Sure, sure, then, a man was ne'er so put on,

Heigho, sighed Dicky!
For, in her kick-ups, one day, not caring a button,
She laid him fat on the floor, as dead as mutton;

With her lash him, dash him,

Thump him, and smash him, 0, dear, for poor little Dicky! Her tongue, after this, she never wagged,

Heigho, for Dicky! For she soon to the prison for murder was dragged, And, for killing poor Scragg, she herself got scragged,

So hanging for banging,

And her tongue's haranguing,
Thus ended the doxy of Dicky!

NOTHING LIKE SNUFF.

TUNE,— Home, sweet Home.' In this life there is joy, in this life there is care, And each mortal that lives must of both have a share, But our cares were too great, and our joys not enough, If wanting the zest we derive from good snuff.

Snuff! snuff! good black snuff!

There's no snuff like black snuff,

There's nothing like snuff-atchee!
Then grant me good snuff, there I taste no alloy,
For it cannot, like wine, our reason destroy,
Oh! this sensitive nose must be callous enough,
When I cease to delight in a pinch of good snuff.

Snuff! snuff! &c.

AMATORY SONGS. ?

OH NO! WE NEVER MENTION HER.
Oh no! we never mention her

Her name is never heard;
My lips are now forbid to speak

That once familiar word."
From sport to sport they hurry me, :,

To banish my regret;
And when they win a smile from me. ..

They think that I forget.
They bid me seek in change of scene,

The charms that others see;
But were I in a foreign land,

They'd find no change in me.
"T is true that I behold no more

The valley where we met;
I do not see the hawthorn tree

But how can I forget?
· They tell me she is happy now

The gayest of the gay;
They hint that she forgets me;

But I heed not what they say;
Like me perhaps she struggles with

Each feeling of regret;
But if she loves as I have loved,

She never can forget.

IT IS NOT FOR THINE EYE OF BLUE, It is not for thine eye of blue,

Nor for thy dark and glossy hair,

Nor for thy cheek of rosy hue,

Nor for thy lovely bosom fair, That I do love thee; for to me,

There are far brighter charms in thee! But it is for thy gentle mind,

Thy placid and expansive brow, Imagination, mild and kind,

Which burns with clear, and fervid glow, That I do love thee; and I see,

A thousand matchless charms in thee!

THE KISS.
THE kiss, dear maid, thy lips have left,

Shall never part from mine,
Till happier hours restore the gift

Untainted back to thine.
The parting glance that fondly gleams,

An equal love may see,
The tear that from the eyelid streams
Can weep no change in me.

The kiss, &c
I ask no pledge to make me blest,

In gazing when alone,
Nor one memorial for a breast,

Whose thoughts are all thine own.
By day or night, in weal or wo,

That heart no longer free,
Must bear the love it cannot show,
And silent ache for thee.

The kiss, &c.

MEET ME BY MOONLIGHT. MEET me by moonlight alone, .

And then I will tell you a tale

Must be told by the moonlight alone,

In the grove at the end of the vale; You must promise to come, for I said

I would show the night flowers their queen, Nay; turn not away thy sweet head, "T is the loveliest ever was seen

Oh! meet, &c. Daylight may do for the gay,

The thoughtless, the heartless, the free; But there's something about the moon's ray,

That is sweeter to you and to me.
Oh! remember be sure to be there,

For though dearly a moonlight I prize,
I care not for all in the air,
If I want the sweet light of your eyes.

So ineet, &c.

AMELIA BIRD.
TUNE, Oh no! we never mention her."
Oh! yes, I love to mention her,

I do upon my word!
I'm only happy when I speak

Of Miss Amelia Bird.
It, in the fields near Primrose hill,

One summer's day occurr’d,
I saw and lov'd, and first did speak

To Miss Amelia Bird.
I ask'd her if she in the fields

Saw charms that others see;
To which she archly did reply,

She saw no charms in me.'
And thus the introduction o’er,

All shyness was absurd,
And soon I learnt the residence

Of Miss Amelia Bird.

Said she · I live at Hampstead now,

Beyond the Load of Hay;
My father keeps a good milch cow,

And deals in curds and whey.'
Said she, I do prefer the whey-'

Said I, “I love the curd;
But what than that much more I love,

Is you, Amelia Bird.'
She soon confess'd a mutual flame

And me a keepsake give;
And I gave her a handkerchief

Which cost me shillings five:
A virtuous woman's worth a crown,

As I have often beard;
But worth, I think, a sovereign

Is Miss Amelia Bird.
Although I'm far from Hampstead now,

And may be farther yet,
And do not see her nor the cow,

Yet how can I forget?
But, perhaps, like me, she may be here,

And see me unobserv'dWhat ecstacy 't would be to me

To see Amelia Bird.

THE FARMER'S DAUGHTER. WHERE are you going my pretty maid? I'm going a milking, sir, she said; May I go with you, my pretty maid? It's just as you please, kind sir, she said. What is your father, my pretty maid? My father's a farmer, sir, she said; Then I will marry you, my pretty maid; It's not as you please, kind sir, she said.