As for descent and birth in her,
You see, before you seek-

The house of York and Lancaster
United in her cheek.

Several little elegancies of almost similar beauty might be brought forward from the writings of old poets did the limits of this preface permit such wandering.

On comparing the English songs with the Scottish, it will be found, I think, that the former are more artificial, the latter more natural; the English love songs rather depending upon a single sentiment, the Scottish in a general description and admiration of beauty, the one bordering somewhat upon coldness, the other full of warmth and truth, the one seems addressed to their mistresses, the other to those whom they love as themselves. A Scottish song is a story mingled with sentiment—the English is a sentiment alone. The Englishman writes as a learned cavalier, the Scotsman as an enthusiastic devotee. There are certainly exceptions on both sides to this parallel, but this seems the distinction.

There are few drinking or convivial songs in the English language, songs which may be sung

When flowing cups run swiftly round

With no allaying Thames

the Scotch have got the better of their Southern neighbours in this respect; there are no English lyrics which we can class with Willy brew'd a peck o' maut,' and 'When I've a saxpence under my

thumb,' (the latter, says Burns, is perhaps the best bottle song ever composed); of songs which excite laughter, or what should be rather called comic or humorous songs, the English are equally deficient. The Scotchman can put forward Duncan Gray, Tibbie Fowler, Willy was a wanton wag, and Maggy Lauder, all written in the true comic spirit, full of glee and pawky humour. Carey's strains are mere failures as drinking compositions, and when honest Harry, as Ritson delights to call him, descended into such strains as

Zeno, Plato, Aristotle,

All were lovers of the bottle,

his little talent was lost in mere balderdash.

Of martial, or what has been called naval and military songs, the English can shew few or none. While Thomson, Burns, Scott, and Campbell, have enriched the Scottish Anthologies, in this division of song, it must be regretted that Charles Dibdin is the only name an Englishman is able to produce.

If we observe so many beauties, and so many more admirable songs of nearly all kinds, the property of Scotland-it must nevertheless be admitted that the admirers of Anacreon will look in vain through the collection of Scots songs for a real Anacreontic, for an exquisite morsel written in the spirit of the old Grecian,-the English volumes are full of such sweets, such delicate and choice effusions of the fancy.

Ireland is on an equal footing with her sisterkingdoms in the department of Song-writing. Several of the finest productions contained in the present volume, are from the pens of Irishmen.

It will, the Editor thinks, be pretty generally allowed by those who are acquainted with lyrical compositions, that Ben Jonson stands decidedly at the head of English songsters, the delicacy and depth of his thought are unrivalled, but not more so than his exquisite manner of handling what one cannot but call a conceit. It was remarked by Burns that he would sooner be the author of one good song than twenty middling ones, Jonson's songs are not numerous (for I do not allude at large to those contained in his Masques which were not written, to be divided from the entertainments themselves), but the few he wrote are brilliants, brilliants of the first water set in the finest workmanship of gold. The request of his mistress to drink to him only with her eyes, will be admired as long as beauty has a lip, and gallantry is an ornament to man.

In the present collection of Songs it has been the desire of the Editor, not so much to please antiquarian readers with extracts from rare volumes, or the lovers of mirth and jollity,' with over-rapturous and indelicate songs; but by admitting whatever seemed to bear the stamp of talent and decency to give delight to beauty, and to place within the reach of the lovers of poetry a wellselected, and correct edition of our best lyrics

which lie scattered over so many hundred volumes. If the present work shall serve to wile away a lingering hour, the Editor will be pleased that a task, which though one of labour, has afforded him both instruction and amusement, will not altogether have been useless.

In venturing to select a few songs from the numerous strains of the authors of the nineteenth century-he feels that he has trod on very difficult ground, and though willing to please, still fears he may give offence. Dryden in one of his manly prologues complains of the many

Who write new songs and trust in tune and rhyme,

had that great author lived in the present day, he scarcely could have pictured more justly the herd of songsters that annoy the ear of all true lovers of poetry with sentiments as old as the unchanging hills; dull thoughts foisted upon one without even a smooth air to recommend them.

It was the desire of Sir Joshua Reynolds that the last words he should pronounce in the Royal Academy should be the name of Michael Angelo. The Editor will conclude this imperfect introduction by naming the men whom he reckons to be the great song-writers of our nation, JoNsoN, BURNS and MOORE.

NOTE.

[Since the note was printed to the song at p. 75

Keep on your mask and hide your eye,

the Editor has found the same verses given as the composition of Lord Pembroke, the great Patron of Literary talent. See Brydges' reprint of Pembroke and Rudyard's Poems, p. 92, first published by the son of Dr. Donne.]