The

Though his hands are so daub'd they 're not fit to be seen,
The hands of his betters are not very clean-

A palm more polite may as dirtily deal;

Gold, in handling, will stick to the fingers like meal.

What if, when a pudding for dinner he lacks,
He cribs, without scruple, from other men's sacks:
In this of right noble examples he brags,
Who borrow as freely from other men's bags.

Or should he endeavour to heap an estate,
In this he would mimic the tools of the state;
Whose aim is alone their own coffers to fill,
As all his concern 's to bring grist to the mill.

He eats when he's hungry, he drinks when he 's dry,
And down when he 's weary contented does lie;

Then rises up cheerful to work and to sing:

If so happy a miller, then who 'd be a king?

Miller" seems to have been a favourite character with our song writers from the earliest times, and to have been generally depicted as a model of sturdy independence.. There is a song upon the subject in the poems of John Cunningham. See Bell's edition of the "British Poets," vol. ciii. The sentiment in the two concluding lines of the "Miller borrowed from the more ancient song of the "Jovial Beggars."

THE PRETTY PARROT.

From AIKIN's "Vocal Poetry."

PRETTY Parrot, say, when I was away,
And in dull absence pass'd the day,
What at home was doing?

"With chat and play

All were gay,

Night and day,

Good cheer and mirth renewing;

Singing, laughing all, like pretty pretty Poll."

Was no fop so rude, boldly to intrude,

And like a saucy lover would

Court and tease my lady?

"A thing, you know,

Made for show,

Call'd a beau,

Near her was always ready ;

Ever at her call, like pretty pretty Poll."

R

Tell me with what air he approach'd the fair,
And how she could with patience bear
All he did and utter'd?

"He still address'd,
Still caress'd,

Kiss'd and press'd,

Sung, prattled, laugh'd, and flatter'd ;
Well received in all, like pretty pretty Poll."

Did he go away at the close of day,

Or did he ever use to stay

In a corner dodging?

"The want of light,

When 't was night,

Spoil'd my sight;

But I believe his lodging

Was within her call, like pretty pretty Poll."

This lively and singular piece was probably popular at the time of writing the "Beggars' Opera," which has a song to the same measure. It certainly merits preservation.—AIKIN.

THERE WAS A JOLLY MILLER.

From BICKERSTAFF'S "Love in a Village." 1762.

THERE was a jolly miller once lived on the river Dee,

He danced and sang from morn till night, no lark so blithe as he,
And this the burden of his song for ever used to be,
"I care for nobody, no not I, if nobody cares for me.

I live by my mill, God bless her! she's kindred, child, and wife,
I would not change my station for any other in life :
No lawyer, surgeon, or doctor, e'er had a groat from me,

I care for nobody, no not I, if nobody cares for me."

When spring begins his merry career, oh! how his heart grows gay,
No summer's drought alarms his fears, nor winter's cold decay;
No foresight mars the miller's joy, who's wont to sing and say,
"Let others toil from year to year, I live from day to day."
Thus, like the miller, bold and free, let us rejoice and sing,
The days of youth are made for glee, and time is on the wing;
This song shall pass from me to thee, along the jovial ring,

Let heart and voice, and all agree, to say, "Long live the King."

The last two stanzas of this popular song appear to be by different hands, and to have been successively added at different times. The original idea is evidently concluded with

the second stanza.

291

WHERE Thames along the daisy'd meads,

His wave in lucid mazes leads,

Silent, slow, serenely flowing,

Wealth on either side bestowing,

There in a safe though small retreat,

Content and love have fixed their seat;

Love, that counts his duty pleasure,
Content, that knows and hugs his treasure.

From art, from Jealousy secure,
As faith unblamed, as friendship pure,

Vain opinion nobly scorning,

Virtue aiding, life adorning,

Fair Thames along thy flowery side,

May thou whom Truth and Reason guide

All their tender hours improving,

Live like us, beloved and loving.

THE ORIGIN OF THE PATTEN.

CHARLES DIBDIN. For the Opera of the "Milkmaid."
SWEET ditties would my Patty sing:
"Old Chevy-chace," ""God save the King;"
"Fair Rosamond," and "Sawney Scott,"
"Li-li-bu-le-ro," and what not.

All these would sing my blue-ey'd Patty,
As with her pail she trudged along:
While still the burden of her song,

My hammer beat to blue-ey'd Patty.

But nipping frosts, and chilling rain,
Too soon, alas! choked every strain;
Too soon, alas! the miry way

Her wet-shod feet did sore dismay,

And hoarse was heard my blue-ey'd Patty;

While I for very mad did cry,

Ah! could I but again, said I,

Hear the sweet voice of blue-ey'd Patty!
Love taught me how; I work'd, I sang;
My anvil glow'd, my hammer rang,
Till I had form'd from out the fire,
To bear her feet above the mire,

An engine for my blue-ey'd Patty.
Again was heard each tuneful close,

My fair one in the patten rose,

Which takes its name from blue-ey'd Patty..

THE UNCOMMON OLD MAN.

From the "Convivial Songster," 1782.

THERE was an old man, and though 'tis not common,
Yet, if he said true, he was born of a woman;
And though 'tis incredible, yet I've been told
He was once a mere infant, but age made him old.
Whene'er he was hungry, he long'd for some meât,
And if he could get it, 'twas said he would eat;
When thirsty, he'd drink, if you gave him a pot,
And his liquor most commonly ran down his throat.

He seldom or never could see without light,
And yet I've been told he could hear in the night;
He has oft been awake in the day-time, 'tis said,
And has fallen fast asleep as he lay in his bed.

"Tis reported his tongue always moved when he talk'd,

And he stirr❜d both his arms and his legs when he walk'd ; And his gait was so odd, had you seen him, you'd burst, For one leg or t'other would always be first.

His face was the saddest that ever was seen,

For if 'twere not wash'd it was seldom quite clean;
He show'd most his teeth when he happen'd to grin,
And his mouth stood across 'twixt his nose and his chin.

At last he fell sick, as old chronicles tell,

And then, as folks said, he was not very well;

But, what is more strange, in so weak a condition,
As he could not give fees, he could get no physician.

What pity he died! yet 'tis said that his death
Was occasion'd at last by the want of his breath;
But peace to his bones, which in ashes now moulder,
Had he lived a day longer he'd been a day older.

DULCE DOMUM.

SING a sweet, melodious measure,
Waft enchanting lays around;
Home's a theme replete with pleasure!-
Home! a grateful theme, resound!

Home, sweet home! an ample treasure!
Home! with ev'ry blessing crown'd!

Home! perpetual source of pleasure!
Home! a noble strain, resound!

Lo! the joyful hour advances;
Happy season of delight!

Festal songs, and festal dances,

All our tedious toil requite.

Leave, my wearied muse, thy learning,

Leave thy task, so hard to bear;

Leave thy labour, ease returning,

Leave my bosom, all thy care!