blue,

Fixed and wild were his looks, and his nose cold and And his countenance wore a cold church-yard like hue.

Derry down, &c. The good father bid Pat to confess all his crimes, To think of his sins, and forget them betimes; Or else, 'twould be his fate like other vile souls, To be fayed, and be salted, then roasted on coals!

Derry down, &c. Oh, think, my dear Pat, on that beautiful place, Where you'll visit St. Patrick, and see his sweet face; "Tis a country, my jewel, so charming and sweet, Where you'll never want praties, nor brogues to your feet.

Derry down, &c. Well, well, then, says Pat, with inquisitive face, That country must, sure, be a beautiful place; St. Patrick, no doubt, he will give us good cheer, But, d'ye think, has he got any ould whiskey there?

Derry down, &c. The good father, with wonder, amaze, and surprise, Clapp'd his hands, and next turned up the whites of his

eyes; « Oh, vile sinner,” says he, “ can you hope to be for

given, If you think there's carousing and drinking in heaven.”

Derry down, &c. 6. Well, well, then,” says Pat, “ though I cannot help

thinking, If in heaven they can do without eating and drinking,

Though I don't mane to say what you tell is a fablo,) "Twould be dacent, you know, just to see a drop on the table.”

Derry down, &c

BEN BACKSTAY.

BEN Backstay was our boatswain, a very merry boy, For no one half so merrily could pipe all hands a-hoy! And when it chanced his summons we didn't well at

tend, No lad than he more merrily could handle a rope's end. With his chip-chow, cherry-chow, fol lol de

riddee row, fol lol de ra.

Whilst sailing once, our captain, who was a jolly dog, One day he gave to every mess a double share of grog; Ben Backstay he got tipsy, all to his heart's content, And, being half-seas over, vy overboard he vent.

With his chip-chow, &c.

A shark was on the starboard,-sharks don't for man

ners stand, But grapple all they come near, just like your sharks on

land; We threw out Ben some tackling, of saving him some

hopes, But the shark had bit his head off, so he couldn't see the ropes—

Nor sing out chip-chow, &c. Without a head, his ghost appeared all on the bring He piped all hands a-hoy! and cried, lads, warning by

me take, By drinking grog I lost my life; so, lest my fate you

meet, Dy, never mix your liquor, lads, but always take it

And sing chip-chow, &c.

THE GAMBLER'S LEGACY.

WHEN in death I shall quiet be found,

Pray bear my clothes to some pawnbroker near, Tell him to lend you a couple of pound,

And mind he don't charge for the ticket too dear. Bid him not search too close for gam boge

In the breeches, nor nicely examine the coat, But tell him that he may send if he choose,

All he can spare 'bove a two-pound note. Then with the money pray buy me a coffin,

And bury me safe 'neath a table of chance; Haply e’en there my memory may soften

The pangs of ill-luck and the want of finance. But should some cruel and opulent Greek

Revile at my state as he stamps o'er my grave, Oh! let some thought of its master bespeak,

Your favor for him who was gambling's slave. Take, then, these cards, which now are neglected,

And bury them with me when I'm at rest; Never! oh never! in cheating detected, Though seldom by hands that were pure were they

prest. But should some fortunate gambling rover

Come here to seek them in frolic and fun, Oh, then around my genius shall hove

And teach him to spend the cash he has won.

HEY FOR THE SAWYER.
To set up a village, with tackle for tillage,

Jack Carter he took to the saw;
To pluck and to pillage, the same little village,

Tim Gordon, he took to the law.

They angled so pliant for gull and for client,

As sharp as a weazle for rats; Till what with their saw-dust, and what with their law

dust, They blinded the eves of the flats. Then hey for the sawyer, and hey for the lawyer,

Make hay, for it's going to rain!
And saw 'em and law 'em, and work 'em and quirk 'em,

And at 'em again and again.
Jack brought to the people, a bill for the steeple,

They swore that they wouldn't be bit;
But out of a saw-pit, is into a law-pit,

Tim tickled 'em up with a writ.
Cried Jack, the saw rasper, “ I say neighbor Grasper,

We both of us buy in the stocks;
While I, for my savings, turn blocks into shavings,
You, lawyer, are shaving the blocks.”

Then hey, &c.
Jack frolicked in clover, and when work was over,

Got drunk at the George, for a freak,
But Timothy Gordon-he stood for church warden,

And eat himself dead in a week;
Jack made him a coffin, but Timothy off in

A loud clap of thunder had flown,
When lawyers lie level, be sure that the devil.
Looks sharp enough after his own.

Then hey, &c.

THE MISERIES OF MATRIMONY.
Oh, listen awhile to poor Dicky Scragg,

Heigho, said Dicky!
Who fell deep in love with one Biddy Bragg,
And with her each night would spend every mag,

With his wooing, suing,

Buns and blue ruin,
I'm all night, thought poor little Dicky!

Quoth Dicky, “ great is the fervour I feel!"

Heigho, said Dicky? And if I could manage her heart to steal, And make her my rib, 't would be for my own weal,

With my whining, pining,

Purse with the shine in,
I'll have her, said poor little Dicky!
By dint of persuasion, he got her consent,

Heigho, sighed Dicky?
And soon to church, to be married they went
Ne'er thinking that he should have it to repent,

With their wooing, suing,

Billing and cooing,
I'm all right, thought poor little Dicky.
The honey-moon had scarce took its flight,

Heigho, sighed Dicky!
Ere she proved herself a termagant quite,
And kicked up with Dicky the devil's delight,

With her bump him, bruise him,

Thump, and ill use him,
0, dear, sighed poor little Dicky!
Said she, one day, “I'll mill your mug,”

Heigho, sighed Dicky!
With her mauleys into his mazzard she dug,
And his hair by the handfuls out she did lug,

With her mill him, drill him,

Wallop and kill him, 0, dear, sighed poor little Dicky Dicky took it all as still as a lamb,

Heigho, sighed Dicky! For, in truth, you must own, that she was his dam, For oft by her darbies he got a rare ram,

With haul him, hit him,

Maul him, and split him,
0, dear, sighed poor little Dicky!