Our fathers, of old, were robust, stout, and strong; And kept open house, with good cheer, all day long, Which made their plump tenants rejoice in this Song. O, the Roast Beef of Old England, &c.

But, now, we are dwindled, to what shall I name! A sneaking, poor race, half-begotten and tame; Who sully those honours that once shone in fame. O, the Roast Beef of Old England, &c.

When good Queen ELIZABETH sat on the throne,
Ere Coffee, and Tea, and such slip-slops were known;
The World was in terror, if e'er she did frown!
O, the Roast Beef of Old England, &c.

In those days, if fleets did presume on the Main;
They seldom, or never, returned back again!
As witness, the vaunting Armada of Spain!
O, the Roast Beef of Old England, &c.

O, then, they had stomachs to eat and to fight; And when wrongs were a cooking, to do themselves

right!

But, now, we're a I could; but Good-night!

O, the Roast Beef of Old England, &c.

THE Play of Love is now begun;
And thus the Actions do go on.
STREPHON, enamoured, courts the Fair:
She hears him with a careless air,
And smiles to find him in Love's snare.

The Act Tune played; they meet again.
Here, pity moves her for his pain:
Which She evades with some pretence,
And thinks She may with love dispense;
But pants to hear a Man of Sense!

The third approach her Lover makes,
She colours up whene'er he speaks:
But, with feigned slights, still puts him by;
And faintly cries, 'She can't comply!'
Although She gives her heart the lie.

Now the plot rises. He seems shy,
As if some other Fair he'd try;

At which, She swells with spleen and fear,
Lest some more wise his love should share!
Which, yet, no woman e'er can bear!

The last Act now is wrought so high,
That thus it crowns the Lover's joy!
She does no more his Passion shun.
He straight into her arms does run.
The Curtain falls! The Play is done!

How brimful of Nothing's the life of a Beau ! They've Nothing to think of! They've Nothing to do! Nor they've Nothing to talk of-for Nothing they know! Such, such is the life of a Beau!

For Nothing they rise, but to draw the fresh air! Spend the morning in Nothing but curling their hair! And do Nothing all day, but sing, saunter, and stare! Such, such is the life of a Beau!

For Nothing, at night, to the Playhouse they crowd! For to mind Nothing done there, they always are proud; But to bow, and to grin, and to talk Nothing aloud! Such, such is the life of a Beau!

For Nothing, they run to th' Assembly and Ball;
And for Nothing, at cards a fair Partner call :
For they still must be beasted, who've Nothing at all!
Such, such is the life of a Beau!

For Nothing, on Sundays, at Church they appear; For they've Nothing to hope; nor they've Nothing to fear!

They can be Nothing nowhere, who Nothing are here! Such, such is the life of a Beau!

SALLY IN OUR ALLEY.

Of all the Girls that are so smart,
There's none like pretty SALLY!
She is the darling of my heart;
And she lives in our Alley.
There is no Lady in the land
Is half so sweet as SALLY!
She is the darling of my heart;
And she lives in our Alley.

Her father, he makes cabbage-nets,
And through the streets does cry them;
Her mother, she sells laces long,

To such as please to buy them.
But, sure, such folks could ne'er beget
So sweet a Girl as SALLY!

She is the darling of my heart;
And she lives in our Alley.

When she is by, I leave my work
(I love her so sincerely!),
My master comes, like any Turk,
And bangs me most severely.
But let him bang his bellyful;
I'll bear it all for SALLY!
She is the darling of my heart;
And she lives in our Alley.