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[Tune--" The Sprig of Shillelah." Ooh! tell me the truth now, and did you ne'er hear Of a pair of big traitors, called Jaffier and Pierre, Who thought that their country was shockingly

served ? Who met in the dark, and the night, and the fogs, Who "howld at the moon," and call’d themselves

“dogs," Till Jaffier to Pierre pledged his honour and life, And into the bargain his illigant wife,

By which very means was ould Venice preserved. The ringleaders held a snug club in the town, The object of which was to knock the Doge down,

Because from his duty they thought he had swerved. They met every evening, and more was their fault, At the house of a gentleman, Mr. Renault, Who-och, the spalpeen !-when they all went away, Stayed at home, and made love to the sweet Mrs. J.,

By which, in the end, was ould Venice preserved. When Jaffier came back, his most delicate belleBelvidera they call'd her-determined to tell

How sbe by old Renault that night had been served. This blew up a breeze, and made Jaffier repent Of the plots he had laid ; to the Senate he went. He got safe home by twelve : his wife bade him not fail; And by half-after-one he was snug in the gaol,

By which, as we'll see, was ould Venice preserved. The Doge and the Court, when J.'s story they'd heard, Thought it good for the country to forfeit their word,

And break the conditions they should have observed. So they sent the police out to clear every street, And seize whomsoever chance they might meet ; And before the bright sun was aloft in the sky, Twenty-two of the party were sentenced to dic,

And that was the way was ould Venice preserved.


Mr. Jaffier, who 'peach'd, was let off at the time;
But that wouldn't do, he'd committed a crime,

Which punishment more than his others deserved;
So when Pierre was condemn’d, to the scaffold he went.
Pierre whisper'd and nodded, and J. said “Content."
They mounted together, till kind Mr. J.,
Having stabb’d Mr. P., served himself the same way,–

And so was their honour in Venice preserved. But och ! what a scene, when the beautiful Bell, At her father's, found out how her dear husband fell!

The sight would the stoutest of hearts have unnerved. She did nothing but tumble, and squabble, and rave, And try to scratch J., with her nails from the grave. This lasted three months, when cured of her pain, She chuck'd off her weeds and got married again,

By which very means was this Venus preserved.


[Music by SIR H. R. BISHOP. Not at home! not at home! close my curtain again,

Go and send the intruders away ;
They may knock if they will, but 'tis labour in vain,

For I'm not made up for the day.
Though my ball was the best of all possible balls,

Though I graced my saloon like a queen ;
I've a headache to-day, so if any one calls,

" Not at home !" I am not to be seen. Not at home ! not at home! bring strong coffee at two,

But now leave me to doze in the dark ;
I'm too pale for my pink ! I'm too brown for my blue,

I'm too sick for my drive in the park.
If the man whose attentions are pointed should call

(Eliza, you know who I mean), Oh ! say, when he knocks, I'm knocked up by my

ball, “Not at home !" I am not to be seen.

Not at home to Sir John, not at home to the Count,

Not at home till my ringlets are curld; Should the jeweller call with his little account,

Not at home! not at home for the world! I at midnight must shine at three splendid “at

homes, Then adieu to my morning chagrin, Close my curtain again, for till candle-light comes,

" Not at home !" I am not to be seen.


[Music by IENRI TALBOT. OF Isabel, what now I tell is true as historie : She lived in the reign of good Queen Anne, along

with her familie ; Her father old, a baron bold, was fond of revelrie ; He passed his days, his nights always, at a famous

hostelrie. But to his door, you may be sure, full many a suitor

came, From many a land, to sue for her hand, for to change

her maiding name.
Singing : Hey away! a roundelay !

A cheer for the good Queen Anne,
And Isabel, and every swell
That lived in that ere reign!

The Baron bold, one night was cold, so he called for

the wassail cheer ; And higher and higher he piled the fire, and the logs

burned bright and clear ; He piped his clay, and smoked away, till the night

began to wane, And when the bowl was drained, I'm told, he had it filled again ;

He roared a song the whole night long, along with a

motley crew Of knights and friars, of unsober desires, who were down to a move or two.

Singing : Hey away! &c.

When the clock struck one this crew began deep

wagers for to lay ; And the Baron bold lost all his gold, to a Friar of

orders grey.

The cheer, 'tis said, got in his head, and he roared

both loud and long, For he did not care who heard him sing, and liis

lungs were tough and strong. Aud what is worse, when he'd lost his purse, he

lost his ball and land; But he'd had his fill, and he wagered still, till he lost his daughter's hand.

Singing : Hey away! &c.

hand away:

Now the friar so old, who'd won his gold, and the

knight his daughter fair, The wine they drunk, the knight and the monk; but

the old man tore his hair, When he told the news, she did refuse to give lier “I am engaged to my sister's page,” poor Isabel did

say. Oh! then, I trow, there was a row, and the Baron

backed the Knight Against the page, who did engage to call him out to fight.

Singing : Hey away ! &c.

Their friends they bring to form a ring, in the ancient

castle ground, And the Page and the Knight went in to fight, full

fuur-and-twenty round.

The rounds were done ; the Page had won; the

Knight he lay in fear; His ransom rare, the maid so fair, the Page's heart

did cheer. The Monk so old, who'd won the gold, a right good

friend proved he, He married the pair, and left all there a happy

Singing : Rub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub;

The Baron he left off play.
And that's the end of my ri-tol-looral

Rural roundelay.


[Air—"Brother, have a guinca." MR. BENJAMIN BUMPS was a banker's clerk, He was a light-made man, though his face was dark ; And his leisure hours were employ'd between The care of his nails and the hair on his chin. He liked to be seen very nicely dress'd, He was very fond of dancing and a rubber of whist ; And if ever in his drinking he indulged a little drop, There was nothing he liked balf so well as ginger-pop.

He was once taking home from his favourite shop
A bottle in each pocket of this ginger-pop,
And as he carried it along very snug and sly,
He kept ogling the ladies as he pass'd them by.
There was one divine creature, very brilliantly dress’d,
He was just about to speak to her, and close to her

he press'd; When a bottle in his pocket found its cork wouldn't

stop, Spouted out and cover'd a! her dress with ginger


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