This point being settled, I come to the next,
And now, like the parson, I look for my text;
For in writing a song, 'tis as well, without doubt,
To be able to tell what the ditty's about.

Should my song treat of physic, you'll call it a pill,
And ask, can I think such good company ill?
Shou'd I sing about law, 'twould your patience offend
For with that once begin, you'll ne'er find an end.
Or why about war should I drum in your ears,
Or bore ye with mortars, or tall grenadiers?
To put wine in my song, I were easily able,
But isn't there plenty of that on the table?

For politic matters I care not two pins,
Nor value a button the outs or the inns:
What's your song then about? you may cry in a huff,
Why, I answer, I think 'tis—About long enough.

AMO AMAS.

AMO Amas, I love a lass,
As a cedar tall and slender,

Sweet cowslips grace her nominative case,
And she's of the feminine gender.

Rorum Corum, sunt di-vorum,

Harum scarum Divo;

Tag rag merry derry, periwig and hat band,
Hic hoc horum Genetivo.

Can I decline a nymph so divine,
Her voice like a flute is dulcis,

Her oculus bright, her manus white,
And soft, when I tacto, her pulse is

Rorum Corum, &c.

O how Bella, my puella,

I'll kiss in secula seculorum!
If I've luck sir, she's my uxor,
O dies benedictorum!
Rorum Corum, &c.

BARTHOLOMEW FAIR.

COME, bustle, neighbour Prig,
Buckle on your Sunday wig;
In our Sunday clothes so gaily,
Let us strut up the Old Bailey.
Oh! the devil take the rain,
Perhaps we may never go again:
See the shows have begun-O rare O!
Remember, Mr. Snip,

To take Mrs. Snip;

That's the little boy from Flanders,
And that there's Master Saunders:
Stand aside and we'll have a stare, O!

High down, O down, derry, derry, down,
O the humours of Bartlemy Fair, O!

Spoken.-Valk up, ladies and gentlemen, here's the vonerful birds and beastesses from Bengal in the Vest Indies. Here, ma'am, only look at this beautiful hanimal; no two spots on his body alike; it's out of the power of any limmer to describe him; measures fifteen feet from the snout to the tail, and fifteen feet from the tail to the snout; grows an inch and a half every year, and never comes to its proper growth. Turn him up there with a long pole.

High down, &c.

When the fair is at the full,
In gallops a mad bull,

Puts the rabble to the rout,

Lets all the lions out;

Down falls Mrs. Snip,

With a monkey on her hip

We shall all be swallowed up I declare, O.
Roaring boys, gilded toys,
Lollipops, shilling hops,
Tumble in, just begin,

Cups and balls, wooden walls,
Gin and bitters, apple fritters,
Shins of beef, stop thief!
Lost shoes, Kangaroos,
O Polly, where's Molly!
Bow wow, what a row!

High down, &c.

Now the beasts, with hungry tooth,
In anger 'tack the booth;

Away affrighted run

Birds and eagles of the sun;

Down tumbles trot-legg'd Rolla,

Who tips 'em the view holla;

Poor Cora's in the mud-O rare, O!

Here's

(Spoken.)-Here, Valk up, ladies and gentlemen. Here's the vonderful kangaroo from Bottomhouse Bay. Here's the vonderful large baboon, that danc'd a Paddy-dow, and played at leap frog with the celebrated Muster Barrington. the vonderful cow that can't live on the land, and dies in the vater; the vonderful sun eagle, the hotter the sun, the higher he flies. Billy, run and stuff a blanket in that hole, or the little boys will peep for nothing. Here! here! valk! valk! -Suppose you think this man's alive, he's no more alive than you are. Now's your time to see that vonderful vooden Roscius, Mr. Punch, for the small charge of one penny.-(Mi micking Punch.)

High down, O down, derry, derry, down,
What whirligigs of Bartlemy Fair, O.

THE PRIEST OF KAJAAGA.

A PRIEST of Kajaaga, as blind as a stone,
When he took to his bosom a wife,

Cried, "Deary, I never shall see you, I own,
"But you'll be the delight of my life."
Then his arm o'er her shoulders he lovingly pass'd,
And says he, "My love what is this lump?"
She faulter'd a little-but told him at last,
Please your holiness, only my hump."

Says the Priest," Then we cannot cohabit, d'ye see,
Though I tenderly love you,

indeed!

"For I've taken an oath that my children shan't be
"Of the camel and buffalo breed."

So he married another he fancied would fit;-
Coming home in sweet conjugal talk,

She stopp❜d the blind Priest, saying, "Sit down a bit,
"For my legs are too bandy to walk."

"Bandy legs," said the Priest, "can't be counted for sins,

<< So sit there as still as a mouse,

"For Mohammed curse me if ever your shins "Shall waddle you into my house."

Then he turn'd up his eyes, like the white of boil'd

eggs,

And pray'd thus, to Mohammed, smack;

"Great Prophet, afford me a wife with good legs,
"And with never a hump on her back."

Then the voice of the Prophet in thunder was heard,
And rumbled thus over his head-

A handsome young woman that can't speak a word,
Shall bless your blind Rev'rence's bed."

The Priest he bow'd low, crying, " Mohammed's kind; "Of happiness this is the sum,

"For a handsome young wife likes her old husband blind, "And most men like a wife that is dumb!"

U

SEVEN AGES.

OUR immortal poet's page
Tells us all the world's a stage,
And that men, with all their airs,
Are nothing more than players,
Each using skill and art,

In his turn to top his part,
All to fill up the farcical scene, O;
Enter here, exit there,

Stand in view, mind your cue;

Heigh down, ho down, derry derry down,
All to fill up this farcical scene, O.

First, the Infant on the lap,
Mewling, puling with his pap,
Like a chicken that we truss,
Is swaddled by his nurse,
Who to please the poppet, tries,
Whilst it giggles, and it cries,
All, &c.

Hush-a-bye, wipe an eye,
Suck a titty, that's a pretty,
Heigh down, &c.

Then the pretty Babe of grace,
With a shining morning face,
With satchell on his back,
To school, alas! must pack,
And like a snail he creeps,
And for bloody Monday weeps,
All, &c.

Book mislaid, truant play'd,
Rod in pickle, bum to tickle,
Heigh down, &c.

Then the lover next appears,
Sous'd over head and ears,
Like a lobster on the fire,
Sighing, ready to expire,