PUSH ABOUT THE PITCHER.

THE silver moon, that shines so bright,
I swear with reason, is my teacher,
And, if my minute-glass runs right,
We've time to drink another pitcher.
'Tis not yet day, 'tis not yet day,

Then why should we forsake good liquor, Until the sunbeams round us play,

Let's jocund push about the pitcher.

They say that I must work all day,

And sleep at night, to grow much richer; But what is all the world can say,

Compared to mirth, my friend and pitcher?
"Tis not yet day, &c.

Though one may boast a handsome wife,
Yet strange vagaries may bewitch her
Unvexed, I'll lead a cheerful life,

And boldly call for t'other pitcher.

"Tis not yet day, &c.

I dearly love a hearty man,

(No sneaking milksop-Jemmy twitcher,)

Who loves a lass and loves a glass,

And boldly calls for t'other pitcher.

'Tis not yet day, &c.

THE SPRIGHTLY HORN.

THE sprightly horn awakes the morn,
And bids the hunter rise;

The opening hound returns the sound,
And Echo fills the skies.

See ruddy health, more dear than wealth,
On yon blue mountain's brow;

The neighing steed invokes our speed,
And Renard trembles now.

In ancient days, as story says,
The woods our fathers sought;
The rustic race adored the chase,
And hunted as they fought.

Come, let's away, make no delay,
Enjoy the forest's charms;
Then o'er the bowl expand the soul,
And rest in Chloe's arms.

THE LAND WE LIVE IN.
Music-at Z. T. Purday's, Holborn.
THE sparkling liquor fills the glass,
And briskly round the board it goes;
The toast, of course, our favourite lass,
We'll drink confusion to our foes.
Then each in turn, catch the glee,
The song, the toast, is given;
And ever as it comes to me,

I give," The land we live in.”
Then let us all throughout agree,

With a loud huzza and three times three,
Huzza! I
gave, "The land we live in."
The captain always gives, "The King;"
His bosom burns with loyal flame;
And as the decks with praises ring

Of valiant Smith and Nelson's fame. "God bless the royal family,"

This toast in turn is given;

And ever as it comes to me,
I give," The land we live in."

Then let us all, &c.

Some folks may envy foreign parts,
And wish to gain a foreign shore;
Why, let them go with all our hearts,
We shall be plagu'd with them no more.

Then while on shore, let's all agree,

The song, the toast, &c.

THE STREAMLET.

Music-at Leoni Lee's, Albemarle Street.
THE streamlet that flow'd round her cot
All the charms of my Emily knew;
How oft has its course been forgot,

While it paus'd her dear image to view.
Believe me, the fond silver tide,

Knew from whence it deriv'd its fair prize; For, silently swelling with pride,

It reflected her back to the skies.

THE MERRY DAYS OF OLD.
Music-at Messrs. Monro and May's.
THE merry days, the days of old,
When hawk and hound were nigh;
When gallant lords, and ladies fair,
Drew sport from earth and sky.
The horn resounded thro' the dell,
Forth rode the barons bold:
Oh! those indeed were merry days,
The merry days of old,

The horn resounded thro' the dell.
Forth rode, &c.

When ruddy health and laughing joy,
Illum'd the maiden's face,

And 'twas her pride on palfrey free,
To follow in the chase:

To dare the summer's scorching heat,
To brave the winter's cold,

Oh! those, indeed were merry days,

The merry days of old.

To dare the summer's, &c.

When troubadours and masquers gay,

In castle halls would stand,

And wake the song, to willing ears,

Of knights in holy land.

When winter brought its wassail bowl,
To keep the heart from cold,

Oh! those indeed were merry days,

The merry days of old.

When winter brought, &c.

THE FLOWER O' DUNBLANE.

THE sun had gane down o'er the lofty Ben-Lomond, And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene, While lanely I stray'd in the calm simmer's gloaming,

To muse on sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dunblane.

How sweet is the brier, wi' its saft, faulding blossom!
And sweet is the birk, wi' its mantle o' green;
Yet sweeter, and fairer, and dear to this bosom,
Is lovely young Jessie, the flower o' Dunblane.

She's modest as ony, and blithe as she's bonny,
For gui'eless simplicity marks her its ain;
And far be the villain, divested o' feeling, [blane.
Wha'd blight, in its bloom, the sweet flower o' Dun-

Sing on, thou sweet mavis! thy hymn to the e'ening,
Thou'rt dear to the echoes of Calderwood glen:
Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning,

Is charming young Jessie, the flower o' Dunblane.

How lost were my days till I met with my Jessie!
The sports of the city seem'd foolish and vain:
I ne'er saw a nymph I would ca' my dear lassie, [blane.
Till charm'd wi' sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dun-

Though mine were a station of loftiest grandeur,
Amidst its profusion I'd languish in pain;
And reckon as naething the height o' its splendour,
If wanting sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dunblane.

THE SUN HIS BRIGHT RAYS.

THE Sun his bright rays may withhold, Love
Unreflected the moon-beam may be;

But ne'er till this bosom be cold, Love,

Shall its pulse beat for any but thee.
For thou art the joy of my heart, Love,
All beauties thy beauty out-vie;
And sooner than with thee I'd part, Love,
Thy lover, thy husband would die.

The spring's lovely verdure may turn, Love,
To autumn's sad colourless hue,

The winter like summer may burn, Love
Ere cools my fond ardour for you.
For thou art the joy of my heart, Love,
All beauties thy beauty out-vie;
And sooner than with thee I'd part, Love,
Thy lover, thy husband would die.

THE TEAR FELL GENTLY.
Music--at D'Almaine's, Soho Square.
THE tear fell gently from her eye,

When last we parted on the shore:
My bosom heav'd with many a sigh,
To think I ne'er might see her more.

"Dear youth," she cried, " and canst thou haste away, My heart will break, a little moment stay. Alas! I cannot, I cannot part from thee.'

[me !"

"The anchor's weigh'd; farewell, farewell, remember

"Weep not, my love," I trembling said,
"Doubt not a constant heart like mine;

I ne'er can meet another maid

Whose charms can fix that heart like thine." "Go then," she cried, "but let thy constant mind Oft think of her you leave in tears behind,

A maid, this last embrace my pledge shall be " [me." 'The anchor's weigh'd; farewell, farewell, remember

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