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Far remote and retired from the noise of the town,
I'll exchange my brocade for a plain russet gown;
My friends shall be few,

But well chosen and true,

And sweet recreation our evenings shall crown.

With a rural repast (a rich banquet for me),
On a mossy green turf, near some shady old tree,
The river's clear brink

Shall afford me my drink,

And temperance my friendly physician shall be.

Harry Carey was the Author of a great number of Songs; among others, of "Sally in our Alley"-one of the most popular ever written, but a composition of no merit; vulgar, and without a single sentiment to account for the favour with which it was received. Its popularity caused several imitations of it to be published, and Carey himself was among the first to set the example.

THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN.

I'LL sing you a good old song,
Made by a good old pate,
Of a fine old English gentleman,
Who had an old estate;
And who kept up his old mansion
At a bountiful old rate;

With a good old porter to relieve
The old poor at his gate.

Like a fine old English gentleman,
All of the olden time.

His hall, so old, was hung around

With pikes, and guns, and bows,
And swords, and good old bucklers,

That had stood against old foes;
'Twas there "his worship" held his state,
In doublet and trunk hose;

And quaff'd his cup of good old sack,

To warm his good old nose.

Like a fine, &c.

When Winter's cold brought frost and snow,

He open'd house to all;

And though threescore and ten his years,

He fleetly led the ball;

Nor was the houseless wanderer,

E'er driven from his hall;

For, while he feasted all the great,

He ne'er forgot the small.

Like a fine, &c.

But time, tho' sweet, is strong in flight,

And years roll swiftly by;

And Autumn's falling leaves proclaim'd
The old man-he must die!

He laid him down right tranquilly,

Gave up life's latest sigh;

And mournful stillness reign'd around.
And tears bedewed each eye,

Now surely this is better far
Than all the new parade
Of Theatres and Fancy Balls,
"At Home," and Masquerade:
And much more economical,

For all his bills were paid.

For this good, &c.

Then leave your new vagaries quite,

And take up the old trade

Of a fine old English gentleman, &c.

"The excellent song of the Old and Young Courtier," on which this is closely modelled, is, says Percy, in his Relics of Ancient English Poetry," from an ancient black letter copy in the Pepys Collection, compared with another printed among some miscellaneous poems and songs, in a book entitled 'The Prince d'Amour, 1660.'"

FAIR ROSALIND.

From "The Convivial Songster," 1782.

FAIR Rosalind in woeful wise,

Six hearts has bound in thrall,

As yet she undetermined lies

Which she her spouse shall call.
Wretched, and only wretched he
To whom that lot shall fall!
For if her heart aright I see,

She means to please them all!

SIR MARMADUKE.

GEORGE COLMAN "the younger," born 1762, died 1836.
SIR MARMADUKE was a hearty knight;
Good man! old man!

He's painted standing bolt upright,

With his hose roll'd over his knee;
His perriwig 's as white as chalk!
And on his fist he holds a hawk,
And he looks like the head
Of an ancient family.

His dining-room was long and wide;
Good man! old man!

His spaniels lay by the fire-side ;-
And in other parts, d'ye see
Cross-bows, tobacco-pipes, old hats,

A saddle, his wife, and a litter of cats;
And he look'd like the head

Of an ancient family.

He never turn'd the poor from the gate;
Good man! old man!

But was always ready to break the pate

Of his country's enemy.

What knight could do a better thing,

Than serve the poor, and fight for his king?

And so may every head

Of an ancient family.

From the play of the "Iron Chest," founded upon Godwin's novel of "Caleb Williams."

CONTENT AND A PIPE.

CONTENTED I sit with my pint and my pipe,
Puffing sorrow and care far away,

And surely the brow of grief nothing can wipe
Like smoking and moist'ning our clay;

For, though liquor can banish man's reason afar,
'Tis only a fool or a sot,

Who with reason or sense would be ever at war,
And don't know when enough he has got

For, though at my simile many may joke,

Man is but a pipe-and his life but smoke.

Yes, a man and a pipe are much nearer akin
Than has as yet been understood,

For, until with breath they are both fill'd within,
Pray tell me for what are they good?
They, one and the other, composed are of clay,
And, if rightly I tell nature's plan,

Take but the breath from them both quite away,
The pipe dies-and so does the man:
For, though at my simile many may joke,
Man is but a pipe-and his life but smoke.

Thus I'm told by my pipe that to die is man's lot,
And, sooner or later, die he must;

For when to the end of life's journey he's got,

Like a pipe that's smoked out-he is dust: So you, who would wish in your hearts to be gay. Encourage not strife, care, or sorrow, Make much of your pipe of tobacco to-day,

For you may be smoked out to-morrow: For, though at my simile many may joke, Man is but a pipe—and his life but smoke.

WHAT IST TO US WHO GUIDES THE STATE?
From the "Convivial Songster," 1782.

WHAT is't to us who guides the state?
Who's out of favour, or who's great?
Who are the ministers or spies?

Who votes for places, or who buys?

The world will still be ruled by knaves,
And fools contending to be slaves.
Small things, my friend, serve to support
Life-troublesome at best, and short.

Our youth runs out, occasion flies,
Grey hairs come on, and pleasure dies;
Who would the present blessing lose

For empire which he cannot use?

Kind Providence has us supplied
With what to others is denied ;
Virtue, which teaches to condemn
And scorn ill actions and ill men.

Beneath this lime-tree's fragrant shade,
On beds of flowers supinely laid,
Let's then, all other cares remove,
And drink and sing to those we love.

ABRAHAM NEWLAND.

Anonymous. From the "Whim of the Day"—a Collection of Songs for 1800.

THERE ne'er was a name so handed by fame,

Thro' air, thro' ocean, and thro' land,

As one that is wrote upon every bank note,
And you all must know Abraham Newland.
O, Abraham Newland!

Notified Abraham Newland!

I have heard people say, sham Abraham you may,
But you must not sham Abraham Newland.

For fashion or arts should you seek foreign parts,

It matters not wherever you land,

Jew, Christian, or Greek, the same language they speak,

That's the language of Abraham Newland.

O, Abraham Newland!

Wonderful Abraham Newland!

Tho' with compliments cramm'd, you may die and be d―d, If you hav'n't an Abraham Newland.

The world is inclin'd to think Justice is blind,
Lawyers know very well they can view land;
But, lord, what of what? she'll blink like a bat,
At the sight of an Abraham Newland.

O, Abraham Newland!

Magical Abraham Newland!

Tho' Justice 'tis known can see through a millstone,
She can't see through Abraham Newland.

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