[NLS note: a graphic appears here - see image of page]





W. M'Call, Printer, Cartwright Place, By
rom-street, Liverpool.

Ye banks and braes of bonny Doon,
How can ye bloom so fresh and fair,
How can ye chant ye little birds,
When I'm so wae and fou' o' care !

Ye'll break my heart ye little birds,
That wanton round the flow'ry thom,
Ye mind me of departed joys,
Departed never to return.

Oft have I roam'd by bonny Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine,
Where ilka bird sung o' its mate
And cheerfully I sung o' mine.

Wi' heartsome glee I pu'd a rose,
A rose out of yon thorny tree ;
But my false love has stolen the rose,
And left the thorn alone to me.

Ye roses, blaw your bonny blooms,
And draw the wild birds by the burn, ,
For Luman promis'd me a ring,
And ye maun aid me should I mourn !

Ah ! na, na, na, ye needna mourn ,
My een are dim and drowsy worn ;
Ye bonny birds, ye needna sing,
For Luman never can return.

My Luman's love, in broken sighs,
At dawn of day by Doon ye'se hear,
And mid-day by the willow green,
For him I'll shed a silent tear.

Sweet birds, I ken ye'll pity me,
And join me wi' a plaintive song,
While echo wakes and joins the mane,
I'll make for him I lo'ed sea long.

[NLS note: a graphic appears here - see image of page]


                 BILL STICKER

I'M Sammy Slap the bill-sticker, and you must all agree, sirs,
I sticks to business like a trump, and businese sticks to me, sirs
The low folks call me plasterer, and they deserve a banging,
Becos, genteelly speaking, vhy my trade is Paperhanging,
And all the world is puffing so I paste ! paste ! paste !
Vith my paste ! paste ! paste !

Round Nelson's Statty, Charing-cross, vhen anything the go s e
You'll always find me at my paste, a sticking up my posters-
I've hung Macready twelve feet high—and though it may sea
Day after day, against the valls, I've plastered Mrs Honey !
Vith my paste, &c.

Now often in the vay of trade, I dont care a farden,
Arter I 've been vell paid, to hang for Covent Garden
Old Drury Lane has call'd me in, with jealousy to cover 'em.
And sent me round vith their bills, to go and plaster over'em
Vith my paste, &c.

I search houses old and new, I'm always on the caper,
And werry kindly gives 'em all a coat or two of paper ;
I think I've kiver'd all the valls round London, though I preach it
If they'd let me kiver old St. Paul's, help my bob, I'd reach it.
Vith my paste, &c.

I'm not like some in our trade—they deserve their jacket laced, sirs
They stick up half their master's bills, and sells the rest for vaste, sirs
Now honesty's best policy, vith a good name to retire vith,
So vot I does'nt use myself, my old gal lights the fire vith !
Vith my paste, &c.

I'm proud to say there's Ellen Tree, the stage's great adorner,
I've had the honor of posting her in every hole and corner ;
And Ellen Faucit—bloss her eyes !—we use her pretty freely,
And plasters Madame Vestris bang a top of Mr. Keeley !
Vith my paste, &c.

Sometimes I'm jobbing for the Church, vith Charitable Sermons
And sometimes for the Theatre, with the English & the Germans
To me, in course, no odds it is, so long as I'm a vinner,
Vether I vork for a saint, or hang up for a sinner.
Vith my paste, &c.

The paste I use I make myself, and I'll stick to this however,
That ven my bills, I've put'em up, they'll face both vind & vether
I comes the fancy work, although they're up, mind, in a twinkle—
I never tucks the corners in, nor leaves a blessed wrinkle.
Vith my paste, &c.

Then surely you vill all allow, I am a man of paste, sirs—
I arn't no Pastry Cook, although I deals in puffs and paste, sirs—
Venever you have a job, to show how I deserve you,
About the town, through thick & thin, I'll brush along to serve you
Vith my paste, &c.