"My father has a nice bull calf,

"Which shall be your's, my sweet one ; ""Twill weigh two hundred and a half,"Says Sal, "well, that's a neat one.'

Yankee doodle, &c.

"Your father's full of fun d'ye see, "And faith, I likes his sporting,

"To send his fav'rite calf to me,

"His nice bull calf a courting."

Yankee doodle, &c.

"Are you the lad who went to town,

*

"Put on your streaked trowses,*

"Then vow'd you could not see the town,

"There were so many houses?"

Yankee doodle, &c.

Our lover hung his under lip,

He thought she meant to joke him ;

* Vulgar pronunciation of the word trowsers.

Like heartless hen, that has the pip,

His courage all forsook him.

Yankee doodle, &c.

For he to Boston town had been,

As matters here are stated;

Came home, and told what he had seen,

As Sally has related.

Yankee doodle, &c.

And now he wish'd he could retreat,
But dar'd not make a racket;

It seem'd as if his heart would beat

The buttons off his jacket!

Yankee doodle, &c. .

Sal ask'd him " if his heart was whole :"

His chin began to quiver,

He said, he felt so deuced droll,

He guess'd he'd lost his liver!

Yankee doodle, &c.

Now Sal was scar'd out of her wits,
To see his trepidation,

She bawl'd, "he's going into fits,"

And scamper'd like the nation!

Yankee doodle, &c.

A pail of water she did throw,
All on her trembling lover,

Which wet the lad from top to toe,

Like drowned rat all over.

Yankee doodle, &c.

Then Jonathan straight hied him home, And since, I've heard him brag, sir, That though the jade did wet him some, He didn't get the bag, sir!

Yankee doodle, keep it up,

Yankee doodle dandy,

Mind the musick, mind the step,
And with the girls be handy!

Ι

THE

OLD BACHELOR:

AN

EPISTLE TO A LADY.

WHAT singular mortal is that,

Who sits in yon cottage alone,

Excepting an old tabby cat,

Which grey with her master is grown?

Say, would you his origin know,

Or if the odd mortal came here

From regions above, or below?

The truth I will tell you, my dear.

Dame Nature, a fanciful jade,

As ancient philosophers say,

When all other creatures were made,
Had left a small portion of clay.

The matter, indeed, was so crude

She meant to have thrown it aside; At length in a frolicksome mood,

To make something of it she tried.

Her goody-ship, worried about,

Was forc'd her old vessels to scrape,

For matter to finish the lout

To a biped, which had human shape.

She moulded the comical stuff,

'Till all in one mass was combin'd ; His body, though quite odd enough, Was perfect, compar'd with his mind.

To a hard unsusceptible heart,
She added a thick leaden skull,
And threw in of pride such a part,
As well might suffice a mogul :

But did not implant in his breast
A taste for those pleasures refin'd,
Which give to enjoyment its zest,

And soften the cares of the mind.