What means, my lov’d Delia! that frown, now appearing? Why, why does your brow such severity show? And wherefore those glances, so cold and uncheering? Do you think me a _poltroon_? O no, my love, no. Though I wear not a red coat, my honour’s untainted,-- To Coventry ne’er was I fated to go; But, whilst with the _plan of removal_ acquainted, Can I, cruel, desert thee? O no, my love, no. Soon war from thy home may a fugitive send thee, Soon give thee of keels and their huddocks to know; In the Voyage to Newburn who’ll succour and tend thee; Shall the task be another’s? O no, my love, no. Then wear not my Delia! an aspect so chilling, Nor doubt that with ardour heroic I glow; But love’s dear delights shall I barter for _drilling_? That smile methinks answers,--“O no, my love, no.” DELIA’s ANSWER. Whilst the dread voice of war thro’ our island rebellows, And aspects terrific proud Frenchmen still show, Do you think, O my Colin! to join our brave fellows I e’er would forbid you? O no, my love, no. At the dawn of the day, my bed cheerly forsaking, I’d scamper thro’ _bogs_, or where prickly _whins_ grow; On a view of your martial manœuvres partaking, I vow ne’er to leave you: O no, my love, no. Array’d in full splendour, your arms brightly shining, On _guard_ or on _picquet_, when proudly you go, Or on _permanent duty_, do you think that, repining, I’d sighing reprove you? O no, my love, no. Or when you are called to quell rude disorder, Or with brother heroes shall face the dread foe, If my honour I trusted to Mr Recorder, Will he fail to protect me? O no, my love, no. What means, then, my Colin! that cold sweat appearing? Why, why should your brow such timidity show? And where are those glances so cold and uncheering? Shall I think you a poltroon? O no, my love, no. Then, haste, wear a red coat, while your honour’s untainted, Or to Coventry you may be fated to go; And tho’ with the plan of removal acquainted, I’ll not go to Newburn: O no, my love, no. Soon War from my home may a fugitive send me, And which way, or how, I’m not anxious to know; For I’ll follow the lads that are arm’d to defend me: Shall the task be another’s? O no, my love, no. Then wear not, my Colin! an aspect so chilling, Let your breast now with ardour heroic but glow, Then love’s dear delights will I barter for _drilling_: You sure can’t refuse me? O no, my love, no. THE COLLIERS RANT. As me and my marrow was ganning to wark, We met with the devil, it was in the dark; I up with my pick, it being in the neit, I knock’d off his horns, likewise his club feet. Follow the horses, Johnny my lad oh! Follow them through, my canny lad oh! Follow the horses, Johnny my lad oh! Oh lad ly away, canny lad oh!