Dull whining despise,

Grow rofy and wife,

Nor longer the jeft of good fellows appear;
Bid adieu to your folly,

Get drunk and be jolly,

And smoke o'er a tankard of Newcastle Beer.

VI.

Ye fanciful folk, for whom phyfic prescribes, Whom bolus and potion have harass'd to death! Ye wretches, whom law and her ill-looking tribes, Have hunted about 'till you're quite out of breath! Here's fhelter and ease,

No craving for fees,

No danger, no doctor,-no bailiff is near!
Your fpirits this raises,

It cures your diseases,

There's freedom and health in our Newcastle Beer.

THE

IVE THE TOAST-my good fellow, be jovial

GIVE

and gay,

And let the brisk moments pass jocund away!

HERE'S THE KING-take your bumpers, my brave British fouls,

Who guards your fair freedom should crown your full

bowls,

LET HIM LIVE-long and happy, fee Lewis brought

down,

And taste all the comforts, no cares of a crown.

A

THREE-PART CATCH.

'TIS

IS IN VIEW-(the rich bleffing kind nature bestow'd,

To conquer our forrows, or lighten the load)

A FULL FLASK!-the rich nectar this bottle contains In a flood of fresh rapture fhall roll through our veins. LET IT BLEED and caroufing this liquor divine, Sing an hymn to the God that firft cultur'd the vine.

ON

SIR W

ON

BT's

BIRTHDAY.

OES true felicity on grandeur wait? Delights fhe in the pageantry of shew? Say, can the glitt'ring gew-gaws of the great An hour of inborn happiness bestow?

He that is juft, benevolent, humane,

In confcious rectitude fupremely bleft,
O'er the glad hearts of multitudes shall reign,
Tho' the gay ftar ne'er blaz'd upon his breast.

Ye happy children of the hoary North,
Hail the glad day that faw your patron born;
Whofe private virtues, and whofe public worth,
Might the rich feats of Royalty adorn.

STANZAS

STANZAS

Spoken at a Play at the Theatre in Sunderland, for the Benefit of the CORSICAN S.

HO can

I.

W behold with an unpitying eye

The glorious few (with patriotic fire)

Diftreft-invaded-and refolv'd to die,

Or keep their independant rights entire ? Shackled themselves, the fervile Gauls would bind, In their ignoble fetters, half mankind.

II.

The gentle homage that, to-night, you've paid
To Freedom, and her ever facred laws,

The humble off'ring at her altar made,

Prove that your hearts beat nobly in her caufe. All-gracious Freedom, O vouchfafe to smile, Thro' future ages, on this favourite isle!

III.

Far may the boughs of Liberty expand,

For ever cultur'd by the Brave and Free!

For ever blafted be that impious hand,

That lops one branch from this illustrious tree! Britons!-'tis yours to make her verdure thrive, And keep the roots of Liberty alive.

O, may

IV.

O, may her rich, her ripening fruits of gold,
Britannia! bloom perpetually for thee!
May you ne'er want a Dragon, as we're told
Defended, once, the fam'd Hefperian tree!
A Dragon fix'd, for your imperial fake,
With anxious eyes, eternally awake.

THE

RESPITE:

A

PASTORA L.

I.

A

H, what is't to me that the Grafhopper fings!
Or what, that the meadows are fair!

That (like little flow'rets, if mounted on wings)
The Butterflies flaunt it in air!

Ye birds, I'll no longer attend to a lay;

Your haunts in the foreft refign!

Shall you, with your true loves, be happy all day, Whilft I am divided from mine?

II.

Where woodbines and willows inclin'd to unite,
We twisted a blooming alcove;

And oft has my DAMON, with fmiles of delight,
Declar'd it the Mantle of Love.

The