They go before with many a humble praying strain,

Asking redress of grievances! But when,

Harden'd in stupid apathy, no care

Is taken, no redress can be obtain❜d,

Dissatisfaction, wild-fire like, spreads wide:
And then how sad! how dreadful! the result.

THE TIMES.

ENGLAND! thy fate I've mourned of late,

And what we all may guess, is,

These men atop, will never stop,

But pull thee all to pieces.

Of Church and State, some fool may prate,

And boast of Britain's glory,

But still we know, we're the folks below

Cant tell a different story.

We find the curse still growing worse,

In spite of all our laws;

Th' effects are plain, and must remain,

Till they remove the cause.

With the best cuts they cram their guts, Still for themselves are carving,

And yet we're sure, they know the poor

Are literally starving.

The nation's debt is swelling yet;

And we may boldly say it,

As things remain, 'tis very plain

They never mean to pay it.

From year to year they promise fair,
Their pills go down the sweeter,

But after all, 'tis paying Paul

With what they rob from Peter.

The rev'rend priest counts it a jest

To ease you of your money,

Your souls he'll save, but he must have

Your pig and goose and honey.

None would forbear to pay them fair:

This would be freely granted;

But still we find, their greedy mind

Can never be contented.

I may be rude, so I'll conclude,

And only here shall say→
Do all we can, the happy man

Must be the "Vicar o' Bray."

THE PROFITS OF

WAR.

YE bold sons of Mars! lend an ear to my song!
Though not dress'd very fine, it may pass in the throng.
While blockheads and cowards dull place may prefer,
I'll sing you a song on the profits of war.

When a nation's at peace, what a sameness appears,
How gloomy the aspect which every thing wears!
But war once declar'd, 'tis oft put in our pow'r,
What might cost our whole life time, to gain in an hour.

Some spirited desp'rate fellows, they say,

Have taken up tricks to rob on the high-way,

And tho' for some time they live high on their plunder, In the end, they are found to make a sad blunder.

It can't be expected that one, two, or three,

Or

suppose their whole number full twenty may be,

Can oppose a whole nation and take what they please,
In the ev❜ning of life to sit down at their ease.

No! it must be force, as appears by each story,
Or you will acquire neither honor nor glory.
But when you've the power got once in your hand,
You may do as you please, both by sea and by land.

Though most men will struggle for riches and fame,
Of ev'ry description, persuasion, and name;
'Tis observed by most nations, both foolish and wise,
"None fights like the Christian when gold is the prize."

I've just been inform'd how an Indian, of late,
Made a desp'rate push to preserve his estate;
But a good Christian aim with smart powder and ball,
Soon knock'd the poor d- -1 quite over the wall.

As all must acknowledge some blanks in the wheel,
Which some who adventure must certainly feel;
For our blunders in Holland we care not a d- -n:

But we'll balance the whole with Seringapatam.

Therefore you will take the advice of my song, There are many rich nations tho' not very strong: With them we'll make war, tho' for no fault at all; And then we've a warrant for taking the whole.

And now to conclude, let's observe the main thing:
Having done these exploits to support Church and King,
When life is exhausted and all things set even,
You're sure of a passport to put you to Heaven.

HELSTON VOLUNTEERS.

THE times, alas! more desp'rate grow!
Where's Hardy* gone?-Does no one know ?*
Count D'Orviliers with all his navy,

Is in the Channel.-Nought can save ye.—

To arms! To arms! Let every soul

Stand up and venture all for all.

"A good subscription, gentlemen!

"Write twenty pounds a-piece or ten.

* Admiral Sir Charles Hardy.