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

THE CHARMS OF MELODY.
263
As tippling John was jogging on.
Sung in ' Th Pmvok'J fTifc'
A S tippling John 'was jogging on,
-^*- Upon a riot night;
•U'ilh tott'ring pace, and fiery face,
Sufpicious of high fliglit :
The guards, v\ ho took him by his look,
For fome chief fire-brand,
Afk'd, whence he came; what was his name :
Who are you ? Hand, friend, ftand.
I
I'm going home ; from meeting come.
Ay, fays one, that's the cafe :
Some meeting he has burnt, you fee
The flame's ftill in his face. •
John thought 'twas time to purge the crime;
And iaid, 'twas his intent,
For to affwage his thirfty rage ;
That meeting 'twas he meant.
Come, friend, be plain, you trifle in vain,
Says one ; pray, let us know.
That we may find how you're inclin'd,
Are you high-church, or low ?
John faid to that, I'll tell you what.
To end debates and ftrife ;
All I can fay, this is the way
I lleer my courfe of lite.
I ne'er 10 Bow nor Burgefs go.
To fteeple-houfe, nor hall ;
The brilk bar-bell befts fuits niy zeal,
-With, gentlemen, d'ye call ?
Now judge, am I low-church, or high ?
From tavern or the fteeple,
Whole merry toll exalts the foul.
And makes us high-flown people.
The guards came on, and look'd at John,
With countenance moft pleafant:
By whifper round, they all foon found,
He was no dang'rous peafant :
•So while John flood the belt he cou'd,
Expelling their decifion ;
Pox o'n't, fays one, let him be gone,
He's of our own religion.
Make Hay whilft the Sun fhines.
''T'lS a maxim I hold, whilft I live to purfue,
'■»• hoi a thing to defer, which to day I can do :
This piece of good counfel attend to, I pray.
For while the fun fhines is the time to ipake hay.
Attend the dear nymph to an arbour or grove,
In her ear gently pour the loft poilon of love:
With kifles and pveffes your rapture convey,
For while the fun Amines is the time to make hay.
If Chloe is kind, and gives ear to your plaint,
Declare your whole fentiments free from reftraint :
Enforce your petition, and make no delay ;
For while the fun fliines is the'time to make hay.
But fhould you the prefent occaiion let pafs.
The world may with jaillce pioclaim you an afs :
Then brifkly aiiack her, if lousier ynix Pay,
The fun may not fliine, and ycu cannot inake hay.
Donnybrook Fair.
Written by J. S. DODD, M. D.
Tune — " Dear Catholic Brother.'
A TTEND my dear honeys, and I will declare,
-i^ The fun that I had at laft Donnybrook fair;
^fy Juggy a"d I. we went there in a noddy,
Alone, by ourfelves, with but one other body.
And that other body was Terence O'Fegan,
A gofllp to me, and my dear Juggy Fagan :
With both our (hilalas we ftoutly fet out,
Och ! we ftuck to the fluff, and we made a fine
rcut.
My Juggy and I to preferve our charader.
Were dreft top from toe in our own manufafture;
For the devil a morfel of Manchefter cotton.
To hurt our own weavers, would Ihe ever put on.
And Terry and I both fo fightly were feen.
With our coats and our fmall cloaths of Carrick
ratteen;
For never no purchafe fliould ever be made
From thofe who petition'd againft our free trade.
When we got to the fair, Och ! we tippl'd the
Wjhiflv-ey,
'Till Terry, and Juggy, and I, were both friflcy ;
Then we danc'd like a lipperchon, fung with our
voice,
'Till the devil's own mother ne'er faw fuch a
noife-
Quite hungry we grew, with aur fqualling and
dancing.
And we took a fpoleen for to fettle our prancing;
But a fair is worth nothing without a good fight,'
So we kick'd up a duft^ and we battled outright!
'Twould do your hearts good to behold all the
thumps,
The kicks, cuff and knocks, and the bloody nofe
dumps.
We whack'd, and we thwack'd 'till we bled at both
ends.
Then we kifs'd and we drank, to fliew we were
all friends.
To crown all our frolicts, as homeward we came
The driver fell off; and the horfe it grew lame.
Poor juggy was fick, and did hic-cup and flare.
And thefe were the pleafures of Donnybrook.
fair. •
When Molly fmiles beneath her Cow.
TT^HEN Molly fmiles beneath her cow,
I feel my heart I can't tell how ;
When Molly is on Sunday dreft.
On Sundays I can take no reit.
What can I do ? On working daj«s
I leave my work on her to gaze.
What ftiall I lay? at fei mens I
Foget the text, when Molly's by.
Good maft^- curator teach me how
To mind your preaching and my plough;
And if for this you'll raife a fpell,
A good iat goofs will thank you well.