IN THE DEAD OF THE NIGHT.

Sung by Mrs. Jordan.

IN the dead of the night, when with labour opprest,
All mortals enjoy the calm blessing of rest,

Cupid knock'd at my window, disturbing my ease,
Who's there? I demanded-Begone if you please.
He answer'd so meekly, so modest, and mild,.
"Dear Ma'am, it is I, an unfortunate child;
'Tis a cold rainy night, I am wet to the skin;
I have lost my way, Ma'am, so pray let me in.
No sooner from wet and from cold he got ease,
Than taking his bow, he cry'd-"Ma'am, if you please,
If you please, Ma'am, I would by experiment know
If the rain it has damag'd the string of my bow.

Then away skipp'd the urchin, as brisk as a bee,
And, laughing, "I wish you much joy, Ma'am" said he;
My bow is undamag'd, for true went my dart,
But you will have trouble enough with your heart."

66

COME HASTE TO THE WEDDING.

Sung in the Elopement.

COME haste to the wedding, ye friends and ye neighbours,

The lovers their bliss can no longer delay;

Forget all your sorrows, your care, and your labours, And let ev'ry heart beat with rapture to-day:

Ye votaries all, attend to my call,

Come, revel in pleasures that never can cloy: Come, see rural felicity,

Which love and innocence ever enjoy.

Let envy, let pride, let hate and ambition,
Still crowd to, and beat at the breast of the great;
To such wretched passions we give no admission,
But leave them alone to the wise-ones of state;
We boast of no wealth, but contentment and health,
In mirth and in friendship our moments employ.
Come, see rural felicity, &c.

With reason we taste of each heart-stirring pleasure,
With reason we drink of the full-flowing bowl;
Are jocund and gay, but all within measure,
For fatal excess will enslave the free soul.
Then come at our bidding, to this happy wedding,
No care shall intrude our bliss to annoy;

Come, see rural felicity, &c,

LORD DUNCAN OFF CAMPERDOWN. THE eleventh of October shall never be forgot, Our prospects were but sombre, when lo! a gallant Seot,

Brave Duncan, honor'd name, with glory and renown, He thunder'd Britain fame off thee, Ŏ Camperdown!

Along Batavia's shore what dire and sad dismay, What floods of purple gore flow'd on that dreadful day : Britannia generous weeps, e'en o'er her hero's crown, Which half in tears she reaps off thy shore, Camperdown.

See Holland's vaunted navy, their glory and their boast, The flag strike of Batavia, in sight of their own coast: What though they nobly fought, great Duncan still bore down,

And Britain's glory bought off thy shore, Camperdown

Valour and skill combine at once to overthrow,

Brave Duncan burst the line, and hurl'd down on the foe The weight of Britain's pow'r, her awful naval frown, Shook Holland in that hour, off thy shore, Camperdown.

'To providence supreme let ev'ry heart give way,
Assert its grateful claim, like Duncan homage pay;
Devotion valour grac'd, with dignity her son,
The god of battle prais'd, off thy shore, Camperdown.
Old England proudly rears on Howe and Vincent's fame,
Scotia her quota bears, and this distinguish'd name
Shall in her heart still live with glory and renown,
Mem'ry must ever give, Duncan of Camperdown.

SONG.

Sung by Mr. Bannister.

HAVE sail'd the world round, view'd all nations and climes,

Ev'ry point of the compass have box'd,

een fair weather, heavy squalls, your best and worst of times,

And now and then a pretty girl I've coax'd.

CHORUS.

But Old England for my money, and a British lass in

tow,

Bless their hearts! why I never, never snub 'em, As for this or that there enemy, wherever bred the foe, We English hearty cocks always drub 'em,

Then with flip, the fiddle, Poll,

Piping, tol de riddle, lol,

We laugh and quaff it merrily, yeo ho!

They call us careless ninnies, well e'en let them, and what then?

Why the rhyno we work hard for you know;

Not to hoard it like lubbers, but spend it, boys, like

men,

With a messmate, a girl, a fiddle, boys, or so.

Old England for my money, &c.

ANACREONTIC.

TO Anacreon in heav'n, where he sat in full glee,
A few sons of harmony sent a petition,
That he their inspirer and patron would be;
When this answer arriv'd from the jolly old Grecian :
"Voice, fiddle, and flute,

No longer be mute,

I'll lend you my name, and inspire ye to boot;
And, besides, I'll instruct you, like me to entwine
The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine."

The news through Olympus immediately flew,
When old Thunder pretended to give himself airs;
"If these mortals are suffer'd their plans to pursue,
The devil a goddess will stay above stairs.
Hark! already they cry,

(In transports of joy)

Away to the sons of Anacreon we'll fly;

And there with good fellows, we'll learn to entwine
The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine,

"The yellow-hair'd god and his nine fusty maids,
From Helicon's banks will incontinent flee;

Idalia will boast but of tenantless shades,
And the biforked hill a mere desart will be:

My thunder, no fear on't,

Will soon do its errand,

And d-me, I'll swinge the ringleaders I warrant ; I'll trim the young dogs for thus daring to twine The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine."

Apollo rose up, and said, "Pry'thee, ne'er quarrel,
Good king of the gods, with my vot'ries below;
Your thunder is useless." Then shewing his laurel,
Cried, "Sic evitabile fulmen, you know!
Then over each head

My laurel I'll spread,

So my sons from your crackers no mischief shall dread, Whilst, snug in their club-room, they jovially twine The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine."

U 3

ext Momus got up, with his risible phiz, And swore with Apollo he'd cheerfully join; "The full tide of harmony still shall be his,

But the song, and the catch, and the laugh, shall be

mine.

Then Jove be not jealous,

Of these honest fellows."

Cried Jove," we relent, since the truth you now tell us; And swear by old Styx, that they long shall entwiue The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine."

Ye sons of Anacreon, then, join hand in hand,
Preserve unanimity, friendship, and love;
'Tis your's to support what's so happily plann'd;
You've the sanction of gods, and the fiat of Jove.
While thus we agree,

May our club flourish happy, united, and free!
And long may the sons of Anacreon entwine
The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine.

A BACCHANALIAN SONG.

MY temples with clusters of grapes I'll entwine,
And barter all joy for a goblet of wine;
In search of a Venus no longer I'll run,
But stop and forget her at Bacchus's tun.

Yet why thus resolve to relinquish the fair,
'Tis a folly with spirits like mine to despair;
For what mighty charms can be found in a glass,
If not fill'd to the health of some favourite lass?

'Tis Woman whose charms ev'ry rapture impart,
And lend a new spring to the pulse of the heart:
The miser himself (so supreme is her sway)
Grows convert to love and resigns her his key.

At the sound of her voice Sorrow lifts up her head,
And Poverty listens, well pleas'd from her shed;
While Age, in an extacy, hobbling along,

Beats time with his crutch to the tune of her song.