnimspike,

Unless it pe to purn her.

HERE WE MEET TOO SOON TO PART. Music at Wybrow's.

Here we meet too soon to part,

Here to leave will raise a smart, Here I'll press thee to my heart,

Where none have place above thee. Here I vow to love thee well,

Could but words unseal the spell, Had but language strength to tell, I'd say how much I love thee

Here we meet too soon to part, &c.

Here the rose that decks thy door,
Here the thorn that spreads thy bow'r,
Here the willow on the moor,

The birds at rest above thee:

Had they light of life to see,

Sense of soul, like thee, and me,

Soon might each a witness be,

How doatingly I love thee.

Here we meet too soon to part, &c.

THE BONNIE BREAST-KNOTS.

Music-at Addison and Co.'s

HEY the bonnie, ho the bonnie,

Hey the bonnie breast-knots.

Blythe and merry were they a',

When they put on the breast-knots.

There was a bridal in this town,
And till't the lassies a' were boun',
Wi' mankie facings on their gown,
And some of them had breast knots.

Singing, hey the bonnie, &c.

At nine o'clock the lads convene,
Some clad in blue, some clad in green
Wi' shinin' buckles in their sheen,

And flowers upon their waistcoats.
Out cam' the wives a' wi' a phrase,
And wished the lasses happy days,
And muckle thought they o' their claes,
Especially the breast-knots.

Singing, hey the bonnie, &c.