TOM Bolin was a Scotchman born, His shoes worn out, his stockings were torn His jacket was short, his shirt it was thin, This is my summer dress, says Tom Bolin.

Tom Bolin had no stockings to wear, He got his mother to foot him a pair; The calf of his leg grew down to his shin, I'm a delicate fellow, says Tom Bolin.

Tom Bolin had no breeches to wear, He bought a sheepskin to make him a pair; The flesh side out, and the wool side in, They are charming and cool, says Tom Bolin.

Tom Bolin had no boots to wear, He bought him a calf-skin to make him a pair; The hair side out, and the flesh side in, Look at my new boots, says Tom Bolin.

Tom Bolin bought him an old grey mare, Her back hump'd up, her bones were bare; Her legs they were long, her belly was thin, She's a villainsome jade, says Tom Bolin.

His saddle was made of an ox's tripe, His bridle was made of a bull's wind-pipe, His cap it was made of a wood-chuck's skin, I'm a terrible fellow, says Tom Bolim.

Tom Bolin mounted his old mare to ride, With his sword and buckler by his side; Away he rode through thick and thin, I'm going a courting, says Tom Bolin.

Tom Bolin came to a Dutchman's hall, And in he went among them all; You impudent fellow, how dare you come in; I'm come here a courting, says Tom Bolin.

Sit down, sit down, you're a welcome guest, Which of my daughters do you like best? One for beauty, the other for kin, I'll marry them both, says Tom Bolin.

Tom Bolin and wife, and his wife's mother, All went over to the priest's together; The door it was shut, and the string pull'd in, The de'il of no priest, says Tom Bolin.

The priest then looked out at the door, He saw three people, but saw no more; Good morning, fair people, won't you come in? I'm come to be marry'd, says Tom Bolin.

After wedding they must needs have a dinner, (Tho' nothing provided that's fit for a sinner) Neither fish, flesh, nor no such thing, But be of good cheer, says Tom Bolin.

Tom Bolin and wife, and his wife's mother, All went over the bridge together; The bridge it broke, and they all fell in, The devil go with you, says Tom Bolin.

Tom Bolin's wife being a thick squot, Out of the water she soon got; Away she rode through thick and thin, Enquiring for delicate Tom Bolin.

Tom Bolin crept into an old hollow tree, And very contended he seem'd for to be; The wind it did blow, the rain it beat in, The de'il of no house, says Tom Bolin.

The Maid of Boston.

WHere Charles's tide encircling leaves The sweets of Boston's fertile shore, And smoothly glides his murmuring waves, To meet the white spray'd ocean's roar.

The roseat hours swift stole away, While Damon told his tender tale; But now he's gone I lonely stray, The hapless maid of Boston vale.

'Ere from the East the dappled dawn, Had chas'd the ebon shades away, He's bound across the dasied lawn, His orisons of love to pay:

But honor's call his soul has fir'd, Nor could the tears of love prevail; From me he's fled-with grief inspir'd Now sighs the maid of Boston vale.