My splendid piano I sold for a song,

Which my daughter, Fanchette, used to strum to; She'll perhaps have a mangle to turn before long, For there's no knowing what we may come to. You may turn, &c.

SHE WOULDN'T DO FOR ME.

THOMAS HUDSON.]

[Tune-"The Old Bachelor."

IN courting the ladies I've wasted my life,
Useless day after day;

And oh! for the want of a charming wife
Daily I pine away.

Could I but get one exact to my mind,
Contented and happy I'd be ;

Alas! in the number not one can I find,
There's not one will do for me.

Miss Vain had elegance, beauty, and grace,
Combined in a form so rare;
Each beau said, as he looked in her face,
An angel was not more fair.

She thought her charms did others surpass,
And oft as oft could be,

I found Miss Vain was fond of the glass,
So she would not do for me.

Miss Grub had wealth in silver and gold,
Houses and lands also;

And though Miss Grub was growing old,
Was courted by many a beau.

In costly silks and satins clad,

As fine as fine could be,

Her cash was good, but her temper was bad,
So she would not do for me.

The Widow Gadd her weeds still wore,

Was reckon'd a charming prize;

Just in her bloom at twenty-four,

With a pair of melting eyes.

Although I courted the Widow Gadd,

I soon from her got free;

I found three husbands before she'd had,
So she would not do for ine.

Miss Clack was the next-she struck me mute,
Her voice so sweet and clear;
Just like the notes of a breathing flute,

Came floating o'er the ear.

With love I sadly sigh'd-poor ef,

And love brought inisery;

I found she'd have all the talk to herself,
So she would not do for me.

Then I courted the sweet Miss Glum,
Fair beauty's reigning toast;

I certainly thought she must be dumb,
For of silence she made a boast.
To prove she was not of family low,
She show'd me her pedigree;
But as she would not say ay or no,
Why she would not do for me.

Two sisters next, who'd been to France,
Seen Italy and Spain;
Both could tastily sing and dance,
But courting was all in vain.

I saw them but once-that at a ball,
And though both frank and free,
One was too short-t'other too tall,
So they would not do for me.

The next was a lady-a "stocking blue"-
Of person and features fair;

Own it I must-to give her her due,
Her knowledge was solid and rare.
But when of love I essay'd to speak,
Not of this world seemed she;
She answer'd only in Latin and Greek,
So she would not do for me.

Could I meet a lady exact to my mind,
With beauty extreme I'd dispense;
So she were affable, modest, and kind,
And blest with common sense.

Her heart with th' purest affection to glow,
And from affectation free;
Happy to-morrow to church I'd go,
She'd just be the wife for me,

BEFORE AND AFTER MARRIAGE.

JAMES BRUTON.]

My Julie had such pretty eyes,

All piercing grey their colour;

The very stars within the skies,

[Music by BLEWITT.

When they appeared, seemed duller!

This was before our marriage !

But soon I found, a'as! alack!
To my especial wonder,

That these same eyes could turn as black

As skies when charged with thunder!

But this was after marriage!

My Julie had such pretty feet,
So fairy-like and little;

I often thought they'd snap in two,
They were so light and brittle.

This was before our marriage!

But these same little feet that oft
For fairy's I'd been picking,
I found were anything but soft,
Whene'er they took to kicking!

But this was after marriage!

My Julie had such pretty hands,
And fingers small and taper;

And nails with little white half-moons,"

And soft as satin paper.

This was before our marriage!

But these same nails that none could match,

And tiny hands inviting,

I found could come up to the scratch,

And do a little fighting!

But this was after marriage!

My Julie reach'd perfection quite,
When summed up altogether,

And all my future seem'd most bright,
And naught but sunny weather.

This was before our marriage!

But ah! vain hope! I only dream'd,
For short my reign of revel;

The lady I an angel deem'd
Turn'd out a very devil!

T. H. BAYLY.]

But this was after marriage!

MY SON TOM.

[Music by S. GÖDBE.

My son's a youth of talents rare,
You really ought to know him ;
But he blushes so, when people stare,
That he seldom lets me show him.
To school he never yet was sent,
Nor yet to Oxford College;
So all are in astonishment,

Where Tom pick'd up his knowledge.
My Tom's a youth of talents rare,
You really ought to know him;
But he blushes so, when people stare,
That he seldom lets me show him.

But Tom's a minor, recollect,
But nineteen next November!

And so, of course, one can't expect
Big books he should remember;

With clever boys, if peop'e force
Their minds, 'tis ruination;
So I let nature take her course,
A fig for education!

My Tom's a youth of talents rare, &c.

By instinct Tom picks up at once
The things that others study.

My husband storms, and calls him dunce,
He should not do so, should he?
Some talk about the books they've read,
And each is thought a wise one,
Tom makes all out of his own head,
Remarks that quite surprise one.

My Tom's a youth of talents rare, &c.

Tom wears no stock, no long-tail'd coat,
Unfit for boys of his age.

A jacket and an open throat

Best suit his form and visage :
Hereafter when the fair and gay
My darling is pursuing,

I'm sure he will not fail to say,

""Twas all my mother's doing!"

My Tom's a youth of talents rare, &c.

I'M A RANTING, ROVING BLADE.

SAMUEL LOVER.]

WHOO! I'm a ranting, roving blade,

Of never a thing was I ever afraid ;

[Music by S. Lover.

I'm a gintleman born, and I scorn a thrade,
And I'd be a rich man if my debts was paid.

But my debts is worth something; this truth they instil,

That pride makes us fall all against our will;

For 'twas pride that broke me-I was happy until I was ruined all out by my tailor's bill.