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

Numb. gA]
THE
CHARMS OF MELODY,
» ■
h
O R
SIREN M E D L E r.
The Plan of the Publilher is to embody in one Grand Folio Volume, all the Songs, ancient and modern, in the EngliHi Lsnguaee,
worth prefcrving — forming an Univerfal Magazine of Lo/e, Sentimental, War, Hunting, Bacchanalian, Humorous, Se», and Political
Songs; as well as Old Englilh, Irilh, Scotch and German Ballads, Legendaries See. &c. To which will be added, » complete Index.
Of all our fond diverfions.
OF all our fond diverfions,
A Hunter's is the baft,
In fpite of war and party jars,
That fport has flood the teft.
And a hunting we will go, &c.
Of Nimrod, and of Efau,
What gallant feats they tell,
,On foot they follow'd hunting.
They lov'd the fport fo well.
O hadft thou, brave Acflason,
Bat minded more thy game,
Thou ne'er hadft paid fo dearly,
For peeping at — That fame.
Herfelf, Diana, Goddefs,
The pride of female race,
Preferr'd to am'rous footing
The pleafures of the chafe.
Orion, foolilh hunter,
Lur'd by a petticoat,
In the mid chafe he loiter'd.
And fo his fate he got.
But after his difafter,
He's made a heav'nly fign,
That he at laft may view the fport,
He can no longer join.
And hence it is we Hunters
Ne'er break a leg or arm ;
For this our felbw fportfman
Protects us from all harm.
Had Dido not lov'd hunting.
The Am'rous Trojan brave
Her highnefs ne'er had folac'd.
In Juno's friendly cave.
:Euripides, had hunting
Been lov'd but like thy books.
The hounds had not devour'd thee,
They know a fportfman's looks.
If, friend, you're call'd a hunting,
Throw all your books afide,
(The Poet thus advifes)
And mount your horfe and ride.
Brilk acflion cures the vapours,
Th' effe'^l of lazy florli,
And mufic makes as cheerful,
So hunting's good for health.
And, &c.
And, &c.
And, &c.
And, &c.
And, &c.
And, &c.
And, &c.
And, &c.
And, &c.
And. &c.
The fport of hunting renders
Our days fo fweet and long.
It makes us better relifh
Our glaffes and a fong.
Our laws prohibit hunting
To the Plebeian race.
Nor is it meet the vulgar
Should royal fport debafe.
The Britifh Kings are hunters.
And frequent in the chafe.
They fear no more than we do,
A weather-rbeaten face.
Th
len fill a fparkling bumper,
I'll take it off with glee.
And, &c.
And, &c.
And, &c.
To all our brother hunters
In courfe his Majefly.
And a hunting we will go, &c.
Let School-maftcrs puzzle their Brain.
LET fchool-mafters puzzle their brain.
With grammar, and nonfenfe, and learning;
Good liquor I ftoutly maintain,
Ghes genius a better difcerning.
Let them brag of their Heathenilh Gods,
Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians ;
Their Quis, and their Qiiass, and their Quods,
They're all but a parcel of Pigeons.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.
When methodift preachers come down,
A preaching that drinking is finful,
I'll wager the rafcals a crown.
They always preach beft with a Qcinful ;
But when you come down with your pence,
For a flice of their fcurvy religion,
I'll leave it to all men of fenfe.
But you, my good friend, are the Pigeon.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll,.
Then come, put the jorum about
And let us be merry and clever.
Our hearts and our liquors are flout.
Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever.
Let fome cry up woodcock or hare,
Your buftards, your ducks, and your widgeons ;
But of all the fine birds in the air.
Here's a health to the Three jolly Pigeons.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.
GoUfmilk.
PUBLISHED at N"^- lO, BEDFORD-ROW, Dublin,
Where the preceding Numbers can be had.