DEATH of GENERAL WOLFE.

COME all you young men all, let nothing fright you, Nor your obje&tions make, nor let it delight you; Let not your courage fail, till after trial, Let not your fancy move at the first denial.

Bad news is come to town, bad news is carried; Bad news is whisper'd round-my love is married; Bad news is come to town- I fell a weeping; They stole away my love when I was sleeping.

I sat down by my love, thinking to enjoy her, I took her by the hand, not to delude her; When I attempt to speak, my tongue doth quiver, I dare not speak my mind, whilst I am with her.

Here is a chain of gold, long time I've kept it, Here is a ring of gold, Madam, if you'll accept it; When you this poesy read, think on the giver, Madam, remember me, or I'm undone forever.

Then this brave youth, took to the ocean, To free America of those invasions; He landed at Quebec, with all his party, That city to attack, being brave and hearty.

Wolfe drew up his men, in a line so pretty, On the plains of Abraham, before the city; A distance from the town, the French did meet him, With a double number they, resolve for to beat him.

The French drew up their men, for death prepared, In one another's face they stood and stared; Whilst Wolfe and Montcalm, together walked Betwixt their armies, they like two brothers talked.

Then each one took his place, 'twas of attire, And then this numerous host began their fire; Suddenly from his horse fell this brave hero, We did lament his loss in the weeds of sorrow.

The French began to break their ranks and flying; Wolfe seemed to revive as he lay a dying- He raised up his head where cannons rattle, And to his army said- HOW GOES THE BATTLE?

His Aid-de-camp repli'd, 'tis in our favour, Quebec, and all her pride, nothing can save her; She falls into our hands, with all her treasure, O! then repli'd brave Wolfe- I DIE WITH PLEASURE.

JOHN BULL'S Description of a CHURCH.

JOHN BULL was a bumpkin born and bred, At a clodhopping village in Glocestershire, And as for this world, or the world that's to come, For to puzzle his noddle 'twas never the near; For he never was known to set foot in a church, Till the day he took Dorothy there for a wife; And says John, by the Lord, I was never before In a place like a church, all the days of my life. Chorus. Sing whack fol de ra, fol de rol ral de rol, Whack fol de ra li fol de rol da, Not forgetting tol la re rol la re rol, Sing didder, sing blunder, sing whack langolee.

For there I look'd up, and zeed nine or ten fellows, A zinging as loud as their lungs could clink! So thinking that I was got into an alehouse, I look'd up and ax'd if they'd nothing to drink; When up came a man and he pull'd off my hat, And he told me no drink was allow'd in the place; I thought that for zartin he must be the landlord, Or else I'd a fetch'd him a punch in the face. Howsomdever I thought it was never the near, For to kick up a dust and to frighten the bride, So I went further in for to look at the place, And Lord what a comical zight I espy'd: There were men folks and women folks penn'd up together, Like so many weathers and ewes at a fair; Besides, a long booby hutch built up for holding The whole corporation, justasses and mayor. Then up got a little man into a tub, And he looked just tho' he'd been roll'd in the dirt, For you could not suppose he could be very clean, When he'd got nothing on but a long black shirt, Except a little white slabbering bib, Tuck'd under his chin and slit in two, To be perch'd in a tub, and to have a black shirt, I was puzzled to think what a plague he could do. For a while he did turn up the whites of his eyes, And for mercy upon us did heartily pray, Another below him that sat in a chest, Was mocking him fairly ev'ry word he did say; And when he had fairly tired him out, To the very last word, to do nothing by halves, I verily thought he was going to fight him, For he stood up and call'd for a couple of staves. But the little man, tho'f he'd a black shirt on, Whipp'd over another as white as a clout, And then in a twink, with a twirl of his fist, He set open the tub and he left himself out; Upon which he took hold of a poor little babe, As tho'f he had neither got shame nor grace, He dipped his finger into a trough, And splash'd the cold water all over his face. To be sure, I thought 'twas a shameful thing, To serve a poor babe such a woundy trick; For tho'f he did squeal like a pig that is stuck, They'd mind him no more than a goosemun chick. Odsbobs and I thought if the maggot should bite, And they wanted to make but a child of a man, Who could tell but in turn such a baby as I, May be sous'd in the trough, like a sop in a pan. So I took to my heels, and scamper'd away, Like a lusty fellow, for sure and sure, And swore by my faith if they ever catch'd I, On the in a door side of a church any more; They should plump me up to the ears in a hog-trough. Just like a toast in a tankard, then, And souse me and sop me, and sop me and souse me, An hundred times over and over again.