Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Charms of melody, or, Siren medley

THE CHARMS OF MELODY,
S3
Then fay my fweet Girl.
DEAR Nancy I've faii'd the world all around,
And feven long years been a rover ;
To make for my charmer each (hilling a pound ;
But now my hard perils are over.
Tve favM from my toils many hundreds in gold,
The comforts of life (o beget ;
Have borne in each climate the heat and the cold ;
And all for my pretty Brunette ;
7/ien fay, my fiueet girl, can you love me,
Then juy, my fiueet girl, tan you loz/e me,
Thehfoy, iSf<.
Tho' others may boaft of more riches than mine,
And rate my attraclions e'en fewer;
At their jeers and ill nature I'll fcorn to repine,
Can they boaft of a heart that is truer ?
^Or, will they for thee plough the hazardous main,
Brave the feafons both ftormy and wet,
;If nor, why I'll do it again and again,
And all for my pretty Brunette,-
T/ien fay, my fvJMt girJ, ^c.
-When order'd afar in purfuit of the foe,
I figh'd at the bodings of fancy,
"Which fain would perfuade me I might be laid low,
And ah ! never more fee my Nancy ;
! iBut hope like an angel foon banifh'd the thought.
And bade me fuch notions forger :
.1 took the advice and undauntedly fought.
And all for my pretty Brunette ;
TAen fay, my fiueel girl, ifc.
The Rake at large.
LOOK'E, dear Ma'am, I'm quite the thing,
Natibus hey ! tippity ho.
In my flioe I wear a (tring ;
Tied in a black bow, fo :
Cards and dice, I've monft'rous luck,
I'm no drake yet keep a duck,
Tho' not married, yet I'm a buck,
Lantherum fwalh, keevi.
I've a purfe well ftock'd with brafs,
Chinkety hey ! tinkityho!
I've good eyes but cock my glafs,
Stare about, fquintom ho !
In two boots I boldly walk,
Piftol, fword, 1 never balk.
Meet my man and bravely talk,
Pippity pop, coiipee, ,
Sometimes I mount a fmart cockade,
Puppydum hey, firuttiedum hoi
From High Park to the parade.
Cock my carey kes ;
; As I pafs a centry box,
Soldiers reft their bright firelocks.
Each about his muflcet knocks
Rattledum flap, to me.
In the Mall, Ma'am gives her card,
Cafhedy me, kiflady ilie .'
Sit before the ftable yard,
Leg-oriim lounge a row;
Pretty things I foftly fay
' 'When I'm alk'd our chairs to pay.
Yes, fays I, and walkaway,
Pennybus tartu.'ii, ho!
)
'At Bolougne I liv'd a week, ,.
Fricafee hey ! trick a fee ho?
There fine French I iearn'd to fqueak,
Grinnibiis fkiptum, ho!
Slap French cUick about, hateur,
Kwvettp, chef dcevre, hon donceur,
■En lion <>o nt, quel tout man r^ur,
Fiddiedee lull, hee hee !
Rotten-row my Sunday ride,
Trottledum hey, tumble of^ -ho?
Pony, eighteen-pence a fide,
■Windgall, glanderum ho!
Cricket, I fam'd Lumpey niok.
Daddies, fmouch Mendoza lick.
Up to, ah ! I'm juft the kick,
Alamande cap'rum toe.
O'Xeefe
Were I laid on Greenland's Coaft.
WERE I laid on Greenland's coaft,
And in my arms embrac'd my lafs ;
Warm amidft eternal firoft.
Too foon the half year's night would pafs.
Were I fold on Indian foil,
Soon as the burning day was clos'd,
I could mock the fultry toil.
When on my charmer's breaft repos'd.
jinj I •would loije y$u all the day,
Ev'ry night 'we\l kifs and play.
If ivith me you'd fondly Jiray,
O'uer the kills ana. Jar a<wa^.
"Beggar's 'Opera.
Somebody.
WERE I obliged to beg my bread,
And had no place to lay my head^
I'd creep where yonder herds are fed.
And fteal a look at Somebody;
My own dear Somebody,
My conftant Somebody,
I'd creep were yonder herds are fed.
And fleal a look at Somebody.
Oh ! had I eagle's wings to f!y,
And take my flight acrofs the Iky,
I'd feaft my longing tearful eye.
And fteal a look at Somebody.
I'd fesft my longing tearful eye.
And fteal a look at Somebody.
When I'm laid low, and am at reft.
And may be number'd with the bleft.
Oh; may the artlefs feeling breaft.
Throb with regard for Somebody.
Ah ! will you drop one pitying tear.
And Cgh for the loft Somebody.
But Ihould I ever live to fee
That form fo much ador'd by me.
Then thou'lt reward my conftancy.
I'll be bleft with Somebody.
Then fhall my tears be dry'd by thee,
And I'll be bleft with Somebody.
I like the Fox {hall grieve,
I LIKE the fox fhall grieve, ■
Whofe mate has left her fide ^
Whom hounds, from morn to eve,
Chace o'er the country wide.
Where can my lover hide ?
Where cheat the weary pack ?
If love be not Iws guide.
He never will come back.
Beggar s Opera.
My Love to War is going.
MY love to war is going.
And I am left to mourn ;
For him my tears are flowing.
Ah ! when will he return ?
O war, thou fource of forrow,
By thee what thoufands mourn,
Perhaps before to-morrow.
He'll fill the fatal urn. R.Tivifi..