Aided by thee, the printed page
Conveys instruction to each age;
When in one hour more sheets appear,
Than Scribes could copy in a year.

AIR.

Tune-" Roast Beef of Old England."

THEN all who profess here that heaven-taught Art,
And all who have Learning and Science at heart,
Come join in my ditty, and each bear a part,

To sing in the praise of good Printing,
And to sing in that noble Art's praise.

Though ev'ry compositor a galley must have,
Yet think not by that a composer's a slave,
For freedom he labours, and freedom will have,
To sing in the praise of good Printing,
And to sing in that noble Art's praise.

Though he daily imposes, 'tis not to do wrong,
And, like Nimrod, he follows a chase all day long,
And he loves a good slice, or he's much in the wrong,
To sing in the praise of good Printing.

And to sing in that noble Art's praise.

Though correction he needs, all mankind does the same,
If he quadrats his matter, he is not to blame,
For to justification he lays a strong claim,

To sing in the praise of good Printing,
And sing in that noble Art's praise.

To complete this great Art, the pressmen all come,
And each handles his balls, his frisket, and drum,
And to make good impression the plattin pulls home,

While he sings to the praise of good Printing,
And sings in that noble Art's praise.

But, as the old proverb relates very clear,

We're the furthest from good when the church we are near, So in each Printer's chapel do devils appear,

Who roar in the praise of good Printing,

And sing in that noble Art's praise.

Then let us regard, as the aider of Art,

Each one who in Printing doth bear the least part,
And whoe'er would oppress it must have a vile heart,
Then sing in the praise of good Printing,
And sing in that noble Art's praise.

Dodd.

ODE TO THE PRINTER'S DEVIL,*

Who brought me a proof to be corrected, and who fell asleep while it was undergoing correction :-being

An Ode founded on fact.

"Fallen Cherub!"-Milton's Paradise Lost.

OH! bright and blessed hour;

The Devil's asleep!-I see his little lashes
Lying in sable o'er his sable cheek:

Closed are his wicked little window sashes,
And tranced is Evil's power!

The world seems hush'd and dreaming out-a-doors;
Spirits but speak;

And the heart echoes,-while the Devil snores ;

The PRINTER'S DEVIL is a character almost identified with the origin of the art, and we may consider ourselves peculiarly fortunate in having a guardian exclusively assigned to us, from whom, notwithstanding his general bad conduct to other people, we have so little to apprehend, and who is commonly our faithful assistant, both in our labours and in our pleasures.-M'CREERY.

Sleep, baby of the damn'd!

Sleep, where no press of trouble standeth by!
Black wanderer amid the wandering,

How quiet is thine eye!

Strange are thy very small pernicious dreams,With shades of printers cramm'd,

And pica, double pica, on the wing!

Or in cold sheets thy sprite perchance is flying
The world about,-

Dying, and yet, not like the Devil dying—
Dele,-the evil out!

Before sweet sleep drew down

The blinds upon thy Day and Martin eyes,— Thou didst let slip thy slip of mischief on me, With weary, weary sighs:

And then, outworn with demoning o'er town!
Oblivion won thee!

Best of compositors -Thou didst compose
Thy decent little wicked self, and go

A Devil-cruiser round the shores of sleep-
I hear thee fathom many a slumber-deep,
In the waves of woe:
Dropping thy lids of lead,
To sound the dead!

Heaven forgive me!— I

Have wicked schemes about thee, wicked one;
And in my scheming, sigh,

And stagger under a gigantic thought. "What if I run my pen into thine eye, And put thee out!

Killing the Devil will be a noble deed,

A deed to snatch perdition from mankindTo make the Methodist's a stingless creed— To root out terror from the Brewer's mind

And break the bondage which the Printer presses-
To change the fate of Lawyers-

Confirm the Parson's holy sinecure--
Make worthless Sin's approaches-
To justify the bringing up addresses
To me, in hackney coaches,
From operative Sawyers!"

"To murder thee "

Methinks "will never harm my precious head-
For what can chance me, when the Devil is dead!
But when I look on thy serene repose,

Hear the small Satan dying through thy nose,—
My thoughts become less dangerous and more deep:
I can but wish thee everlasting sleep!

Sleep free from dreams,—

Of type, and ink, and press, and dabbing ball-
Sleep free from all

That would make shadowy devilish slumber darker,
Sleep free from Mr. Baldwin's Mr. Parker!

Oh! fare thee well!

Farewell-black bit of breathing sin!-Farewell
Tiny remembrancer of a Printer's hell!
Young thing of darkness, seeming

A small poor type of wickedness set up!
Full is thy little cup

Of misery in the waking world! So dreaming
Perchance may now undemonize thy fate
And bear thee, Black-boy, to a whiter state!
Yet mortal evil is, than thine, more high :-
Thou art upright in sleep;―men sleep,—and lie!
And from thy lids to me a moral peeps,
For I correct my errors,-while the Devil sleeps!

London, June, 1823.

NED WARD, JUN.

PRINTING-HOUSE MELODIES.

THE PRESS.

PULL up, my boys, turn round the rounce,
And let the work begin,

The world is pressing on without
And we must press within.

And we who guide the printing-press,
Have influence far and wide,
And all our deeds are good, because
The devil's at our side.

Set fly the frisket now, my boys,
Who are more proud than we?
While wait the anxious crowd without
The force of power to see.

So pull away-none are so great
As they who run the car :
And who have dignity like those
Who practise at the bar?

And you who 'twixt the roller there,

Be quick you inky man,
Old Time is rolling on himself,
So beat him if you can.

Be careful of the light and shade
Nor let the sheet grow pale,
Be careful of the monkey look
At every head and tail.

Though high in office is our stand,

And pious is our case,

We should not cast a slur on those

Who fill our lower place.