We'd once a Buonaparte renown'd,

Who tricks with us did try on;
We all know well that he was crown'd
With Milan's crown of iron.

Our Iron Duke his hide did tan,

66

And well he did his task, sir,-
That duke another iron man
In another "iron mask," sir!

THE GOOD OLD TIMES.

ANONYMOUS.]

[Tune-"Oh, Cruel."

LET others sing of times to come

Of joys that never will!

My song shall be of days gone by:
So, boys, a bumper fill

To the good old times! oh, the good old times!
Their like we ne'er shall see:

The world was full of honest hearts,

And life went merrily.

To the good old times! &c.

In the days of youth, when all was flowers,
And ev'ry month was May,

And my spirits were light as the thistle down,
And my heart was always gay,

I loved a fair and gentle maid

With all the constancy

That a mutual flame in youth can inspire;

But, alas she jilted me.

Oh, the good old times! &c.

Friends of to-day, how vain are they!

The partners of an hour,

That fortune gathers round a man,

As sunshine wakes the flow'r.

My friend and I, in infancy,

Play'd 'neath the same old tree :
One home was ours for long, long years,

Till my friend arrested me.

Oh, the good old times! &c.

My country's cause was always mine-
Britannia, ocean's bride!

A patriot's name my dearest boast,
A patriot's heart my pride.
My leader was "the people's friend;"
"Twas thus he gain'd my vote:
But they put him on the pension list,
And the patriot turned his coat.

Oh, the good old times! &c.

'Twas then I felt that honour dwelt In noble ancestry;

That still in high and gentle blood

Some secret virtues lie.

My champion now I joy'd to hear

Rail at the parvenu :

But I soon found him on the Civil List

With his wife and cousins too.

Oh, the good old times! &c.

Disgusted with the city's vice,
I to the country sped-

A simple husbandman, my life
Mid flocks and herds I led.
The live-long day I'd pipe and play,
Or on some thyme bank sleep:

But at night they broke into my folds,
And stole my cows and sheep,

Oh, the good old times! &c.

They told me 'twas my single state
That harass'd thus my life;

And to the altar soon I led
A young and lovely wife.

Oh! then what joys, what hopes were mine!
Life seem'd a brighter heaven :

But my wife eloped with her cousin Tom,
And left me infants seven.

Oh, the good old times! &c.

WHACK! FOR THE PADDIES, THEIR MAMMIES AND DADDIES.

J. BRUDER.]

Tune-"This London, sgrah ! it is the Devil's own Shop."

FOR tightness, for brightness,

For wit and politeness,

Old Ireland is famed since the world first began;
For courage, humanity,
Who has the vanity

To set himself up by a neat Irishman?
In love or in liquor,

No man can get quicker;

He ever feels grateful for women and wine;
His foe to be roasting,

Or nymph to be toasting,

Pat's first to begin, and the last to resign.
Sing whack for the Paddies!

Their mammies and daddies!

'Be their hearts free from sorrow, their hands free from toil;

May they fight for the freedom

Of nations that need 'em,

And Pat never want a potatoe to boil.

When Pat is a soldier,

No one can be bolder;

With gun on his shoulder, he marches to fight;
Whack filliloo! singing,

He's first in beginning

To fire on the foe, whether front, left, or right.

But when foeman, falling,

For mercy is bawling,

Though Pat's nose has been nearly cut off by his blows;

Pat's to him soon friendly,

And argues thus kindly—

"I wont cut off his head in revenge for my nose." Sing whack! &c.

When Pat is in love,

Och his arguments prove

So just and so true, soon they conquer the fair;
With an Irish Paddy,

Says every lady,

For love and gentility none can compare.
To lend one assistance,

He ne'er minds the distance:

He'll drink and he'll fight, and a joke's his delight; Good humour attend him,

And the man that offends him,

He'll knock down with his left and pick up with his right!

Sing whack, &c.

THE YEAR THAT'S AWA'.

ME, DUNLOP.]

{Air

Air-"It's good to be off wi' the old love."

HERE'S to the year that's awa'!

We will drink it in strong and in sma';
And here's to ilk bonnie young lassie we lo'ed,
While swift flew the year that's awa'.
And here's to ilk, &c.

Here's to the sodger who bled,

And the sailor who bravely did fa';

Their fame is alive, though their spirits are fled
On the wings of the year that's awa'.

Their fame is alive, &c.

Here's to the friends we can trust,

When the storms of adversity blaw;

May they live in our song, and be nearest our hearts,

Nor depart like the year that's awa'.

May they live, &c.

FOR FIFTEEN SPRINGS I HAVE BEEN

T. H. BAYLY.]

OUT.

[Music by GEORGE LINLEY.

FOR fifteen springs I have been out, and I am thirty

three,

I never get proposals now, what can the reason be? All strangers guess me twenty-one and praise me to the skies,

Because I have such pearly teeth and animated eyes.

Would none but strangers saw me now! Alas, it is my lot

To dwell where I have always dwelt, half rooted to the spot!

Children who shared my childish sports have children of their own,

And brats I once look'd down upon, are men and women grown!

Last week a gallant son of Mars invited me to dance : We laughed, we talked ! I really thought once more I had a chance !

At length he said, "My dear Miss Smith, you don't remember me!

I'm William Jones, twelve years ago, you danced me on your knee?"

When fashionably dress'd, some friend exclaims, "Miss Smith I know

You must remember sleeves like these at least ten years age."