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I'prentice was to Vulcan,

And served my master faithful In making tools for jovial fools;

But, ye gods, ye proved unfaithful.

The stars pluck'd from their orbs too,

I'll put them in my budget; And if I'm not a roaring boy,

Then let the nation judge it.

CRAZY JANE.

G. M. LEWIS, born 1773, died 1818.

WHY, fair maid, in

every

feature Are such signs of fear express'd? Cap a wand'ring wretched creature

With such terror fill thy breast ? Do my

frenzied looks alarm thee? Trust me, sweet, thy fears are vain; Not for kingdoms would I harm thee;

Shun not, then, poor Crazy Jane.

Dost thou weep to see my anguish ?

Mark me, and avoid my woe : When men flatter, sigh, and languish,

Think them false- I found them so. For I loved, ah! so sincerely

None could ever love again; But the youth I loved so dearly

Stole the wits of Crazy Jane.

Fondly my young heart received him,

Which was doom'd to love but one; He sigh'd-he vow'd—and I believed him,

He was false—and I undone. From that hour has reason never Held her empire o'er my

brain : IIenry fled—with him for ever

Fled the wits of Crazy Jane.

Now forlorn and broken-hearted,

And with frenzied thoughts beset,
On that spot where last we parted,

On that spot where first we met,
Still I sing my love-lorn ditty,

Still I slowly pace the plain;
While each passer-by, in pity,

Cries—God help thee, Crazy Jane !

The music was composed by Miss Abrams, a popular English vocalist, who, with her

sister Thevdosia, first sang in public in 1776 at the Ancient Concerts.

THE DISTRACTED MAID.

From “Johnson's Musical Museum." Said by the editor of “Johnson's Museum” to have

been written by a negro confined in Bethlehem Hospital.

ONE morning very early,

One morning in the spring,
I heard a maid in Bedlam

Who mournfully did sing;
Her chains she rattled on her hands

While sweetly thus sung she:
“I love my love, because I know

My love loves me.

O, cruel were his parents

Who sent my love to sea!
And cruel, cruel was the ship

That bore my love from me;
Yet I love his parents, since they're his,

Although they've ruin'd me;
And I love my love, because I know

My love loves me.
Oh, should it please the pitying powers

To call me to the sky,
I'd claim a guardian angel's charge

Around my love to fly;
To guard him from all dangers,

How happy should I be!
For I love my love, because I know

My love loves me.

I'll make a strawy garland,

I'll make it wondrous fine,
With roses, lilies, daisies

I'll mix the eglantine;
And I'll present it to my love

When he returns from sea;
For I love my love, because I know

My love loves me.
Oh, if I were a little bird

To build upon his breast,
Or if I were a nightingale

To sing my love to rest;
To gaze upon his lovely eyes

All my reward should be ;
For I love my love, because I know

My love loves me.

Oh, if I were an eagle

To soar into the sky!
I'd gaze around with piercing eyes

Where I my love might spy;
But, ah! unhappy maiden,

That love you ne'er shall see:
Yet I love my love, because I know

My love loves me.”

Sheridan used the same melody for the air, “Had I a heart for falsehood framed," and

Moore also for the air, “The harp that once in Tara's halls.”

OH, FOR MY TRUE-LOVE.

From "The Myrtle and the Vine," 1800.

Down by the river there grows a green willow,

Sing, oh! for my true love, my true love, oh!
I'll weep out the night there, the bank for my pillow,

And all for my true-love, my true-love, oh !
When chill blows the wind, and tempests are beating,
I'll count all the clouds as I mark them retreating,
For true lovers' joys, well-a-day, are as fleeting;

Sing all for my true-love, my true-love, oh!

Maids, come in pity, when I am departed,

Sing, oh! for my true-love, my true-love, oh! When dead on the bank I am found broken-hearted,

And all for my true-love, my true-love, oh! Make me a grave, all while the wind's blowing, Close to the stream where my tears once were flowing, And over my corpse keep the green willow growing,

'Tis all for my true-love, my true love, oh!

THE MAD GIRL'S SONG.

THOMAS DIBDIN. From "The Last Lays of the Three Dibdins," 1834.

Ox, take me to your arms, my love,

For keen the winds doth blow!
Oh, take me to your arms, my love,
For bitter is

my

woe.!
She hears me not, she cares not,

Nor will she list to me;
And here I lie in misery

Beneath the willow-tree.

I once had gold and silver;

I thought them without end;
I once had gold and silver;

I thought I had a friend.
My wealth is lost, my friend is false,

My love is stol'n from me;
And here I lie in misery

Beneath the willow-tree.

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WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE ; from "As you like it.” The music by Dr. ARNE.

UNDER the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And tune his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither!

Here shall he see

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Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to lie i' the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,
And pleased with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither!

Here shall he see

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