THE WATERMAN. Sung by Mr. Dignum. IF the man goes but right who follows his nose, For when with his bride each stroke's against tide, But why shou'd I grieve when I look on my badge ? And, bless her black eyes, that stoke won the prize, MOVING TO THE MELODY OF MUSIC'S NOTE. Sung by Miss De Camp in Blue Beard. MOVING to the melody of music's note, Sportive is the measure, While in merry glee the senses join; Deeper blushing roses, Ev'ry cheek discloses, Eyes with lustre shine. Chorus-Moving to the, &c. When the lover takes her glowing hand, Can the dancing female then withstand No, she gives him then so languishing a glance, THE BRITISH ADMIRALS. Tune-Hearts of Oak. COME honour, come courage, come glory from far, That vet'ran. brave gallant Howe is his name, Hearts of oak, &c. St. Vincent the bold gave Cordova defeat, His numbers just half of the Spaniard's proud fleet; Hearts of oak, &c. Firm Duncan stands next on the heroic page, Whom De Winter, the Dutchman, thought fit to en gage; Equal numbers in ships, aye, in guns and in men, When the battle was o'er Duncan brought away ten. Hearts of oak, &c. The last, tho' not least, fill up bumpers the while, With three times three cheers, we our seamen will toast, LITTLE TAFFLINE. SHOULD e'er the fortune be my lot, I'll glad my parent's lowly cot, All in my best, I'll trip away, like lady gay, I'll trip, I'll trip away; And the lads will say, dear heart what a flash,` Look at Little Taffline with a silken sash. And oh, what pleasure to be seen, Silken roses on my feet; Now folks will stare as I goes by; See, see, they'll cry, her flaunting air, And the lads will say, dear heart what a flash, Look at little Taffline, with a silken sash. THE YEOMANRY OF ENGLAND. (ORIGINAL.) Written by G. S. Carey. WHEN Gallia strove to spread thro' all this land She held, conceal'd, the ghastly murd'rer's knife; Britannia's sons now felt the dire alarms, And muster'd at the warlike trumpet's sound, In one strong body clad themselves in arms To save the helpless from the mischiefs round. To arms! to arms! they urg'd, throughout the isle, While fell rebellion urg'd her direful host Religion's sacred altars to defile With impious hands upon our neighb'ring coast; Now weave a chaplet, virgins, for each head Stands forth a champion in his country's cause; Who puts on armour for the general good, Nor yet would wish the polish'd blade to stain, But to prevent the purple stream of blood, And our much-envy'd reign of Peace maintain.! Again our drooping commerce shall revive, And, unmolested, o'er the briny main, Our laden vessels shall with Neptune strive To fill the coffers of this land again. On this fam'd spot, each artisan shall boast, The blessings of his labour, and shall sing Or drink together, in one fervent toast, The Yeoman brave, his Country, and his King Then let each Briton's motto be, The Cause and Unanimity! THE WOOERS. Translated from Voss, the German Theocritus, by Mr. Beresford. WITH auburn locks and killing eyes, A russet garb with graceful ease Her coat and tresses caught the breeze, Her snow-white hose I plain could see. The dappled cow now jogg'd along, Her eyes bespoke soft courtesy. Belov'd, I swear, the maid shall be, For ever and for aye by me! My tale I told, she deign'd to smile; |