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Ye Royal little ones,

I love your flesh and bones
You are an arch, rear'd with immortal stones !

Hibernia strikes his harp!
Shuttle, fly !-woof! wed! warp!
Far, far, from me and you,
In latitude North 52.-
Rebellion's hush'd,

The merchant's Alush'd;
Hail, awful Brunswick, Saxe-Gotha, hail !
Not George, but Louis, now shall turn his tail !
Thus, I a-far from mad debate,

Like an old wren,
With my good hen,
Or a young gander,

Am a by-stander,
To all the peacock pride, and vain regards of state !

Yet if the laurel prize,
Dearer than my eyes,
Curs'd Warton tries

For to surprize,
By the eternal God I'll SCRUTINIZE !

NUMBER II.

ODE ON THE NEW YEAR,

By LORD MULGRAVE.

STROPHE.

O For a Muse of Fire,
With blazing thumbs to touch my torpid lyre !
Now in the darksome regions round the Pole,

Tigers fierce, and Lions bold,
With wild affright would see the snow-hills roll,
Their sharp teeth chattering with the cold-

But that Lions dwell not there-
Nor beast, nor Christian-none but the White Bear!
The White Bear howls amid the tempest's roar,
And list’ning Whales swim headlong from the shore !

ANTISTROPHE. (By Brother HARRY.)

Farewel awhile, ye summer breezes !
What is the life of man?

A span!
Sometimes it thaws, sometimes it freezes,

Just as it pleases !
If Heaven decrecs, fierce whirlwinds rend the aii,

And then again (behold !) 'tis fair !

Thus peace and war on earth alternate reign:

Auspicious GEORGE, thy powerful word
Gives peace to France and Spain,

And sheaths the martial sword!

STROPHE II. (By Brother CHARLES.)

And now gay Hope, her anchor dropping,
And blue-ey'd Peace, and black-ey'd Pleasures,

And Plenty in light cadence hopping,
Fain would dance to WHITEHEAD's measures.

But WHITEHEAD now in death reposes,

Crown'd with laurel! crown'd with roses ! Yet we, with laurel crown'd, his dirge will sing, And thus deserve fresh laurels from the King.

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NUMBER III.

ODE,

By Sir JOSEPH MAWBEY, BART.

STROPHE.

HARK !--to yon heavenly skies, Nature's congenial perfumes upwards rise !

From each throng'd stye

That saw my gladsome eye,
Incense, quite smoking hot, arose,
And caught my seven sweet senses—by the nose!

AIR-accompanied by the LEARNED PIG.
Tell me, dear Muse, oh! tell me, pray,

Why Joey's fancy frisks so gay;
Is it ! you slut it is some holy-holiday!

[Here Muse Whispers 1,-Sir Joseph.] Indeed !-Repeat the fragrant sound !

Push love, and loyalty around,
Through Irish, Scotch, as well as British ground !

ove, and lovala ragrant sound in Joseph.7

CHORUS

For this Big MORN

Great GEORGE was born!
The tidings all the Poles shall ring!

Due homage will I pay,

On this, thy native day, GEORGE, by the grace of God, my rightful King!

.. ves : AIR-with Lutes.
. : Well might my dear lady say,

As lamb-like by her side I lay,
This very, very morn;

Hark! Joey, hark /

I hear the lark,
Or else it is--the sweet Sowgelder's horn!

ANTISTROPHE.
Forth, from their styes, the bristly victims lead;
A score of Hogs, flat on their backs, shall bleed.
Mind they be such-on which good Gods might feast !

And that

In lily fat
They cut' six inches on the ribs, at least !
DUET—with Marroz-bones and Cleavers.

Butcher and Cook begin!
We'll have a royal greasy chin!
Tit bits so nice and rare-

Prepare ! prepare!
Let none abstain,

Refrain !
I'll give 'em pork in plenty—cut, and come again!

RECITATIVE,
Hog! Porker ! Roaster! Boar-stag! Barbicue !
Cheeks! Chines! Crow ! Chitterlings ! and Harselet new !
Springs ! Spare-ribs! Sausages ! Sous’d-lugs ! and Face !
With piping-hot Pease-pudding—picnteous place!
Hands ! Hocks ! Hams! Haggis, with high seas’ning

fill'di Gaimons ! Green Griskins ! on gridirons grill'd!

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