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ZEKIEL HOMESPUN'S TRIP TO TOWN.

Published by Preston.

I'ze a

poor coun-try lad, as you see by my dress: That I'ze York-shire, mayhap, you may

pretty well guess; My name's Zekiel Homespun,-you all know me now; It is

lol de rol lol, de rol lol, de rol lol. Were two gentlemen dress'd, to be sure, mortal queer:

not the first time I have here made my bow. Tol
To London I comb'd upon bus'ness, d'ye see,
But contriv'd to make pleasure and bus'ness agree;
For when I gets back wi' our chaps on the green,
They'll be sure to be axing me what I ha' seen.
Now, having in town but a short time to stay,
Thinks I, while the sun shines I'd better make hay;
So I ax'd what the play were?-They told me, by
gum,

'Twas a very fine tragedy, call'd 'Tommy Thumb.'
In Yorkshire, I'd oft heard our knowing ones say,
That a very good moral was learn'd from a play,
And that tragedy boasted of language so fine;
So I thought that as how it might help me wi' mine.
Well, the curtain drew up, and the first to appear

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Says one,-To the king this petition I'll shew;'
Then the other to him answer'd, Do, Doodle, do.'
In next scene were the king and the queen on their
throne,

To whom the petition was presently shown;
But King Arthur from Doodle indignantly shrunk,
'For,' says he, 'tis our pleasure this day to get
drunk.'

So thinks I to myself, an' that's what you're about,
There's no gus'ness for me, sure, to see the play out.
To my own native parts I will quickly go down,-
I can learn to get drunk there as well as in town.

WHEN TIME STEALS OUR YEARS AWAY.
Music and Words by T. Moore, Esq.

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When Time, who steals our years a- way, Shall steal our plea-sures too, The

mem'-ry of the past will stay, And half our joys re-new. Then, Chlo-e, when thy

beau-ty's flow'r Shall feel the win-try air, Re-mem-brance will re- cal the hour When

future gloom, Our joys shall always

For hope shall brighten days to come, And mem'-ry gild the past.

Come, Chloe, fill the genial bowl

I drink to love and thee!
Thou never canst decay in soul,-

Thou'lt still be young for me.
And as thy lips the tear-drops chase,
Which on my cheek they find,
So hope shall steal away the trace
Which sorrow leaves behind.

Then fill the bowl! away with gloom!
Our joy shall always last;

For hope shall brighten days to come,
And mem'ry gild the past.

But mark, at thought of future years,
When love shall lose its soul,

My Chloe drops her timid tears-
They mingle with my bowl!

How like this bowl of wine, my fair,
Our loving life shall fleet!

Tho' tears may sometimes mingle there,
The draught will still be sweet!
Then fill the

cup,

&c

WHEN BLUST'RING WINDS ARE HEARD TO BLOW.
Composed by J. Blewitt.

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low, When thun-der rat-tles in the sky, And fierce the nim-ble - light'-nings fly,

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WHEN FLOW'RS AGAIN THEIR DAY-LIGHT BLOOM. Music by Steibelt; Poetry by J. A. Wade.

Grazioso.

When flow'rs a-gain their day-light bloom, Close in dew-y

sleep; When moon-light

shows the dis-tant dome, Glanc-ing o'er the

deep; When scarce is heard the ev'- ning

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fann'd it o'er: Then Love will row my bark a-long, O'er the star-ry

sea;

And

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He comes from the wars, from the red field of fight,-He comes thro' the storm and the

dark-ness of night: For rest and for re-fuge now fain to im-plore, The war-rior bends

low at the cottager's door : Pale, pale, pale is his cheek, there's a

gash on his brow! His locks o'er his shoul-ders distract-edly flow! And the

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MY MOTHER BIDS ME BIND MY HAIR.
Music by Haydn.

Allegretto.

bind my hair With bands of ro sy hue, Tie

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up my sleeves with rib-bons rare, And lace my bod-dice blue;

Tie up my

sleeves with ribbons rare, And lace, and lace my bod - dice blue.

'For

why,' she cries, sit still and weep, While others dance and play?' A-las!

I scarce can

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I scarce can go or creep, While

Lubin is a way!

'Tis sad to think the days are gone,

When those we love were near:

I sit upon this mossy stone,

And sigh when none can hear:

a-way, is

a-way I

a-way, is And while I spin my flaxen thread, And sing my simple lay, The village seems asleep or dead, Now Lubin is away.

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PEACEFUL SLUMB'RING ON THE OCEAN. Composed by Storace.

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wind and waves, in gentle motion, Soothe them with their lul la by; Lul-la-by,

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