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fancy could not preserve him from a very melancholy catastrophe, which was effected by his own hand. In his Poems, 4to, Lond., 1729, may be seen another Mad Song of this author, beginning thus:

"Gods! I can never this endure,
Death alone must be my cure," &c.

I Go to the Elysian shade

Where sorrow ne'er shall wound me ;
Where nothing shall my rest invade,
But joy shall still surround me.

I fly from Celia's cold disdain,
From her disdain I fly;

She is the cause of all my pain,

For her alone I die.

Her eyes are brighter than the mid-day sun,
When he but half his radiant course has run,
When his meridian glories gaily shine

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And gild all nature with a warmth divine.

See yonder river's flowing tide,
Which now so full appears:

Those streams, that do so swiftly glide,
Are nothing but my tears.

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There I have wept till I could weep no more,

And curst mine eyes, when they have wept their store;

Then, like the clouds that rob the azure main,

I've drain'd the flood to weep it back again.

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Pity my pains,

Ye gentle swains!

Cover me with ice and snow,

I scorch, I burn, I flame, I glow!

Furies, tear me,

Quickly bear me

To the dismal shades below!

Where yelling and howling,
And grumbling and growling
Strike the ear with horrid woe.

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This, like Number xx., was originally sung in one of D'Urfey's Comedies of Don Quixote (first acted about the year 1694), and was probably composed by that popular songster, who died Feb. 26, 1723.

This is printed in the "Hive, a Collection of Songs," 4 vols., 1721, 12mo, where may be found two or three other Mad Songs not admitted into these volumes.

I BURN, my brain consumes to ashes!
Each eye-ball too like lightning flashes!
Within my breast there glows a solid fire,
Which in a thousand ages can't expire!

Blow, blow, the winds' great ruler!

Bring the Po and the Ganges hither,
'Tis sultry weather;

Pour them all on my soul,

It will hiss like a coal,

But be never the cooler.

'Twas pride, hot as hell,

That first made me rebell;

From love's awful throne a curst angel I fell,

And mourn now my fate,

Which myself did create :

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Fool, fool, that consider'd not when I was well!

Adieu! ye vain transporting joys!
Off ye vain fantastic toys!

That dress this face-this body—to allure!
Bring me daggers, poison, fire!
Since scorn is turn'd into desire.

All hell feels not the rage which I, poor I,

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XXIII.

Lilli Burlero.

The following rhymes, slight and insignificant as they may now seem, had once a more powerful effect than either the Philippics of Demosthenes or Cicero, and contributed not a little towards the great revolution in 1688. Let us hear a contemporary writer.

"A foolish ballad was made at that time, treating the Papists, and chiefly the Irish, in a very ridiculous manner, which had a burden said to be Irish words, 'Lero, lero, lilliburlero,' that made an impression on the [king's] army, that cannot be imagined by those that saw it not. The whole army, and at last the people, both in city and country, were singing it perpetually. And perhaps never had so slight a thing so great an effect."-Burnet.

It was written, or at least republished, on the Earl of Tyrconnel's going a second time to Ireland in October, 1688. Perhaps it is unnecessary to mention, that General Richard Talbot, newly created Earl of Tyrconnel, had been nominated by King James II. to the lieutenancy of Ireland in 1686, on account of his being a furious papist, who had recommended himself to his bigoted master by his arbitrary treatment of the Protestants in the preceding year, when only lieutenant-general, and whose subsequent conduct fully justified his expectations and their fears. The violence of his administration may be seen in any of the histories of those times: particularly in Bishop King's "State of the Protestants in Ireland," 1691, 4to.

Lilliburlero and Bullen-a-lah are said to have been the words of distinction used among the Irish Papists in their massacre of the Protestants in 1641.

Ho! broder Teague, dost hear de decree?

Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.

Dat we shall have a new deputie,

Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.

Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la, 5
Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la.

Ho! by Shaint Tyburn, it is de Talbote:

Lilli, &c.

And he will cut all de English troate.

Lilli, &c.

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Dough by my shoul de English do praat,

Lilli, &c.

De law's on dare side, and Creish knows what.
Lilli, &c.

But if dispence do come from de Pope,

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Lilli, &c.

We'll hang Magna Charta and dem in a rope.

Lilli, &c.

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Ho! by my shoul 'tis a protestant wind.
Lilli, &c.

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Shall be turn out, and look like an ass.

Lilli, &c.

Now, now de hereticks all go down,

Lilli, &c.

By Chrish and Shaint Patrick, de nation's our own.

Lilli, &c.

Ver. 7, Ho by my shoul. al. ed.

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Dare was an old prophesy found in a bog,

Lilli, &c.

"Ireland shall be rul'd by an ass and a dog."
Lilli, &c.

And now dis prophesy is come to pass,

Lilli, &c.

For Talbot's de dog, and JA**s is de ass.
Lilli, &c.

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***The foregoing song is attributed to Lord Wharton in a small pamphlet, entitled, "A true relation of the several facts and circumstances of the intended riot and tumult on Queen Elizabeth's birthday," &c. Third edition, London, 1712, price 2d. See p. 5, viz. "A late Viceroy [of Ireland], who has so often boasted himself upon his talent for mischief, invention, lying, and for making a certain Lilliburlero Song; with which, if you will believe himself, he sung a deluded Prince out of three Kingdoms."

V. 43. What follows is not in some copies.

XXIV.

The Braes of Yarrow,

IN IMITATION OF THE ANCIENT SCOTS MANNER,

was written by William Hamilton, of Bangour, Esq., who died March 25, 1754, aged 50. It is printed from an elegant edition of his Poems, published at Edinburgh, 1760, 12mo. This song was written in imitation of an old Scottish ballad on a similar subject, with the same burden to each stanza.

A. "BUSK ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny bride,
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow;
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny bride,
And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow."

B. "Where gat ye that bonny, bonny bride?
Where gat ye that winsome marrow ?"
A. "I gat her where I dare na weil be seen

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

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