THE TOKEN,

THE breeze was fresh, the fhip in ftays,
Each breaker hush'd the shore a haze,
When Jack no more on duty call'd,
His true-love's tokens overhaul'd.
The broken gold, the braided hair,
The tender motto writ fo fair,
Upon his 'bacco box he views,
Nancy the poet, love the mufe;

"If you loves I, as I loves you,
"No pair fo happy as we two."

The ftorm, that like a fhapelefs wreck,
Had ftrew'd with rigging all the deck,
That tars for sharks had given a feast,
And left the fhip a hulk-had ceas'd:
When Jack, as with his mefs-mates dear,
He fhar'd the grog their hearts to cheer,
Took from his 'bacco-box a quid,
And fpell'd for comfort on the lid,

"If you loves I, as I loves you,
"No pair fo happy as we too."

The battle, that with horror grim,
Had madly ravag'd life and limb,
Had fcuppers drench'd with human gore,

And widow'd many a wife--was o'er.

When Jack to his companions dear,
First paid the tribute of a tear,
Then as his 'bacco-box he held,
Reftor'd his comfort as he spell'd-

"If you loves I, as I loves you,
"No pair fo happy as we too."

The voyage that had been long and hard,
But that had yielded full reward,
That brought each failor to his friend,
Happy and rich was at an end;

When Jack, his toils and perils o'er,
Beheld his Nancy on the shore,
He then the 'bacco box display'd,
And cry'd and feiz'd the yielding maid,
"If you loves I, as I loves you,
"No pair fo happy as we two."

A SOLEMN DIRGE,

ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT BURNS, THE SCOTS BARD,

WHAT! is there ill-news you're fo fad,

Robin Gray,

That thy blue bonnet's pull'd o'er thy brow?
O! fad news! fad! fad!

Poor Robin is dead,

And the plowman weeps over his plow,

Well a well a day.

And the plowman weeps over his plow.

Is his pipe mute for
Robin Gray,

ay,

and for ay,

No more shall we tend to his fong?
Aye cold as a clod
Beneath the green fod,

Poor Robin they've lain all along,
Well a well a day,

Poor Robin they've lain all along.

Adieu then the forest and hill,
Robin Gray,

And farewell the valleys and grove!
Why the forest and hill

And the valleys ring ftill,

Still echo his ditties of love,

Well a well a day,

Sill echo his ditties of love.

The fad found of echo I'll fhun,

Robin Gray,

Its dying notes live on my mind;

Can you then as you roam,
. From your forefathers home;

Leave your country's feeling behind,
Well a well a day,

Leave your country's feeling behind.

Still the blackbird will fing on the thorn,,
Robin Gray,

And the lark early carol on high,
But the lowly lodg'd fwain,
As he fcatters his grain,

Will chaunt Robin's verfe with a figh,
Well a well a day,

Will chant Robin's verfe with a figh.

Soft lie on his bofom the turf,
Robin Gray,

Reft his afhes unmingled and pure!

May the tomb of his urn

Caledonia adorn,

And his much-lov'd remains

Well a well a day!

And his much-lov'd remains

POOR OLD ENGLAND.

HAVE you heard of the tax that such strange confternation
Has fpread through old England that poor helpless nation,
"Tis hair powder, oh downfall of guinealess beaus,
Who unlicenfed will all look like fo many crows.
Hark the frizeurs exclaim as diftracted they roam
'Mongit the knights of the curling irons, chaos is come.
Sing and cry, cry and fing, mingle mis'ry and fun,
England's never so happy as when she's undone.

The hunks, who can boast but a fingle colt's tooth,
Who, weigh'd down with age, apes the fopperies of youth,
Says to fome dulcinea, my hairs are all grey

So I can't be taxed, cries the fyren," nay, nay,

"Not all grey-they're half black"-Ah you dear coaxing

Well I'll purchase a license and pay half-a-guinea.

Sing and cry, &c.

Then the knights of the rainbow I fay my lord duke, On hair powder a tax-take the news there and look, 'I forgot you can't read'-the ridiculous fufs,

Why, what are fuch trifles as guineas to us?

Nunky pays for we footmen, I'll sport a spruce nob,
And old Quibus comes down for't, or dam'me, I'll blab.'
Sing and cry, &c.

But the drolleft expedient was that of a fop,

A man-milliner, where there were four in a shop,
I've hit upon't, dam'me! as lawyers a coach call,
And drive for a fhilling to Weftminster-hall;