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While on her features I gaze,
And trace every love-moulded line,
Memory weeps o'er the days

When I fancied her faithfully mine.
Hope bids me dream of bright days,
And fancy her faithfully mine.
Here is the glance that inspir'd
Here is the blush that deceiv'd;
Glances too wildly admir'd!
Blushes too fondly believ'd!
While on her features, &c. &c.

WHEN LIFE LOOKS LONE AND DREARY.

When life looks lone and dreary,
What light can dispel the gloom?
When time's swift wing grows weary,
What charm can refresh his plume?
'Tis woman, whose sweetness beameth
O'er all that we feel or see;

And if man of heav'n e'er dreameth,

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'Tis when he thinks purely of thee,
Oh, woman!

Let conquerors fight for glory,-
Too dearly the meed they gain ;

Let patriots live in story,

Too often they die in vain.

Give kingdoms to those who choose 'em,
This world can offer to me
No throne like beauty's bosom,
No freedom like serving thee,
Oh, woman!

A LOTTERY, A LOTTERY.

A LOTTERY, a lottery,

In Cupid's court there us'd to be,
Two roguish eyes

The highest prize

In Cupid's scheming lottery;

And kisses too,

As good as new,

Which were not very hard to win,

For he who won,

The eyes of fun,

Was sure to have the kisses in.

Chorus. A lottery, &c.

This lottery, this lottery,

In Cupid's court went merrily,
And Cupid play'd

A Jewish trade
In this his scheming lottery ;

For hearts I'm told,

In shares he sold

To many a fond believing drone,

And cut the hearts

In sixteen parts,

So well, each thought the whole his own!

Chorus. A lottery, a lottery,

In Cupid's court there used to be,
Two roguish eyes

The highest prize,

In Cupid's scheming lottery.

LADIES and gentlemen-gentlemen and ladies-go not to Cupid's court;

For, whatever the young woman may say, 'tis a place of very bad resort.

AIR.

But mine is the lottery-hasten to me;
Here's scissors and satires, as sharp as can be:
Here's a drawing of cork, here's a cork-screw
for wine,

Here are pills for the cough--and here's Gibbon's "Decline;"

Here's a bright carving knife-here's a learned review,

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Here's an essay on marriage, and here's a cuckoo.

CHORUS.

Our lottery--our lottery

Ye youths and maidens, come to me!

'Tis ne'er too late

To try your fate

In this our lucky lottery.

GIRL, DOST THOU KNOW ME?

GIRL, dost thou know me?

Oh! what a wooer!

Slave! thou'rt below me!
This wig will undo her.
Oh! curse your grinning!
This lock so winning!
Ma'am, if you giggle thus,
And treat my wig ill thus,

I'll let you shortly know who am I.
A handsome lover this!

You sha'nt get over this;

This laugh will end me quite :
Pray heaven send it might!

Ha, ha, ha, hah! hah, ha!

How the fool makes me laugh!

Oh! I shall die!

But you shall weep for this fun by-and-by.

WILL YOU COME TO THE BOWER?

WILL you come to the bower I have shaded for you?

Our bed shall be roses bespangled with dew.

Will you, will

you, will you,

Come to the bower?

will you,

There under the bower, on roses you lie,

With a blush on your cheek, but a smile in your

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But the roses we press shall not rival your lip, Nor the dew be so sweet as the kisses we'll sip, Will you, will you, &c.

Kiss me, my love?

And O! for the joys that are sweeter than dew,
From languishing roses, or kisses from you.
Will you, will you, &c.
Won't you, my love?

TO ROSA.

DOES the harp of Rosa slumber? Once it breath'd the sweetest number! Never does a milder song

Steal the breezy lyre along,

When the wind in odours dying,
Woos it with enamour'd sighing.

Does the harp of Rosa cease?
Once it told a tale of peace
To her lover's throbbing breast-
Then he was divinely blest!
Ah! but Rosa loves no more,
Therefore Rosa's song is o'er.
And her harp neglected lies;
And her boy forgotten sighs.
Silent harp-forgotten lover—
Rosa's love and song are over!"

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