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"Pooh! pry'thee, ne'er trouble thy head with | At midnight with streamers flying,

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The feast I proposed to you I cannot taste; For this night, by our order, is mark'd for a fast."

Derry down, &c.

Then, turning about to the hangman, he said: "Despatch me, I pray thee, this troublesome blade;

For thy cord and my cord both equally tie; And we live by the gold for which other men die."

Derry down, down, hey derry down.

49. Song. Admiral Hosier's Ghost.
GLOVER.

Our triumphant navy rode;
There, while Vernon sate all-glorious
From the Spaniards' late defeat,
And his crews, with shouts victorious,
Drank success to England's fleet;
On a sudden, shrilly sounding,

Hideous yells and shrieks were heard:
Then, each heart with fear confounding,
A sad troop of ghosts appear'd;
All in dreary hammocks shrouded,

Which for winding-sheets they wore,
And, with looks by sorrow clouded,
Frowning on that hostile shore.
On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre ;
When the shade of Hosier brave
His pale bands were seen to muster,

Rising from their wat❜ry grave:
O'er the glimmering wave he hied him,
Where the Burford rear'd her sail,
With three thousand ghosts beside him,
And in groans did Vernon hail.
"Heed, O heed, our fatal story!
I am Hosier's injur'd ghost;
You, who now have purchas'd glory
At this place where I was lost:
Though in Porto-Bello's ruin

You now triumph free from fears;
When you think of my undoing,

You will mix your joys with tears.
"See these mournful spectres sweeping
Ghastly o'er this hated wave,
Whose wan cheeks are stain'd with weeping;
These were English captains brave.
Mark those numbers, pale and horrid,

Who were once my sailors bold;
Lo! each hangs his drooping forehead,
While his dismal tale is told.

"I, by twenty sail attended,

Did the Spanish town affright;
Nothing then its wealth defended,
But my orders not to fight.
O! that in this rolling ocean

I had cast them with disdain;
And obey'd my heart's warm motion
To have quell'd the pride of Spain!

It was written by the ingenious author of Leonidas,
on the taking of Porto-Bello from the Spaniards by
Admiral Vernon, Nov. 22d, 1739.-The case of Ho-"For resistance I could fear none,
sier, which is here so pathetically represented, was
briefly this: In April, 1726, that commander was
sent with a strong fleet to the West Indies, to block
up the galleons in the ports of that country; or,
should they presume to come out, to seize and carry
them to England: he accordingly arrived at the
Bastimentos, near Porto-Bello, but, being restricted
by his orders from obeying the dictates of his cour-Nor the sea the sad receiver
age, lay inactive on that station until he became
the jest of the Spaniards: he afterwards removed

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But with twenty ships had done
What thou, brave and happy Vernon,
Hast achiev'd with six alone.
Then the Bastimentos never
Had our foul dishonor seen,

Of this gallant train had been.

to Carthagena, and continued cruising in these seas" Thus like thee, proud Spain dismaying, till the far greater part of his men perished deplorably by the diseases of that unhealthy climate.This brave man, seeing his best officers and men thus daily swept away, his ships exposed to inevitable destruction, and himself made the sport of the enemy is said to have died of a broken heart.

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And her galleons leading home,
Though, condem'd for disobeying,
I had met a traitor's doom:
To have fallen, my country crying,
'He has play'd an English part,'
Had been better far than dying
Of a griev'd and broken heart.

“Unrepining at thy glory,

Thy successful arms we hail; But remember our sad story,

And let Hosier's wrongs prevail.
Sent in this foul clime to languish,
Think what thousands fell in vain,
Wasted with disease and anguish,

Not in glorious battle slain.
"Hence, with all my train attending
From their oozy tombs below,
Through the hoary foam ascending,
Here I feel my constant woe:
Here, the Bastimentos viewing,

We recall our shameful doom,
And, our plaintive cries renewing,
Wander through the midnight gloom.
"O'er the waves, for ever mourning,
Shall we roam depriv'd of rest,
If, to Britain's shores returning,
You neglect my just request:
After this proud foe subduing,

When your patriot friends you see,
Think on vengeance for my ruin,
And for England-sham'd in me.”

50. Song. The Sea Fight in xc11.*
THURSDAY in the morn, the ides of May,
Recorded for ever the famous ninety-two,
Brave Russel did discern, by dawn of day,

The lofty sails of France advancing now;
All hands aloft, aloft, let English valor shine,
Let fly a culverin, the signal for the line;
Let every hand supply his gun;
Follow me,

And you'll see

That the battle will be soon begun.

Tourville on the main triumphant roll'd,

To meet the gallant Russel in combat on the deep;

He led a noble train of heroes bold,

To sink the English admiral and his fleet. Now every valiant mind to victory doth aspire, The bloody fight's begun, the sea itself on fire:

*The great naval victory intended to be celebrated by this excellent old song was determined, after a running action of several days, off Cape La Hogue, on

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the coast of Normandy, the 22d of May, 1692, in favor Let ladies of fashion the best jointures wed, of the English and Dutch combined fleets, consisting And prudently take the best bidders to bed: of 99 sail of the line, under the command of Admiral Such signing and sealing's no part of our bliss ; Russel, afterwards Earl of Orford, over French

Chorus. I love Sue, &c.

Though Ralph is not courtly, nor none of your
beaux,
[clothes,
Nor bounces, nor flatters, nor wears your fine
In nothing he'll follow the folks of high life,
Nor e'er turn his back on his friend or his wife.
Chorus. I love Sue, &c.

squadron of about half that number, commanded by We settle our hearts, and we seal with a kiss. the Chevalier Tourville, whose ship Le Soleil Royal carried upwards of a hundred guns, and was esteemed the finest vessel in Europe. This last fleet was fitted out for the purpose of restoring King James the Second to his dominions; and that prince, together with the Duke of Berwick, and severa! great officers both of his own court and of the court of France, and even Tourville himself, beheld the final destruction of the French ships from an eminence on the shore. It is now certain that Russel had engaged to favor the scheme of his old master's restoration, on condition that the French took care to avoid him; but Tourville's impetuosity and rashness rendered the whole measure abortive: and the distressed and ill-fated monarch retired in a fit of despondency, to mourn his misfortunes, and recover his peace of mind, amid the And none be so happy as Ralph and his Sue. solitary gloom of La Trappe.

While thus I am able to work at my mill. While thus thou art kind, and thy tongue but lies still,

Our joys shall continue and ever be new,

Chorus. I love Sue, &c.

$52. Song in Harlequin's Invasion. GARRICK. |
To arms! ye brave mortals, to arms :

The road to renown lies before ye!
The name of King Shakspeare has charms
To rouse you to actions of glory.
Away! ye brave mortals, away!

'Tis Nature calls on you to save her;
What man but would Nature obey,
And fight for her Shakspeare for ever!

$53. Song in the same.

GARRICK.

'THRICE happy the nation that Shakspeare has
charm'd!

More happy the bosoms his genius has warm'd!
Ye children of nature, of fashion, and whim,
He painted you all, all join to praise him.
Chorus. Come away! come away!

His genius calls-you must obey.

his

From highest to lowest, from old to the young,
All states and conditions by him have been sung;
All passions and humors were rais'd by pen;
He could soar with the eagle, and sink with
the wren.

Chorus. Come away, &c.

To praise him ye Fairies and Genii repair,
He knew where ye haunted, in earth or in air:
No phantom so subtile could glide from his view,
The wings of his fancy were swifter than you.
Chorus. Come away! come away!

His genius calls-you must obey.

54. Song in the Country Girl. GARRICK.
TELL not me of the roses and lilies
Which tinge the fair cheek of your Phyllis
Tell not me of the dimples and eyes
For which silly Corydon dies;

Let all whining lovers go hang;
My heart would you hit,

Tip your arrow with wit,

;

And it comes to my heart with a twang, twang,
And it comes to my heart with a twang.

I am rock to the handsome and pretty,
Can only be touch'd by the witty;
And beauty will ogle in vain :

The way to my heart's through my brain.
Let all whining lovers go hang:

We wits, you must know,

Have two strings to our bow,

To return them their darts with a twang, twang,
To return them their darts with a twang.

§ 55. Air in Cymon. GARRICK. You gave me last week a young linnet, Shut up in a fine golden cage;

Yet how sad the poor thing was within it,
O how it did flutter and rage!

Then he mop'd and he pin'd,
That his wings were confin'd,
Till I open'd the door of his den:
Then so merry was he;
And, because he was free,
He came to his cage back again.

56. The Friar of Orders Gray. "Dispersed through Shakspeare's plays are innumerable little fragments of ancient ballads, the entire copies of which could not be recovered. Many of these being of the most beautiful and pathetic simplicity, the Editor was tempted to select some of them, and with a few supplemental stanzas to connect them together, and form them into a little tale. One small fragment was taken from Beaumont and Fletcher."

IT was a friar of orders gray

Walk'd forth to tell his beads;
And he met with a lady fair,

Clad in a pilgrim's weeds.

"Now Christ thee saye, thou reverend friar, I pray thee tell to me,

If ever at yon holy shrine,

My true-love thou didst see?"
"And how should I know your true-love
From many another one?"-
"O. by his cockle hat and staff,
And by his sandal shoon :
But chiefly by his face and mien,

That were so fair to view;
His flaxen locks, that sweetly curl'd,
And eyne of lovely blue."
"O lady, he is dead and gone!

Lady, he's dead and gone!
And at his head a green-grass turf,

And at his heels a stone.
"Within these holy cloisters long
He languish'd, and he died,
Lamenting of a lady's love,

And 'plaining of her pride.
"Here bore him, bare-faced on his bier,
Six proper youths and tall;

And many a tear bedew'd his grave

Within yon kirk-yard wall."

"And art thou dead! thou gentle youth?
And art thou dead and gone?
And didst thou die for love of me?
Break, cruel heart of stone!"

"O weep not, lady, weep not so!

Some ghostly comfort seek:
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,
Nor tears bedew thy cheek."
"O do not, do not, holy friar,

My sorrow now reprove;
For I have lost the sweetest youth
That e'er won lady's love.

"And now, alas! for thy sad loss.
I'll ever weep and sigh;

For thee I only wish'd to live,
For thee I wish to die."

"Weep no more, lady, weep no more;
Thy sorrow is in vain :

For violets pluck'd, the sweetest show'rs
Will ne'er make grow again.

"Our joys as winged dreams do fly,

Why then should sorrow last?
Since grief but aggravates thy loss,
Grieve not for what is past."

"O say not so,

thou holy friar!

I pray thee, say not so!

For since my true-love died for me, 'Tis meet my tears should flow.

"And will he never come again?

Will he ne'er come again?

Ah, no! he is dead, and laid in his grave, For ever to remain.

"His cheek was redder than the rose;

The comeliest youth was he.
But he is dead, and laid in his grave,
Alas! and woe is me!"
"Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever;
One foot on sea, and one on land,

To one thing constant never. "Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, And left thee sad and heavy;

For young men ever were fickle found,
Since summer trees were leafy."

"Now

say not thou holy friar,

So,

I pray thee, say not so!

My love he had the truest heart;

O he was ever true!

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All shall yield to the Mulberry tree, &c. Let Venus delight in her gay myrtle bowers, Pomona in fruit-trees, and Flora in flowers; The garden of Shakspeare all fancies will suit,

“And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth? With the sweetest of flowers, and fairest of fruit.

And didst thou die for me?

Then farewell, home! for evermore

A pilgrim I will be.

"But first upon my true-love's grave

My weary limbs I'll lay;

And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf
That wraps his breathless clay."
"Yet stay, fair lady, stay awhile
Beneath this cloister wall:

See, through the hawthorn blows the wind,
And drizzly rain doth fall."

"O stay me not, thou holy friar,
O stay me not, I pray!
No drizzly rain that falls on me
Can wash my fault away.”
"Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,

And dry those pearly tears;
For see, beneath this gown of gray,
Thy own true-love appears!
"Here, forced by grief and hopeless love,
These holy weeds I sought:
And here, amidst these lonely walls,
To end my days I thought;
"But haply, for my year of grace
Is not yet pass'd away,

Might I still hope to win thy love,
No longer would I stay."

"Now farewell grief, and welcome joy
Once more unto my heart;

For since I've found thee, lovely youth,
We never more will part."

All shall yield to the Mulberry tree, &c.

With learning and knowledge the well-letter'd

birch [church; Supplies law and physic, and grace for the But law and the gospel in Shakspeare we find, And he gives the best physic for body and mind.

All shall yield to the Mulberry tree, &c. The fame of the patron gives fame to the tree, From him and his merits this takes its degree; Let Phoebus and Bacchus their glories resign, Our tree shall surpass both the laurel and vine. All shall yield to the Mulberry tree, &c.

The genius of Shakspeare outshines the bright
day,
[vey;

More rapture than wine to the heart can con-
So the tree that he planted, by making his own,
Has laurel, and bays, and the vine, all in one.
All shall yield to the Mulberry tree, &c.
Then each take a relic of this hallow'd tree;
From folly and fashion a charm let it be :
Fill, fill to the planter the cup to the brim;.
To honor the country, do honor to him.
All shall yield to the Mulberry tree;
Bend to thee,
Bless'd Mulberry!
Matchless was he

Who planted thee,

And thou, like him, immortal shalt be.

58. Song. Black-eyed Susan. GAY ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, The streamers waving in the wind, When black-ey'd Susan came on board "O where shall I my true-love find? [by thee! Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,

$57. Shakspeare's Mulberry Tree. GARRICK. BEHOLD this fair goblet! 'twas carv'd from

the tree,

Which, O my sweet Shakspeare, was planted If my sweet William sails among your crew."

William, who high upon the yard Rock'd by the billows to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard, He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below; The cord glides swiftly through his glowing hands,

And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.

So the sweet lark, high pois'd in air, Shuts close his pinions to his breast, If chance his mate's shrill call he hear, And drops at once into her nest. The noblest captain in the British fleet Might envy William's lips those kisses sweet.

"O Susan, Susan, lovely dear! My vows shall ever true remain; Let me kiss off that falling tear: We only part to meet again. Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee. "Believe not what the landmen say, Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind: They'll tell thee, sailors, when away, At every port a mistress find.

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

"If to fair India's coast we sail, Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright; Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, Thy skin is ivory so white. Thus every beauteous object that I view Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.

"Though battle calls me from thy arms, Let not my pretty Susan mourn; Though cannons roar, yet free from harms, William shall to his dear return: Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye."

The boatswain gives the dreadful word,
The sails their swelling bosoms spread;
No longer must she stay on board:

They kiss'd; she sigh'd; he hung his head; Her less'ning boat unwilling rows to land; "Adieu!" she cries, and wav'd her lily hand.

$59. Song. ROWE.

As on a summer's day,
In the greenwood shade I lay,
The maid that I lov'd,
As her fancy mov'd,
Came walking forth that way.
And as she passed by,
With a scornful glance of her eye,
"What a shame," quoth she,
"For a swain must it be,
Like a lazy loon for to lie!
"And dost thou nothing heed
What Pan our god has decreed,
What a prize to-day
Shall be given away
To the sweetest shepherd's reed?

"There's not a single swain Of all this fruitful plain,

But with hopes and fears Now busily prepares The bonny boon to gain. "Shall another maiden shine In brighter array than thine? Up, up, dull swain,

1 Tune thy pipe once again,
And make the garland mine."
"Alas! my love," I cried,
"What avails this courtly pride?
Since thy dear desert

Is written in my heart,
What is all the world beside ?
"To me thou art more gay,
In this homely russet gray,

Than the nymphs of our green,
So trim and so sheen,
Or the brightest queen of May.
"What though my fortune frown,
And deny thee a silken gown;
My own dear maid,

Be content with this shade,
And a shepherd all thy own."
§ 60. Song.

ONE morning very early, one morning in the
spring,
[sing;

I heard a maid in Bedlam, who mournfully did Her chains she rattled on her hands, while sweetly thus sung she: [me. "I love my love, because I know my love loves "O cruel were his parents who sent my love to sea, [love from me! And cruel, cruel was the ship that bore my Yet I love his parents, since they're his, although they've ruin'd me, [loves me. And I love my love, because I know my love "O! should it please the pitying pow'rs to call me to the sky, [my love to fly; I'd claim a guardian angel's charge, around To guard him from all dangers, how happy [loves me. For I love my love, because I know my love "I'll make a strawy garland, I'll make it wondrous fine,

should I be!

With roses, lilies, daisies, I'll mix the eglantine, And I'll present it to my love, when he returns from sea; [loves me. For I love my love, because I know my love "O! if I were a little bird to build upon his

breast,

should be!

[rest! Or if I were a nightingale to sing my love to To gaze upon his lovely eyes all my reward [loves me. For I love my love, because I know my love "O! if I were an eagle, to soar into the sky! I'd gaze around with piercing eyes where I my love might spy:

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But, ah! unhappy maiden! that love you ne'er shall see: [loves me Yet I love my love, because I know my love

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