Your patriots who bawl for the good of us all,
Kind souls! here like mushrooms they strew land,
Tho' loud as a drum, each proves orator mum,
If attack'd by stout Abraham Newland.

O, Abraham Newland!

Invincible Abraham Newland!

No argument's found in the world half so sound
As the logic of Abraham Newland.

The French say they're coming, but sure they are humming;
I know what they want if they do land;

We'll make their ears ring in defence of our King,
Our country, and Abraham Newland.

O, Abraham Newland!

Darling Abraham Newland!

No tri-colour'd elf, nor the devil himself,

Shall e'er rob us of Abraham Newland.

Mr. Abraham Newland was cashier at the Bank of England towards the close of the last century.

THE GUINEA.

From the "Whim of the Day" for 1801.

MASTER Abraham Newland's a monstrous good man,
But when you've said of him whatever you can,
Why all his soft paper would look very blue,

If it warn't for the yellow boys-pray what think you?

With Newland's own letters of credit proceed,
Pray what would you do where the people can't read?
But the worst of all dunces, we know very well,
Only show them a guinea, I warrant they'll spell.

Then your lawyers, and doctors, and such sort of folks, Who with fees and such fun, you know, never stand jokes,

In defence of my argument try the whole rote,

Sure they'll all take a guinea before a pound note.

The French would destroy all our credit and trade,
If they were not unable, asham'd, or afraid.
They may talk of our King, but let who will be victor,
They'd be dev'lish glad to get hold of his picture.

From a picture like this we true Britons can't part,
While the glorious original reigns in our heart;
Besides, with such tars as our navy can boast,
And our king and his picture, we must rule the roast.

"TWAS MERRY IN THE HALL.

OUR ancient English melodies

Are banish'd out of doors,
And nothing's heard in modern days,
But Signoras and Signors.
Such airs I hate

Like a pig in a gate,

Give me the good old strain,

When 'twas merry in the hall,
The beards wagg'd all,

We shall never see the like again!

On beds of down our dandies lay,
And waste the cheerful morn,

While our squires of old would raise the day,
With the sound of the bugle horn;

And their wives took care

The feast to prepare,

For when they left the plain,

Oh! 'twas merry in the hall,

The beards wagg'd all,

We shall never see the like again!

"Twas then the Christmas tale was told

Of goblin, ghost, or fairy,

And they cheer'd the hearts of the tenants old
With a cup of good canary.

And they each took a smack
Of the cold black-jack,

Till the fire burn'd in each brain;
Oh! 'twas merry in the hall,
The beards wagg'd all,

May we soon see the like again!

In the second part of Henry IV., Act v. Scene 3, occur these lines:

Be merry-be merry-my wife as all,

For women are shrews, both short and tall,

'Tis merry in hall when Beards wag all

And welcome merry Shrove-tide.

Mr. Warton in his "History of English Poetry" observes that this rhyme is found in a poem by Adam Davie, called the "Life of Alexander"

Merry swithe it is in halle,

When the beards waveth alle.

In the "Briefe Conceipts of English Pollicye," by William Stafford, 1581, it is asserted that it is a common proverb, " 'Tis merry in hall when Beards wag all." In the "Serving Man's Comfort, 1598," occurs the passage "which done, grace said and the table taken up, a song is sung, the under-song, or holding whereof, is 'It is merry in haull, where beards wag all.' The song as now given is modern, and was introduced to the public by Mr. Murray, of the Edinburgh Theatre, who sang it in the character of Sir Mark Chase, in "A Roland for an Oliver."

There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming :

The people shall be temperate,
And shall love instead of hate,
In the good time coming.
They shall use, and not abuse,
And make all virtue stronger;
The reformation has begun ;-
Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming:
Let us aid it all we can,

Every woman, every man,

The good time coming.

Smallest helps, if rightly given,

Make the impulse stronger;

'Twill be strong enough one day ;—

Wait a little longer.

These verses-for it is doubtful whether they can strictly be called a song-appeared originally in the second number of the "Daily News," as one of the series entitled "Voices from the Crowd."

KING DEATH.

BARRY CORNWALL. From "English Songs," 1834.

KING DEATH was a rare old fellow-
He sat where no sun could shine,

And he lifted his hand so yellow,
And pour'd out his coal black wine.
Hurrah! for the coal black wine!

There came to him many a maiden
Whose eyes had forgot to shine,

And widows with grief o'erladen,

For a draught of his coal black wine.
Hurrah! for the coal black wine!