My daughter Isabel and thee shall be a wedded pair, For thou art bravest of the brave, and she the fairest fair." "For thou art bravest," &c. And then they bound the holy knot, before Saint Mary's shrine, That makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and hands combine; And every lord and lady bright that were in chapel there, Cried, "Honour'd be the bravest knight, belov'd the fairest fair." Cried, "Honour'd be," &c. BEN BLOCK. Ben Block was a veteran of ancient renown, The Board still neglected his merits to crown, Yet staunch as old Benbow was honest old Ben, When death dealing broadsides makes worms'meat of men, And the scuppers ran streaming with gore. Nor could a lieutenant's poor stipend provoke Honest Ben to refuse scanty prog, His biscuit he'd break, turn his quid, crack his joke Thus year after year, in a subaltern's state, Till time had unthatch'd all the roof from his pate, happen'd he met (since his pate it was bare) The First Lord of the Admiralty, once; Honest Ben, quoth his lordship, "you've lost all your hair, Since the last time I peep'd at your sconce." "Why, my lord." replied Ben, "it with truth may be said, The bare poles I long have stood under; When so many young captains walk over my head, To see me quite scalp't 'twere no wonder." TO GUARD FROM FOES MY NATIVE LAND. But finding in the boundless deep, While if assail'd in future wars, Her soldiers brave, and gallant tars Shall launch her fires from every hand, On every foe to Britain's land. THE ROBIN'S PETITION. When the leaves had deserted the trees, When the brooks were beginning to freeze, To the snug habitations of man; And I'm almost buried in snow. Is now empty, and ragged, and torn ; I shall die if you drive me away: When you see me lie dead on the ground, Then pity a poor little thing, And throw me a part of your store, I'll fly off in the first of the spring, THE OLD COMMODORE dds blood! what a time for a seaman to skulk Under gingerbread hatches ashore; What a d-d bad job that this batter'd old hulk Cocking up their squinting glass, Here am I in distress, like a ship water-logg'd, While I'm swallowing his slops, How nimble are his chops, Thus queering the old commodore: Mustn't flatter, commodore, says he, Have so knock'd your hull about, That you'll never more be fit for sea. What no more to be afloat? blood and fury! they lie ! I'm a seaman, and three score; And if, as they tell me, I'm likely to die, As to death, its all a joke, The fighting old commodore ;-He !- Nor the French dogs to boot, I'VE KISS D, &c. I've kiss'd and I've prattled to fifty fair maids, And chang'd them as oft d'ye see; But of all the fair maidens that dance on the gree The maid of the mill for me. There's fifty young men have told me fine tales, And call d me the fairest she; But of all the gay wrestlers that sport on the gree Young Harry's the lad for me. 1 Her eyes are as black as the sloe on the hedge, Her face like the blossom in May, Her teeth are as white as the new-shorn flock, He's tall and he's straight as the poplar tree, He looks like a squire of high degree, THE SAPLING OAK. The sapling oak lost in the dell, Where tangled brakes its beauties spoil, |