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My labour's hard; but still 'tis sweet,
For, while I go to thrash the wheat,
And merrily sing, as I swing round the flail,
If from the wheat the bread is born,
'Tis merry Sir John Barleycorn
Besides, while thus I thrash the corn,
I for my neighbour's good was born,
For I bake, and I brew, as 1 fling round my fail, To provide them with bread and a mug of brown ale.
'Tis for myself, when all is said,
My wife and some sick friend beside,
With these notions I merrily swing round my flail, My reward, when work's over, a jug of brown ale.
And when my mortal race is run,
A jolly thrasher shall my son
Thus will I work, and laugh, and sing,
And at my thrashing toil
Unless I'm called on by my king
Then, accustomed to thrashing, I'll swing round the flail,
And thrash the proud foe to secure my brown ale.
SWEET MR. LEVI.
When a pretty little boy,
A young merchantman so gay,
Of Duke's place I bore the sway.
With their pretty little smile,
Spoken.] Vell, I remember the day when I tramped with my little shop round my neck, and turned my honest living; but den de little shedebels always was upon my thoughts-dere (was their cry) dere goes sweet Mr. Levi! dere goes charming Mr. Levi! dere goes handsome Mr. Levi! dear me! dear me !-the sound of their pretty little voices always made me sing,
Fal, lal, la, &c.
A few years pass away,
I raise aloud the cry,
And as I pass along,
How the pretty damsels sigh.
Spoken] Bless thy heart! vell, vat can I do? I console vith 'em as vell as I am able; and tho' a circumscribed Jew, I tickles their fancy as well as the best, for I always makes 'em sing,
Fal lal la, &c.
Den my uncle Aaron died,
With many a vixen she,
To kiss and toy vid me.
Spoken] So I left off trading in old clothes, to trade vith ladies' hearts; so I makes love to Miss Rachael, and she, beautiful creatures, melts my heart like a stick of Dutch sealing wax, which makes me sing,
Fal lal la, &c.
So married soon I got,
And sung 56 Begone, dull care,"
And nine months after that,
Spoken] Bless my heart, what a happy rogue vas I; I thought myself richer than Solomon in all his glory, for I had got the true begotten children of my heart around me, and vat could my vife and I do but sing,
Fal lal la, &c.
O! LIFE IS LIKE A SUMMER FLOWER.
O! Life is like a summer flower,
The lover's worst deceiver;
O! joy is but a passing ray,
A gleam that cheers a winter's day,
But though in hopeless dark despair,
OH! REST THEE, BABE.
Oh! slumber, my darling, thy sire is a knight,
The hills and the dales from the tower which we
They all shall belong, my dear infant, to thee.
Oh! rest thee my darling, the time it shall come, When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and
Then rest thee, my, darling, oh! sleep while you
For war comes with manhood, as light comes with day.
Oh! rest thee, babe rest thee, sleep on till day, Oh! rest thee, babe, rest thee, sleep while you
Oh! hark thee, young Henry, thy sire is a knight,
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled!
Or to glorious victory!
Now's the day, and now's the hour!
Wha will be a traitor knave?
Traitor coward turn and flee!