Time and oft, drefs'd lamb fashion, I zeed an old ewe?
I zeed madam's monkey, as fmart as her beau;

I zeed beauty and virtue, that never knew shame;
And I zeed vice carefs'd under modefty's name;

I zeed a fine head-drefs, worth more than the head;
I zeed folks with their brains out before they were deads
I zeed rogues, of their knavery, making their brags;
And I zeed fools in coaches, and merit in rags;

And fill through the crowd, as I whiftled along,
I humm'd to myself, &c.

But what zickened me most, was, one day in the park,
As the guns were all firing, a queer looking spark,
Cry'd, what nonfense and stuff, with their fuss and parade!
Stuff and nonfenfe, faid I; oh! what's that you faid?

Why, they fire for a victory, and you have your choice
To go home, or with all honest fubjects rejoice.
Mighty well, cry'd my spark, but a word in your ear→→→→
The affairs of the nation are curfedly queer!

Nay, 'tis true we're done up, 'twill be feen by and by!-
How much did they give you to catch me, faid I.
The country's a good one, all good men perceive it,
And they that don't like it, why dom't! let 'em leave it.

So I left my queer fpark, and went whistling along,
Then I humm'd to myself, &c.

JACK JUNK.

"TWAS one day at Wapping, his dangers o'erhauling,
Jack Junk cock'd his jemmy, and broach'd a full cann
While a poffee of neighbours, of each different calling,
Cry'd-only but hear, what a marvellous man!

Avaft! cry'd out Jack, what's there marvellous in it:

When his time's come the ftouteft of hearts must comply: (Why now you, mafter Tallow-chandler, by way of throwing a little light on the fubject--don't you think 'tis better to be extinguifhed, when one's fighting in defence of one's king and country, than to ftay at home lingering, and go out like the fnuff of a candle?)—

Then like men do your duty; we all have our minute; '
And at fea or afhore, we fhall live till we die.

Huzza, boys!

Let's live till we die.

Why now you, mafter Plumber, that marvels at billows!
I fhall founder at fea, and you'll die in your bed;
What of that? fome have fods, and fome waves for their
pillows;

And 'tis likely enough we may both die of lead! And as for the odds, all the difference that's in it, I fhall pop off at once, and you'll lingering lie: (Why, fmite my crooked timbers, who knows but master Snip there, may flip his cable, and break his back, with taking the ninth part of a fall off the fhopboard into his own hell!)

Then like men, &c.

As for you, master Bricklayer, to make out your calling,
A little like mine, a'nt a matter that's hard;

Pray, mayn't you, from a ladder or scaffold be falling,
As easy as 1, from a ratling or yard?

Then for you its commiffion a tile may bring in it,

As foon as a fhot or a splinter for I:

(As for master Doctor, the Undertaker, and Sexton, they don't want no wipe from me; they fends too many folks contented to their long home-not to know how to go there contentedly themselves.)—

Then like men, &c.

And when Captain Death comes, the reckoning to settle, You may clear fhip for action, as much as you like, And behave like a man, but he'as fuch weight of metal, At the very first broadfide the braveft must strike: And when you have faid all you can, what's there in it? Who, to fcud 'gainst a storm, but a lubber would try? (For as to qualms of confcience, cheating customers, betraying friends, and fuch like, being a set of honeft tradesmen, I dare fay you are perfectly casy about these fort of things.)—

Then like men, &c.

CALEDONIA.

THEIR groves o' fweet myrtles let foreign lands reckon,
Where bright-beaming fummers exalt the perfume;
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan,
With the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom

Far dearer to me yon humble broom bowers,
Where the blue bell and gowan lurk lowly unfeen;
For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers,
A lift'ning the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.

Tho' rich is the breeze, in their gay funny vallies,
And cauld Caledonia's blaft on the wave;

*Their sweet-fcented woodlands that skirt the proud palace. What are they?-the haunt o' the tyrant and flave?

The flave's fpicy forefts, and gold bubbling fountains,
The brave Caledonian views wi' difdain;

He wanders as free as the wind on his mountains,
Save love's willing fetters-the chains of his Jean.

THE SHIPWRECKED BOY AT HOME.

THE goddess of war threw her spear on the ground,
And peace wav'd her olive-branch gracefully round;
A ftillness now reign'd o'er the wide-fpreading main,
The fyrens began a melodious strain:

The shipwrecked fea-boy his troubles forgot,
The yawn of the waves and the whilstling fhot;
His dear native home preffed strong on his mind,
His parents fo loving, his sisters so kind.

Then hurried on, with his heart all elate:
To embrace them all round, and his story relate;
His hard-earned wages he long'd to divide,
Mongft those that he lov'd by his own fire-fide,

But, when he arriv'd, fay, what pen can express
The genial delight, the joy in excess!

So welcome at home was this brave little guest,

You'd have thought that their welcomes would never have ceas'd.

He hail'd every one, and he smil'd with such glee:-
Cry'd," Hold out your hands, take this prefent from me,
A fine filken 'kerchief each neck to enfold;"
But gave to his parents a purfe full of gold.
'The fidler was fent for that liv'd on the green;
Such dancing and romping sure never was seen.
They gambol'd till Phœbus peep'd over the shed,
Then kiffing and blessing went peaceful to bed.

THE BOTTLE,

OUR bottle, brave boys, is the life-fpring of pleasure,
It fpirit and glee can impart;

Drown deep-thinking care, bid joy sport without measure,
And happiness play round the heart;

Then join, boon companions, and fwell the gay ftrain,
A life of delight 'twill prolong:

Tempus fugit-then bribe him again and again,
With a bottle, a toast, and a song.

Full bumpers the dulleft of drones will make merry,
Then let us of wine take our fill,

The blood of the grape, and the juice of the berry, ́
O'erflowing, fall rapture diftil;.