Hearts of Oak.

COme chear up my lads, 'tis to glory we steer,
to add somthing new to this wonderfull year
To honour we call you, not press you like slaves
For who is so free as we sons of the waves?
Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men,
We always are ready;
Steddy, boys, steddy;
We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.
We never meet our foes but we wish them to stay,
They never meet us but they wish us away:
If they run then we follow, and drive them ashore,
For if they wont fight us, we cannot do more.
Hearts of Oak are our ships, &c.
Monsieur Thurot in the absence of Boyce,
Went over to Ireland to brag the dear joys;
Near Man, Elliot met him, and gave him a blow,
Which sent him to tell it to Pluto below,
Hearts of oak are our ships, &c.
They talk to invade us, these terrible foes,
They frighten our women, our children, and beaux
But if their flat bottoms in darkness come o'er,
Sure Britons they'll find to receive them on shore,
Hearts of oak are our ships, &c.
We'll make them to run, and we'll make them to sweat
In spite of the devil and Brussels Gazette.
Then chear up my lads, with one heart let us sing
Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, and king,
Hearts of oak are our ships, &c.

Clout the Cauldron.

HAve you any pots or pans?
Or any broken chandlers?
I am tinkler to my trade.
And newly come frae Fanders.
As scant of silver as of grace,
Disbanded we've a bad run;
Gar tell the lady of the place,
I'm come to clout her caldron,
Fa adri, didle, didle, &c.
Madam, if you have any wark for me
I'll do't to your contentment,
And dinna care a single flea,
for any man's resentment;
For lady fair tho' I appear
To every one a tinker,
Yet to yourself I'm bold to tell,
I am a gentle jinker,
Fa adri, didle, &c.
Love Jupiter into a swan
turn'd for his lovely Leda;
He like a bull o'er meadows ran,
to carry aff Europa:
Then may not I as well as he,
to hear your Argos blinker,
And win your love like mighty Jove
Thus hide me in a tinker?
Fa adri, didle, &c.
Sir you appear a cunning man,
But this fine plot you'll fail in,
For there is neither pot nor pan,
of mine you'll drive a nail in:
then bind your budget on your back,
and nails up in your apron;
For I've a tinker under tack,
that used to clout my caldron,
Fa adri, didle, &c.

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.