ERE AROUND THE HUGE OAK.

ERE around the huge oak that o'ershadows yon mill,
The fond-ivy had dar'd to entwine;

Ere the church was a ruin that nods on the hill,
Or a rook built its nest on the pine:

Could I trace back the time, a far distant date,
Since
my forefathers toil'd in this field;
And the farm I now hold on your honour's estate,
Is the same that my grandfather till'd.

He dying, bequeath'd to his son a good name,
Which, unsully'd, descended to me;

For my child I've preserv'd it unblemish'd with shame,
And it still from a spot shall be free.

HONEST JOHN BULL AND HIS MOTHER.

Sung by Mr. Munden.

HERE'S a health to old honest John Bull,
When he's gone we shan't find such another;
With hearts and with glasses brimful,

Here's a health to Britannia, his mother;

For she gave him a good education ;

Bid him keep to his church and his king;

Be loyal and true to his nation;

And then to be merry and sing

Fol de rol lol de rol lol, &c.

For John is a good-natur'd fellow,
Industrious, honest, and brave;
Not afraid of his betters when mellow,
For betters he knows he must have.

There must be fine lords, and fine ladies,
There must be some little, some great;
Their wealth the support of our trade is,
Our trade the support of the state.
Fol de rol, &c.

Some were born for the court and the city,
And some for the village and cot;.
For 'twould be a dolorous ditty,
Were we all born equal in lot.
If our ships had no pilots to steer,

What wou'd come of poor Jack on the shrouds?
And our troops, no commanders to fear,
Wou'd soon be arm'd robbers in crowds.
Fol de rol, &c.

The plough and the loom wou'd stand still,
Were we made gentlemen all;

All clodhoppers, who then would fill
The parliament, pulpit, and hall?
Rights of man made a very fine sound,
Equal riches, a plausible tale;

Whose labours wou'd then till the ground?
All wou'd drink, but who'd brew the best ale?
Fol de rol, &c..

Half naked and starv'd in the street,
Where we wander about, Sans Culottes,

Wou'd liberty find us in meat,

Or egality lengthen our coats?

That knaves are for lev'ling no wonder,
You may easily guess at their views;
Pray who'd get the most by the plunder ?
Why they that have nothing to lose.
Fol de rol, &c..

Then away with such nonsense and stuff,
Full of treason, confusion, and blood;,

Ev'ry Briton has freedom enough

To be happy, as long as he's good;

To be rul'd by a merciful king;
To be govern'd by jury and laws;
Then let us be merry and sing,
This, this is true liberty's cause.
Fol de rol, &c.

SINCE OUR FOES TO INVADE US.

Sung by Mr. Townsend.

SINCE our foes to invade us have long been preparing, 'Tis clear they consider we've something worth sharing, And for that mean to visit our shore;

It behoves us, however, with spirit to meet 'em,
And tho' 'twill be nothing uncommon to beat 'em,
We must try how they'll take it once more.

CHORUS.

So fill, fill your glasses, and be this the toast giv'n,
Here's England for ever! the land, boys, we live in.

Here's a health to our tars on the wide ocean ranging,
Perhaps even now some broadsides are exchanging,
We'll on ship-board and join in the fight:
And, when with the foe we are firmly engaging,
"Till the fire of our guns lulls the sea in its raging,
On our country we'll think with delight.
So fill, fill your glasses, &c.

On that throne where once Alfred with glory was seated,
Long, long, may our king by his people be greeted!
Oh, to guard him we'll be of one mind:

May religion, law, order, be strictly defended,,
And continue the blessings they first were intended,
In union the nation to bind.

So fill, fill the glasses, &c.

A POT OF PORTER, HO

Sung by Mr. Townsend.

WHEN to Old England I come home,
Fallal, &c.
What joy to see the tankard foam.
Fal lal, &c.

When treading London's well-known ground,
If e'er I feel my spirits tire,
I haul my sail, look up around,

In search of Whitbread's best entire.

I

spy the name of Calvert,

Of Curtis, Cox, and Co.

I give a cheer and bawl for't,
A pot of porter, ho!

When to Old England I come home,
What joy to see the tankard foam;
With heart so light, and frolick high,
I drink it off to Liberty.

Where wine or water can be found,
Fal lal, &c.

I've travell'd far the world around,
Fal lal, &c.

Again I hope before I die,

Of England's cann the taste to try;
For, many a league I'd go about,
To take a draught of Gifford's stout:
I spy the name of Trueman,

Of Maddox, Meux, and Co.
The sight makes a new man,
A pot of porter, ho!

MEDLEY.

By Mr. Briton.

ASK me for a song? Egad, you'll soon wish

you

hadn't!

My taste, as well as voice, having nought but what's

bad in't.

But, since upon me 'twas your will to call,

I'll do my best endeavour to sing-
How sweet in the woodlands-

Four-and-twenty drummers all on a row:

There was tantararara, I rub a dub, adub, adub,— And a long-tail pig, a short-tail pig,

And a pig with a curly tail;

A sow-pig, a boar-pig,

And Dorothy Dump, who'd mutter and mump, and cry,

Oh, dear o' me, what shall I do? You love not me, yet I love you! Whene'er my torments I disclose

You cry

Dear, dear, what can the matter be? Oh, dear! what can the matter be? withTabitha Twist, who'd a mind to be kiss'd, And cry'd, "For you, Walter, I die!""Die, and be d-n'd, then," says I.So I took my departure from this damsel so pretty, And for England's own self o'er the seas→ We canter'd along untill it grew dark, Gallopping dreary dun.-

The nightingale sung

Peaceful slumb'ring on the ocean,
Sailors fear no dangers nigh.―

When

up came a cobler, whose name it was Stout, Fal, lal, lal, lal.

And he took up his lap-stone, and knock'd out