JOLLY GOOD ALE AND OLD I CANNOT eat but little meat, My stomach is not good; But sure I think that I can drink With him that wears a hood. I stuff my skin so full within Back and side go bare, go bare; Both foot and hand go cold; But belly, God send thee good ale enough, I love no roast but a nut-brown toast, A little bread shall do me stead, Much bread I do not desire. I am so wrapt, and throwly lapt, Back and side go bare, etc. And Tyb, my wife, that as her life Back and side go bare, etc. Now let them drink till they nod and wink, They shall not miss to have the bliss And all poor souls that have scoured bowls, God save the lives of them and their wives, Back and side go bare, go bare; Both foot and hand go cold; But belly, God send thee good ale enough, JOHN STILL. LITTLE BILLEE THERE were three sailors of Bristol City There was gorging Jack, and guzzling Jimmy, Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy, "First let me say my catechism "Make haste! make haste!" says guzzling Jimmy, Billy went up to the main-top-gallant mast, He scarce had come to the Twelfth Commandment, "Jerusalem and Madagascar And North and South Amerikee; So when they got aboard of the Admiral's, The Captain of a Seventy-three. WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. A CARMAN'S ACCOUNT OF A LAWSUIT MARRY, I lent my gossip my mare, to fetch hame coals, And he her drounit into the quarry holes; And I ran to the consistory, for to pleinyie, And there I happenit amang ane greedie meinyie. how call ye it? — ad replicandum; SIR DAVID LYNDSAY. THE NEW CHURCH ORGAN They 've done just as they said they 'd do, They 're bound the critter shall be seen, And on the preacher's right They 've hoisted up their new machine In everybody's sight. They 've got a chorister and choir, Ag'in my voice and vote; For it was never my desire To praise the Lord by note! I've been a sister good an' true, For five an' thirty year; I've done what seemed my part to do, I've sung the hymns both slow and quick, Just as the preacher read; And twice, when Deacon Tubbs was sick, An' now, their bold, new-fangled ways Is comin' all about; And I, right in my latter days, Am fairly crowded out! To-day, the preacher, good old dear, With tears all in his eyes, Read - - "I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies. I al'ays liked that blessed hymn · It somehow gratifies my whim, But when that choir got up to sing, They sung the most dog-gonedest thing Some worldly chaps was standin' near An' when I see them grin, I bid farewell to every fear, I thought I'd chase the tune along, But though my voice is good an' strong, I couldn't steer it right. When they was high, then I was low, An' also contra 'wise; And I too fast, or they too slow, An' after every verse, you know, I did n't understand, and so I pitched it purty middlin' high And Sister Brown I could but look, She sits right front of me She never was no singin' book, An' never went to be; But then she al'ays tried to do The best she could, she said; She understood the time, right through, But when she tried this mornin', O, It kep' her head a bobbin' so, An' Deacon Tubbs, he all broke down, He took one look at Sister Brown, And meekly scratched his nose. He looked his hymn-book through and through, And laid it on the seat, And then a pensive sigh he drew, And looked completely beat. But drawed his red bandanner out, I've been a sister, good an' true, I've done what seemed my part to do, But death will stop my voice, I know, And some day, I'll to meetin' go, And nevermore come back. And when the folks get up to sing - I do not want no patent thing A squealin' over me! WILL M. CARLETON. HANS BREITMANN'S PARTY HANS BREITMANN gife a barty, I felled in lofe mit a Merican Frau, Hans Breitmann gife a barty, I vent dere you'll pe pound; Und vent shpinnen round und round. Hans Breitmann gife a barty, I dells you it cost him dear; |