Harrison's Amusing Picture and Poetry Book   By: Unknown

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DEVIZES: Printed and published by J. Harrison , AND SOLD BY THE LONDON BOOKSELLERS AND STATIONERS.

Price Sixpence.

HARRISON'S AMUSING PICTURE AND POETRY BOOK, CONTAINING SEVENTY ENGRAVINGS.

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PRINTED BY J. HARRISON, DEVIZES, AND SOLD BY THE London Booksellers and Stationers.

PRICE SIXPENCE.

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Oh! on this green and mossy seat, In my hours of sweet retreat; Thus I would my soul employ, With sense of gratitude and joy.

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Farewell! farewell! the trumpet calls, The banner waves in view; And I must bid these friendly halls, One long! one last adieu!

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The dappled herd of grazing deer, That seek the shades by day; Now started from their path with fear, To give the stranger way.

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This is the valiant Cornish man, Who slew the giant Cormoran; A horrid savage monster, who, Before he kill'd, would torture you.

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Why should we say 'tis yet too soon, To seek for Heaven or think of death; A flower may fade before 'tis noon, And we this day may lose our breath.

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Ah! who is this totters along, And leans on the top of his stick; His wrinkles are many and long, And his beard is grown silver and thick.

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I envy not thy ill got riches, Sure oft remorse thy conscience twitches; I'd rather be yon little mouse, And seek my bread from house to house.

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Come, Goody Dobbs, with me I pray, 'Tis only down a little way; And I will give you bread and meat, As much as ever you can eat.

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When we devote our youth to God, 'Tis pleasing in his eyes; A flower, when offered in the bud, Is no vain sacrifice.

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Charles Polish so attentive grew, So civil and polite; That all admir'd and lov'd him too, For all he did was right.

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Upon a mountain's grassy side, Where firs and cedars grew; Young Sylvia wandered with her flocks, And many a hardship knew.

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Hold Monster, hold! forbear, forbear! Thou shalt not take her life; To me she is a sister dear, To this brave man a wife.

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I heard a noise of men and boys, The watchman's rattle too; And fire they cry; and then cry'd I, Oh dear! what shall I do.

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Unhappy youth! what hast thou done, Why urge thy steed so fast? Alas! I hear him scream and groan; Ah me! he breathes his last.

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Here Cinderella you may see, Weeping o'er her destiny; Her sisters to the Ball are gone, And she is left to toil alone.

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The laughing harvest folks, at John, Stood quizzing him askew, 'Twas John's red face that set them on, And then they leer'd at Sue.

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Why should a weak and vain desire, For outward show, and gay attire, Engage your thoughts, employ your time, And waste the precious hours of prime?

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All praise to him who made the sun, The World by day to light; Who gave the gentle moon to cheer, The still and gloomy night.

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