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of " foul, foul," which Sam disregarded, and the battle went on, until the Irishman fibbed him severely, and Sam's friends took him out of the ring.
It was evident throughout the whole of the battle to the cognoscenti that Sam had no chance. He hit at random, and more than once pinked Brother Hiley the Bottle-holder, instead of aiming his blows right at the Irishman. Sam is a glutton, but has no more science than Ikey Pig. He has gained an easy victory over some provincial novices at the fairs at Bedford, and thinks he can contend with tip-top Professors. Immediately after the battle, Bob threw a summerset, and appeared as gay as
It is about sixteen years since Bob first appeared on the stage in his own country, and he was then thought a very promising plant.
It has been a subject of national reproach that the English have no national songs. Every body knows that the Irish and the Scotch have, by their National Melodies, just published, added to their reputation and to our humiliation, and even the Jews have of late found a David in Lord Byron, who has endeavoured to place them in the same scale (of the gamut at least) with their Christian neighbours.
A patriotic society of English individuals have determined, as far as in them lies, to retrieve our national character ; and to enter the lists with the Irish, Scotch, and Hebrew Melodists. A
person of the name of Milbourne was said by Dryden to be the fairest of critics, because he published his own verses with those of his antagonists ; and left the public to judge of the merit of the two
productions. We, too, are ambitious of the praise of fair criticism, and shall in the same spirit exhibit to our readers, the works, which our Society undertakes to imitate, previously to our laying before them our own performances on the same model. An impartial public will decide between the rival compositions, and our publication will be so far at least assured of success, that one half of it will be of acknowledged merit.
We shall begin (which may be called taking the Bull by the horns) with one of the celebrated Irish Melodies.
THE WORDS BY T. MOORE, ESQ.—THE MUSIC
ARRANGED BY SIR J. STEVENSON.
Oh! the days are gone when beauty bright
My heart's chain wove; When
dream of life from morn till night
Of milder, calmer beam;
As Love's young dream;
As Love's young dream.
THE WORDS BY JOHN CALCRAFT, ESQ.—THE
MUSIC BY C. W. W. WYNNE, ESQ.
Oh! the time is past, when Quarter-day
My cares would chase,
Was place—still place ;
Of surer, higher pay-