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Noo lang since for her gudenan young Willie she's

ta’en, An' they hae got siller an' farms o' their ain; An' ye gang to her dwelling, right welcome ye'll be To a glass o' gude whisky frae Jessie McCree.

WHAT IS LONDON'S LAST NEW LION P T. H, BAYLY.]

[Music by GEORGE LINLEY. What is London's last new lion ? Pray inform me, if

you can ; Is't a woman of Kamschatka or an Otaheite man? For my conversazione, you must send me something

new, Don't forget me! Oh I sigh for the éciat of a clébut /

I am sick of all the “minstrels,” all the “brothers"

this and that, Who sing sweetly at the parties, while the ladies laugh

and chat; And the man who play'd upon his chin is pussi I sup

pose, So try and find a gentleman who plays upon his nose.

Send half a dozen authors, for they help to fill a rout,
I fear I've worn the literary lionesses out!
Send something biographical, I think that fashion

spreads, But do not send a poet, till you find one with two

heads.

The town has grown fastidious ; we do not care a

straw For the whiskers of a bandit, or the tail of a bashaw!

a And travellers are out of date, mean to cut them

soon, Unless you send me some one who has travellid to

the moon.

Oh! if you send a singer, he must sing without a

throat ! Oh ! if you send a player, he must harp upon one

note ! I must have something marvellous, the marvel makes What is London's last new lion i pray inform mc, if

the man;

you can!

THE DOGS' MEAT MAN. Toomas Iudson.]

[Tune-"White Cockade." In Gray's Inn Lone, not long ago, An old maid liv'd & life of woe ; She was fifty-three, and her facu like tan, When she fell in love with a docs -meat man. Much she lov'd this doys'- meat man; He was a good-looking dogs'-meat man ; Her roses and lilies bad turn'd to tan When ske fell in love with a dogs'-meat man.

And cry,

Every morning he went by
Whether the weather was wet or dry,
And right opposite to her door did stan',

Doys’-meat !" this dogs'-meat man. Then her cat would run out to the dogs'-meat man, And rub against the barrow of the dogs' meat man, As right opposite to her door did stan',

“Dogs'-meat!” this dogs -meat man.

And cry,

One morn she kept him at the door,
Talking half an hour or more;
For you must know that was her plan,
To have a good look at the dogs'-meat man.
“Times are hard,” says the dous'-meat man ;
"Folks get in my debt,” says the dogs - meat man ;
Then he took up his barrow and away be ran,
And cried, “ Dogs-meat !” this dogs'-meat man.

He soon saw which way the cat did jump,
And his company he offered plump ;
She couldn't blush, 'cause she'd got no fan,
So she sot and grinn'd at the dogs'-meat man.
If you'll marry me,” says the dogs'-meat man,
"I'll marry you,” says the dogs’-meat man :
For a quartern of peppermint then he ran,
And she drink'd a "good health " to the dogs’-meat

man,

That very evening he was seen
In jacket and breeches of velveteen ;
To Bagnigge Wells then in a bran-
New gown she went with the dogs’-meat man.
She'd biscakes and ale with the dogs'-meat man,
And she “ walk'd arm-in-arm" with the dogs’-meat

man ; And the people all said vot round did stan', He was quite a dandy dogs'-neat man. He said his customers, good lod ! They ow'd him a matter of two pound odd ; And she replied it was quite scanDalous to cheat such a dogs'-meat man. “ If I had but the money,” says the dogs'-meat man, I'd open a tripe-shop,” says the dogs'-meat man, "And I'd marry you to inorrow.” She admir’d the

plan, And-she lent a five pound note to the dogs-meat

man.

He pocketed the money and went away,
She waited for him all next day;
But he never com'd, and she then began
To think that she was diddld by the dogs'- meat man,
She went out to seek for the dors'-meat man,
But she couldn't find the dogs'-meat man,
Some friend gave her to understan'
He'd got a wife and seven children, this dogs’-meat
So lome she went in grief and tears,
All her hopes transform’d to fears,
And her hungry cat to mew began,
As much as to say, “ Where's the dogs’-meat man ?"
She couldn't help thinking of the dogs’-meat man,
The handsome swindling dogs'-meat man,
So

man.

you see just in one day's short span, She lost her heart—a five pound note—and the dogs'.

meat man.

THE HORRORS OF LIVING IN

LONDON.
JAMES Bruton.]

[Air_"The Gipsey Party."
Of country troubles I've heard much,
Of hedges, ditches, dirt, and such,
But on a different theme I'll touch,

The horrors of living in London !
Your cockney travellers often tell,
Of dangers great which them befell,
While journeying beyond “Bow bell,”
Anà forc'd with raw greenhorns to dwell!
Of rural miseries let 'em prate,
But we may have many just as great,
And so you'll say when I relate
A few of the horrors of London !

Tooral looral, &c.

An urgent letter to a friend,
Into the country you've to send,
So with it yourself must wend,

Ere all the mails leave London !
In crossing of some street, the way's
Completely stopp'd by carts and shays,
Waggons, omnibuses, drays,
Extending far as you can gaze.

So 'neath the horses' legs you cut,
An: breathing reach the office but
That very moment find it shut !
And such are things in London !

Tooral looral, &c.
The opera, or Drury Lane,
You leare at night, with ladies twain,
When all at once down comes the rain,

Another horror of London !
To save the dears from dirt and wet,
Beneath soine gateway you all get;
Then to the cab-stand off you set,
But find the vehicles all let !
From street to street you hurry on,
But all is vain, so back you run,
To join the ladies – but they're gone !
Another horror in London,

Tooral looral, &c.
Perhaps you're bald or grown quite grey,
And walking on a windy day,
Your bat and wig are blown away,

And carried half o'er London !
Then off you start with all your might,
To overtake them in this plight,
While at your bald bead every wight
Sets up a shout of rare delight.
With grief aloud you curse and groan,
For, after you so far have flown,
Clean o'er the bridge your hat is blown,
Another horror of London !

Tooral looral, &c.
In white ducks dress'd, a perfect beau,
Cravat and waistcoat white as snow,
For to a party you've to go,

In one of the squares of London ! You croes the road, by sweeper seen, Who asks for alms, and if you're mean,

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