But still from his station's high duties
His lordship is not to be won;
Himself, e'en from poesy's beauties.

He tears, when there's work to be done.
He wont let the State (how paternal !)
Through indolence fall in the lurch.
He edits a talented journal,

Dissenters to bring back to Church.
To him legislation's a plea ure;

(Though by it so many are bored!) Last session he brought in a measure To have the old Maypoles restored; And, then, with the people so kindly He mixes-their meetings attendsAdvises them not to rush blindly

In face of their masters and friends!

His charity, too, so disarming

To malice; he's founded some schools, (The costume and badge are most charming!) Himself he has framed all the rules. With scriptural texts (his selecting) The walls round are tastily hung: Content and submission directing, As virtues most fit for the young.

At soirées of all institutions,

As chairman to act he'll engage; Of knottiest points the solutions

He'll give to men three times his age.
He'll talk agriculture to graziers,

And bid them to cultivate-grass;
He pats on the head even glaziers,
And tells them their business is--glass!

'Tis cheering and really delightful
To see such a promising gem-
A Lord-of democracy frightful,
The tide who has talent to stem!

The peers, they say, care but for plenty,
And wont even work for their pelf!
Here's one who has scarcely turned twenty,
Will manage the nation himself!

PEGGY DOOLAN AND DENNIS

JAMES BRUTON.]

O'DOGGERTY.

[Music by CLEMENT WHITE,

FROM the sole of my head to the crown of my foot,
I'm feeling the smart of sly Cupid's dart;
The door of my reason I've always kept shut,
But he must have got in and rifled my heart!
I'm turn'd topsy-turvy, and often I'm led

To doubt if I stand on my heels or my head;
I wander in darkness just like a blind pup,
And my head should have written on, Keep this
side up."

CHORUS.

66

To a man who's in love the same 'tis, they say,
The sunlight of night, or the moonshine of day!
Och, hone! withisthrue! och! what'll I do?
Peggy Doolan no longer to Dennis is true!

Not a fish that does fly, not a bird that does swim,
But is happier far than love's victims are ;
I'm ragged and bare, who once was so trim,
I'm murther'd and ruin'd intirely, agrah!
My tears blind my eyes to a mighty degree,
And daily "eye-water"' it is at my SEE!
They rowl down my cheeks-form a puddle com
plete,

In which if I stand I get cold in my feet!

To a man who's in love, &c.

MAGGIE LAUDER.

[FRANCIS SEMPLE.]

WHA wadna be in love

Wi' bonnie Maggie Lauder? A piper met her gaun to Fife,

And speir'd what wast they ca'd her.
Right scornfully she answer'd him,
Begone, you hallanshaker!

Jog on your gate, you bladderskate!
My name is Maggie Lauder.

"Maggie," quo' he, "and by my bags,
I'm fidgin' fain to see thee;
Sit down by me, my bonnie bird,
In troth I winna steer thee,
For I'm a piper to my trade,
My name is Rob the Ranter;
The lasses loup as they were daft
When I blaw up my chanter."

you

"Piper," quo' Meg, "hae ye your bags,
Or is your drone in order?
If ye be Rob, I've heard of
Live you upo' the Border?
The lasses a', baith far and near,
Hae heard o' Rob the Ranter;
I'll shake my foot with right gude will,
Gif you'll blaw up your chanter."

Then to his bags he flew wi' speed,
About the dione he twisted;
Meg up and wallop'd o'er the green,
For brawly could she frisk it.

"Weel done!" quo' he-" Play up!" quo' she; "Weel bobb'd!" quo' Rob the Ranter;

""Tis worth my while to play indeed

When I hae sic a dancer."

"Weel hae you play'd your part," quo' Meg;

"Your cheeks are like the crimson;

There's nane in Scotland plays sae weel
Since we lost Habbie Simpson.
I've lived in Fife, baith maid and wife,
These ten years and a quarter ;
Gin' ye should come to Auster Fair,
Speir ye for Maggie Lauder."

THE POWER OF THE LADIES.

ANONYMOUS.]

[Tune-" Dicky Birds."

OF good Queen Bess's golden days

Our histories still ring;

Her reign was never yet surpass'd

By that of any king.

And should our maidens follow
Her example, you'd see, then,
That the LADIES would do all things
Much better than the men.

Prime Ministers they'd aptly make,
Each husband will allow;
When petticoats have government
We all of us must bow.

As Rulers, time still proves the fair
Possess the greatest skill;
For, say or do whate'er we can,
The LADIES rule us still.

That greatly they'd the Pulpit grace
Is clear as is the day;
For who'd not soar to virtue

When an Angel points the way?
And that the Woolsack they'd adorn,

I've said, and say again;

For, after all, the Ladies

Are best Judges of the men.

BENSON.]

That they are best of Counsellors,
Is clear to old and young;
For how can woman fail

When she has got to use her tongue ?
And that they'd best of Doctors prove
Is equally as sure;

For where's the ill in life, I ask,
A Lady cannot cure?

As Vintners and Distillers,

Who can doubt the Ladies' merits?
For, ah! who like the Ladies still,
Can put a man in spirits?
That good Upholsterers they'd be,
I'll prove, too, in a minute;
For no house can be furnish'd
If there's not a Lady in it.

And thus, I think, I've clearly prov'd
The Ladies one and all;

And while we've them to aid us,
That old England ne'er can fall.
And 'tis my firm belief they might
Soon bring men to that station,
To be merely kept as make-weights
In the scale of population.

CONUNDRUMS.

Tune--" One Morn when I was
Brewing."

YOUR patience I'm beseeching;

A riddle I'll be teaching;

It is a prayer-ay, and the fair

The subject I'll be preaching.

You'll give it up-you'll give it up?

(Spoken.) (Ask a conundrum.) Do you give it

I

Tol lol, &c.