And the Cobourg glass curtain is hid from inspec

tion,

But we'll not speak of that-it's a sort of reflection.
Oh, the fashion, &c.
Now some in balloons they go up in the air,
While others by steam to the Nore do repair,
And with large bills of boats and balloons town do
teem,

So that some folks must fatten on gas and on steam.
Oh, the fashion, &c.

When she's tender and kind,
She is like, to my mind,

(And Fanny was so, I remember,)
She is like to oh dear,
She's as good, very near,

As a ripe melting peach in September.
If she laugh and she chat,
Play, joke, and all that,

And with smiles and good humour she meet me,
She's like a rich dish

Of venison or fish,

ease,

And let other men do with their wives what they please.

Oh, the fashion, &c. There's your jolly M.P. in the Parliament-house, Goes there just for his ease, is as still as a mouse, And if he has slept, and debate being ended, He cries, Never mind, the least said 's soonest mended.

Oh, the fashion, &c. There a starch'd-up apprentice with his sweet-heart is seen;

He kneels and he swears what he never can mean, While our meek female saints with their fine curling tresses,

Go to church or to chapel to exhibit their dresses. Oh, the fashion, &c. Now you'll say I look funny, though I am no sight, And I hope that my fun may have pleased you outright;

Only laugh at my jokes, 'twill make my heart at rest,

But I know you'll be pleased when a man does his best. Oh, the fashion, &c.

THE BALLAD SELLER.
HERE are catches, songs, and glees,
Some are twenty for a penny;
You shall have whate'er you please,
Take your choice, for here are many.
Here is Nan of Glo'ster-green,"
Here's "The Lily of the Valley,"
Here is "Kate of Aberdeen,"

Here is "Sally in our Alley."
Here is " Mary's Dream"-" Poor Jack,"
Here's 66 The Tinker and the Tailor,"
Here's "Bow, wow" and "Paddy Whack,"
"Tally ho!"-"The Hardy Sailor."
Here's Dick Dock"-" The hearty Blade,"
Captain Wattle" and "The Grinder,"
And I've got the " Cottage Maid,"
Confound me, though, if I can find her.
Drinking songs, too, here abound,

66

Toby Philpot"-" Fill the Glasses," And, "Why stands the Glass around?" Here's a health to all good Lasses," Here's "Come, let us dance and sing,"

And, what's better far than any, Here's "God save great George er King," "Hearts of Oak," and "Rule Britannia."

WHAT'S A WOMAN LIKE?
(Prince Hoare.)

A WOMAN is like to-but stay,
What a woman is like who can say?
There's no living with nor without one-
Love bites like a fly-
Now an ear, now an eye,
Buz, buz, always a buzzing about one.

But she'll plague and she'll vex you,
Distract and perplex you,
False hearted and ranging,
Unsettled and changing,
What then do you think she is like?
Like a sand, like a rock,
Like a wheel, like a clock-
Aye, a clock that is always at strike.
Her head's like the island folks tell on,
Where nothing but monkies can dwell on.
Her heart's like a lemon-so nice,
She carves for each lover a slice.
In truth, she's, to me,
Like the wind, like the sea,

Whose raging will hearken to no man.
Like a mill, like a pill,

Like a flail, like a whale,
Like an ass, like a glass,

Whose image is constant to no man.

Like a flower, like a shower,

Like a fly, like a pie,

Like a pea, like a flea,

Like a thief, like-in brief,

She's like nothing on earth but a woman.

civil;

Some have none, like a bear, when a cub;
A fine stately nose may sometimes hide a devil;
And an angel may beam in a snub.

The flat nose, like a platter, is scarcely worth naming,

The sharp nose is a pretty good sort;

The mulberry nose, that like Bardolph's, is flaming,
Makes one think of good claret and port.

Your fine Grecian nose, about which they so teaze us,
Is admir'd, but from this some will swerve,
For a nose should be beautiful, if it would please us,
And the true line of beauty's a curve.

The old Roman's hook'd noses were guards to their peepers,

They, therefore, were men of renown;

For these sickle-like noses arm'd them all so like

THE WONDERFUL METROPOLIS. Air-" The Tortoiseshell Tom Cat." OH! what a town, what a wonderful metropolis, Sure such a town as this was never seen;

Mayor, common-councilmen, citizens, and populace, Wand'ring from Poplar to Turnham-green. Chapels, churches, synagogues, distilleries, and county-banks,

Poets, Jews, and gentlemen apothecaries, mountebanks;

There's Bethlem Hospital, and there the Picture Gallery,

And there's Sadler's Wells, and there the Court of Chancery.

Oh, such a town, such a wonderful metropolis,
Sure such a town as this was never seen.

Oh, such a town, and such a heap of carriages,
Sure such a motley group was never seen;
Such a swarm of young and old, of buryings and
marriages,

All the world seems occupied in a ceaseless din. There's the Bench, and there's the Bank, now only take a peep at her,

And there's Rag Fair, and there the East London

ST. PATRICK WAS A GENTLEMAN. SAINT Patrick was a gentleman, and came o' d cent people,

He built a church in Dublin town, and upon it put a steeple;

His mother was a Callaghan, his father was a Brady,

His sister was an O'Huolihan, and his brother an O'Grady.

CHORUS-Noh! noh! noh! noh!

Success attend St. Patrick's fist, for he's the dacent saint O,

He gave the bugs and toads a twist, he's a beauty without paint O!

The Wicklow hills are very high, and so's the hill of Howth, too;

But I know a hill that's twice as high, and taller than them both, too.

'Twas on the top of that high mount where St. Patrick praeched his sarinint,

He made the frogs jump through the bogs, and he banished all the varmint.

THE GARDENER'S SONG.
(Dibdin.)

WHEN the tendrils of love once strike root in the

heart

They shoot freely without cultivation;

If the sun of encouragement warmth but impart To the soil of a sweet inclination.

Yet in this wide world's borders wherever 'tis found, The bindwood of interest gets seed in;

Any money and marigold cover the ground,

While beneath the sweet rose love lies bleeding. Though single for some time an Adonis may keep, Sagely railing at Wedlock so witty;

While in Venus's looking-glass at every peep
A Narcissus appears none so pretty.

At last if he spies, 'mong the fair queens of the

mead,

A good shepherd's purse, full of bright money, His bachelor's buttons then begin to look dead, And he longs to be suckling the honey.

Of raking now tired, (though as chill cucumber cold

The fair daughter should prove to their union, His eyes gaily glisten at the thought of her gold, And you'd think he'd been slicing an onion.

In for love, lack-adaisies he ruefully pines,

Of a willow he talks, and his garters; Ev'n the sultan's imperial crown he'd resign

To be saved from the fate of love's martyrs.

Thus I, when a trenching the stiff heart of my dear,

So well drilled and lined out my whole carriage, That fair words (though they butter no parsnips, 'tis clear)

"Twill soon butter her over to marriage.

When I had cabbaged her heart, and got her to wed,

O, this rare nonpareil, thought so oft on! A briar, not a sweet one, I found in my bed, A crab good for nought but to graft on.

Alas, I was not born beneath
The virgin and the scales,
So I must curse my cruel stars,
And valk about in Wales.
Now, Ben had sailed to many a place
That's underneath the world,
But in two years the ship came home,
And all the sails were furled.

Too ral, &c.
But when he called on Sally Brown,
To see how she went on,

He found she'd got another Ben,
Whose Christian name was John.
Oh, Sally Brown, oh, Sally Brown,
How could you sarve me so?
I've met with many a breeze before,
But never such a blow!

Seem given by the rule of contraries.

Mr. Box, though provok'd, ne'er doubles his fist, Mr. Burns in his grate has no fuel;

Mr. Playfair won't catch me at hazard or whist,
Mr. Coward was wing'd in a duel.

Mr. Wise is a dunce, Mr. King is a whig,
Mr. Coffin's uncommonly sprightly,

And huge Mr. Little broke down in a gig,
While driving fat Mrs. Golightly.

Mrs. Drinkwater's a sot to indulge in a dram,

Mrs. Angel's an absolute fury,

And meek Mr. Lyon let fierce Mr. Lamb
Tweak his nose in the lobby of Drury.

At Bath, where the feeble go more than the stout, (A conduct well worthy of Nero,)

Over poor Mr. Lightfoot, confined with the gout, Mr. Heaviside danced a bolero.

Miss Joy, wretched maid! when she chose Mr. Love,
Found nothing but sorrow await her!

She now holds in wedlock, as true as a dove,
The fondest of mates, Mr. Hayter.

Mr. Oldcastle dwells in a modern-built hut;
Miss Sage is of madcaps the archest;
Of all the queer bachelors Cupid e'er cut,
Old Mr. Younghusband's the starchest.

Mr. Child, in a passion, knocked down Mr. Rock,
Mr. Stone like an aspen-leaf shivers;

Miss Poole used to dance, but she stands like a stock
Ever since she became Mrs. Rivers.
Mr. Swift hobbles onward no mortal knows how,
He moves as though cords had entwin'd him.
Mr. Metcalfe run off on meeting a cow,

With pale Mr. Turnbull behind him.
Mr. Barker's as mute as a fish in the sea,
Mr. Miles never moves on a journey;
Mr. Gotobed sits up till half-after-three,
Mr. Makepeace was bred an attorney.
Mr. Gardener can't tell a flower from a root,
Mr. Wild, with timidity, draws back;
Mr. Ryder performs all his journeys on foot,
Mr. Foot all his journeys on horseback.
Mr. Penny, whose father was rolling in wealth,
Kick'd down all the fortune his dad won;
Large Mr. Le Fever's the picture of health,
Mr. Goodenough is but a bad one.

Mr. Cruickshank stepped into three thousand a year By showing his leg to an heiress.

Now I hope you'll acknowledge I've made it quite clear

Surnames ever go by contraries.

MISTER Goose was a man of great riches and fame, And I loved him own, but I liked not his name. When he asked me to wed, in a pet I did refuse; Do you think I'd marry you, and be called Mrs. Goose?

SPOKEN.] How shocking it would be to hear the little boys and girls of the village crying after us, Mister Goose, Mistress Goose, Daddy Goose, Mammy Goose.

I'll never marry you, and be called Mistress Goose.
In a passion I flew, and he spitefully said,
From my heart do I wish you may die an old maid.
You may wish what you please, yet still I do not
choose

To give my hand away and be called Mistress
Goose.

SPOKEN.] Now at a ball or play how ridiculous it would be to hear the company whisper-" Who are those?" "Who can they be?"-" La! don't you know? Oh, they are

"Mister Goose, Mistress Goose," &c. Thus I said and I thought when young enough to choose,

And I spurned at the offer of sweet Mister Goose,
But now I do repent, and think I was to blame
To refuse an honest man on account of his name.

SPOKEN.] Well, really, I don't think the name so frightful, neither. Oh! I'd give the world to hear the boys and girls of the village cry, Mammy Goose, Mistress Goose, neighbour Goose, cousin Goose.

I wish he'd ask me now, I would soon be Mistress Goose.

IF lubberly landsmen, to gratitude strangers,
Still curse their unfortunate stars,

Why what would they say did they try but the dangers

Encounter'd by true-hearted tars?

If life's vessel they put 'fore the wind, or they tack her,

Or whether bound here or there, Give 'em sea-room, good fellowship, grog, and tobacker,

Well then-d-me if Jack cares where.

Then your stupid old quidnuncs, to hear 'em all clatter,

The devil can't tell you what for, Though they don't know a gun from a marlinespike, chatter

About and consarning of war!

While for king, wife, and friend, he's through every thing rubbing,

With duty still proud to comply,

So he gives but the foes of old England a drubbing, Why then-d-me if Jack cares why.

THE field of battle it is so alarming

That Molly can't ever turn away;

The drums and fifes screech out so charming That she swears to baste the foe or die,

endeavours,

And he comes home with shiners galore; Well, what if so be he should lavish his favours On ev'ry poor object 'long shore?

Since money's the needle that points to good-nature, Friend, enemy, false, or true,

So it goes to relieve a distressed fellow-creature, Well then-d-me if Jack cares who.

Don't you see how some diff'rent thing ev'ry one's twigging

To take the command of a rib;

Some are all for the breast-work, and some for the 11gging,

And some for the cut of her jib;

Though poor, some will take her in tow to defend her;

And again, some are all for the rich.

As for I, so she's young, her heart honest and tender,

Why then-d-me if Jack cares which.
Why now, if they go for to talk about living,
My eyes, why a little will sarve;

Let each a small part of his pittance be giving,
And who in this nation can starve?

Content's all the thing-rough or calm be the weather,

The wind on the beam or the bow,
So honestly he can splice both ends together,
Why then-d-me if Jack cares how.

And then for a bring up, d'ye see, about dying,
On which such a racket they keep,
What argufies if in a church-yard you're lying,
Or find out your grave in the deep?

Of one thing we're certain, whatever our calling,
Death will bring us all up; and what then!
So his conscience's tackle will bear overhauling,
Why then-d-me if Jack cares when.

THE SPORTSWOMAN.

YE sportsmen draw near, and ye sportswomen too,
Who delight in the joys of the field;
Mankind, though they blame, are all eager as
you,

And no one the contest will yield.

His lordship, his worship, his honour, his grace, A hunting continually go,

All ranks and degrees are engaged in the chase;
With hark forward! huzza! tally ho!

The lawyer will rise with the first of the morn
To hunt for a mortgage or deed;
The husband gets up at the sound of the horn,
And rides to the common full speed;
The patriot is thrown in pursuit of his game;
The poet, too, often lays low,

Who, mounted on Pegasus, flies after fame,
With, hark forward! huzza! tally ho!

While fearless o'er hills and o'er woodlands we sweep,

Though prudes on our pastime may frown, How oft do they decency's bounds overleap, And the fences of virtue break down; Thus public or private; for pension, for place, For amusement, for passion, for show, All ranks and degrees are engaged in the chase, With, hark forward! huzza! tally ho!

"There's farmer Giles's daughter Suke(She's but so, so, quoth Neddy)

My boy, I'd have thee at her look." (Heigho! quoth Neddy)

"But, father," says Ned, "tell me how I must woo; What shall I say to her, and what must I do? For if I know I'm a circumcis'd Jew."

(Heigho! heigho! sigh'd Neddy)

The father replied, "Now listen, my son,

(Straight prickt up his ears did Neddy ) And I'll tell thee the way thy mother I won: (Now for some fun, quoth Neddy)

I told her I lov'd her-then heav'd a sigh,
And at her, askance, I threw a sheep's eye,
And she no longer my suit could deny."

(By jingo, I'll do it, quoth Neddy)
Says Ned to himself, if one eye will do,
(Tol de rol, &c.)

Egad, I won't mind a dozen or two :
(Tol de rol, &c.)

For he to get married most firmly was bent,
So early next morning to the butcher's he went,
And two or three shillings in sheep's eyes spent.
(Dead as mutton, I'll have her, says
Neddy)

To the cottage, he hastened, of Farmer Giles,
Singing, tol de rol, &c.

And he skipp'd and he hopp'd over hedges and stiles,

(For in tip top spirits was Neddy)

Quoth he to the girl, I be sent here to woo,
For father he wishes that I'd marry you,
So you'd better consent, Suke, without more ado."
(Come, haste to the wedding,' sung
Neddy)

She titter'd, and bent her looks to the ground,

(That's all Betty Martin,' thought Neddy) Like a red cabbage, blushing, she held her head down.

(Gammon and spinage, quoth Neddy)
Then he from his pocket most slyly drew
Of dead sheep's eyes a dozen or two,
Which one by one at the girl he threw.

(Now I have her cock sure, quoth Neddy) Miss Sukey she started, and said, with surprise, (She's going to consent, thought Neddy) "What the devil d'ye mean by these filthy sheep's eyes ?"

(Heigho! quoth Neddy) "Why, father," quoth he," said a sheep's eye would do,

But I, to make sure, bought a dozen or two, 'Caze I'd spare no expense to make zartin of you; So 'tis all father's fault, says Neddy.

It prov'd that sheep's eyes in the end did succeed, (And brisk as a bee was Neddy)

For soon to be married Miss Sukey agreed, (And brisker was she than Neddy) Though he'd eyed her all over, before and behind, To her follies she manag'd to keep him still blind, So to wedlock's soft chains we must leave him resign'd,

Singing, tol de rol, &c.

........

THE MARGATE STEAM-PACKET. Air-" The Military Air of the Nightingale." A SHORT farewell to smoke and noise, We are off to taste sweet Margate joys: The steam-boat waits, you'll be too late

If you doubt, haste to the Tower-stairs. See the sun sheds forth his light; There's not a single cloud in sight. Whilst all sorts meet in Lower Thames-street, And coaches hasten with their fares--