Social harmony; or, The cheerful songster's companion. [Six lines of verse]

Social harmony; or, The cheerful songster's companion. [Six lines of verse]

Table of contents

Title page

SOCIAL HARMONY; OR, THE CHEERFUL SONGSTER'S COMPANION.

THE OLYMPIAN HUNT.

MORALITY IN THE FORE-TOP.

SWIZZY.

FAMILY LIKENESS,

BUXOM NAN.

PLEASURES OF THE CHACE.

A SAVAGE LOVE SONG.

THE SHIPWRECK.

SONG. FARMER.

THE MILLER.

SONG.

THE LAMPLIGHTER.

I'M IN HASTE.

WHILE HIGH THE FOAMING SURGES RISE.

A LAUGHING SONG.

THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL.

SONG. POOR SOLDIER.

THE ECHOING HORN.

SONG.

A FAVORITE SONG.

BALLAD, IN THE WHIM OF THE MOMENT.

BALLAD, IN THE WHIM OF THE MOMENT.

SONG. IN LOVE IN A VILLAGE.

I'D THINK ON THEE, MY LOVE.

HOMEWARD BOUND.

DEAR IS MY NATIVE VALE.

MARY's DREAM.

THE TARTAN PLAID.

SONG. POOR SOLDIER.

SONG.

NOTHING LIKE GROG.

TRUE FRIENDSHIP.

PATRICK O'ROW.

SOUND ARGUMENT.

KATE OF ABERDEEN.

THE LINNETS.

SONG.

LIFE's LIKE A SEA IN CONSTANT MOTION.

THE HONEY-MOON.

SONG.

DOT AND CARRY ONE.

THE SAILORS WATERY GRAVE.

DRINK AND BE MERRY.

NANCY OF THE DALE.

FLOWERS OF EDINBURGH

PLATO's ADVICE.

THE DISCONSOLATE SAILOR.

DANS VOTRE LIT.

THE JEW BROKER.

THE TINKER.

JACK IN HIS ELEMENT.

WHEN THE FANCY STIRRING BOWL.

I'D RATHER BE EXCUS'D.

JOVIAL COMPANIONS.

DEATH OR LIBERTY.

SONG. DESERTER.

MA CHERE AMIE.

THE ROSE.

LOVE's A BUBBLE.

THE HONEST SAILOR.

SONG.

SONG. CHELSEA PENSIONER

SONG.

TWEED SIDE.

SONG. FRIENDLY TARS.

SONG. ISLANDERS.

SONG. ISLANDERS.

THE VIRTUE OF DRUNKENNESS.

THE MERRY SAILOR.

THE PEDLER.

SONG.

THE DUSTMAN.

THE SAILOR's FAREWELL.

SEQUEL TO THE SAILOR's FAREWELL.

DUET. INKLE AND YARICO

THE END OF A SONG.

SONG. ROSINA.

SONG. ROSINA.

ANNA's URN.

SONG.

ODE TO THE DRUM.

SONG.

BLOW HIGH, BLOW LOW.

THE NEGLECTED TAR.

FAVOURITE INDIAN DEATH SONG.

SONG.

SONG.

WHEN I WAS A YOUNKER.

TWIGGLE AND A FRIZ.

SONG.

SONG. DUENNA,

SONG.

SONG. ROSINA.

SWEET POLL OF PLYMOUTH.

SEQUEL TO SWEET POLL OF PLYMOUTH.

MY AIN KIND DEARY O.

PRAISE OF LOVE.

§

§

[Page]

[Page]

SOCIAL HARMONY; OR, THE CHEERFUL SONGSTER's COMPANION.

The vocal muse has pow'r

To sooth the troubled breast

To cheer the darkest hour,

And lull each grief to rest;

To banish sorrow, care and strife,

And give a double [...] to life.

NEW-YORK: Printed by SAMUEL CAMPBELL, No. 124, Pearl-Street. M.DCC.XCV.

SOCIAL HARMONY; OR, THE CHEERFUL SONGSTER'S COMPANION.

[Page]

THE OLYMPIAN HUNT.

Bards call themselves a heav'nly race,

Topers find heaven in wine,

We truly boast who love the chace

An origin divine.

The deities all hunters are,

Great Jove, who spends his life

In hunting of the willing fair,

Is hunted by his wife.

Then come and wake the drowsy morn,

While the swift game we follow,

The feather'd throng and tuneful horn

Shall join the hunters hollow.

Gay Ba [...]chus on his tun, that hack,

Toasts for view hollows gives

While Mercury, with his Bow-street pack,

Scours heaven to hunt for thieves.

Bold Mars, a blood hound, hunts for fams,

No [...] 'till it's latest breath,

[Page] Will he e'er leave the panting game,

But comes in at the death.

Then come, &c.

Dians in her sacred grove

Saw rash Acteon near,

And tho' she seem'd to scorn his love,

She took him for her deer.

Yet vex'd to think this hint so sly

On the fool she could not pass,

From his own hounds she made him fly,

And kill'd him for an ass.

Then come, &c.

Great Jun [...] wretched, restless fair,

On jealous fury bent,

Still in full cry is hunting care,

And still on a wrong scent.

Indeed the fair oft mount their nag,

By the hunting mania struck,

And if Acteon was a stag,

Poor Vulcan was a buck.

Then come, &c.

MORALITY IN THE FORE-TOP.

Two real tars, whom duty call'd

To watch in the fore-top,

Thus one another over-haul'd,

And took a cheering drop.

[Page] I say, Will Hatchway; cried Tom Tow,

Of conduct what's your sort,

As thro' the voyage of life you go,

To bring you safe to port?

Cried Jack, you lubber, dont you know

Our passions close to reef?

To steer where honour points the prow,

To hand a friend relief,

These anchors get but in your power,

My life for't that's your sort,

The bower, the sheet, and the best bower,

Must bring you into port.

Why then you're out, and there's an end,

Tom cried out, blunt and rough,

Be good, be honest, serve a friend

The maxim's well enough;

Who swabs his bows at other's wo [...],

That tar's for me your sort,

The vessel right a-head shall go,

To find a joyful port.

The storms of life upon me press,

Misfortunes make me reel,

Why, damme, what's my own distress,

For others let me feel?

Ay, ay, if bound with a fresh gale,

To heaven this is your sort,

A handkerchief's the best w [...] sai [...]

To bring you safe to port.

[Page]

SWIZZY.

If, bold and brave thou canst not bear

Thyself from all thou lov'st to tear;

If while winds, war, and billows roll,

A spark of fear invade thy soul.

If thou'rt appall'd when cannons roar,

I prithee, mess mate, stay on shore.

There like a lubber

Whine and blubber:

Still for thy ease and safety busy,

Ne'er dare to come

Where honest Tom,

And Ned and Nick, and Ben and Phil,

And Jack and Dick, and Bob and Bill,

All weathers sing and drink the swizzy.

If should' [...]ou lose a limb in fight,

She who made up thy heart's delight,

Poor recompense, that thou art kind,

Shall prove inconstant as the wind:

If such hard fortune thou deplore,

I prithee, mess-mate, stay on shore.

There, &c.

If pris'ner in a foreign land,

No friend, no money at command,

That man thou trusted hast alone

All knowledge of thee should disown.

If this should vex thee to the core,

I prithee, mess-mate, stay [...] shore.

There, &c.

[Page]

FAMILY LIKENESS,

Lovely woman, pride of nature,

Good and sweet, and kind and fair,

Than man a higher stile of creature,

Perfect as celestials are.

See Mira come, like stately Juno,

Ever fair, and ever young,

Completely like, as you and I know,

For Mira, like Juno, has a tongue.

Young Caelia's charms, that beam so sweetly,

To paint, ah! what can words avail,

She's Venus self, and so completely,

That Caelia is, like Venus frail.

To woo the charming Gloriana

Audacity would be afraid;

She's chaste and icy as Diana,

And, like Diana, an old maid.

Thus women boast a near relation,

'Tis plain to the celestial race;

Thus we of their divine creation,

A family resemblance trace.

If then some faults of this complexion,

Like spots that's on that sun their fame,

Rust this same model of perfection,

The stars, not women are to blame,

[Page]

BUXOM NAN.

The wind was hush'd, the storm was over,

Unfurl'd was every flowing sail,

From toil releas'd, when Dick of Dover

Went with his mess-mates to regale.

All dangers o'er, cry'd he, my neat hearts,

Drown care then in the smiling can;

Come, bear a hand, let's toast our sweethearts,

And first I'll give my Buxom Nan.

She's none of they that's always gigging,

And stem and stern made up of art;

One knows a vessel by her rigging,

Such ever slight a constant heart.

With straw hat and pink streamers flowing,

How oft to meet me has she ran,

While for dear life would I be rowing,

To meet with smiles, my Buxom Nan.

Jack Jollyboat went to the Indies;

To see him stare when he came back;

The girls were so all off the hinges,

His Poll was quite unknown to Jack.

Tant masted all to see who's tallest,

Breast works, top ga'nt sails and a fan,

Mess-mate, said I, more sail than ballast,

Ah! still give me my Buxom Nan.

None on life's sea can sail more quicker,

To shew her love or serve a friend,

[Page] But hold, I'm preaching o'er my liquor.

This one word then, and there's an end,

Of all the wenches whatsomdever,

I say, then find me out who can,

One half so true, so kind, so clever,

Sweet trim, and meat as Buxom Nan.

PLEASURES OF THE CHACE.

Except the folks that's fast asleep,

All nature now is waking,

Aurora at the world a peep

Is in her night-cap taking,

Hark, all the rory tory boys,

Making the devil of a noise,

To cure the head aches of last night,

The peaceable King's subjects fright,

And helter skelter come apace,

To enjoy the pleasures of the chace.

How sweet to be as on we rush,

By the pig-tail entangling,

Amidst a lovely torny bush,

Or on a tree left dangling,

Ah musha gra, than wine and love

The joy of hunting's far above.

Can either Cupid or the bowl

Such pleasures give? Ah by my soul,

Briars and torns may scratch your face,

Still great's the pleasures of the chace.

[Page]

Then when our metal's at its pitch,

While tally-ho we're bawling,

Safe landed in a muddy ditch,

To be genteelly sprawling.

Ah musha gra, than wine and love

The joy of hunting's far above;

Can either Cupid or the bowl

Such pleasure give? Ah by my soul,

Briars and torns may scratch your face,

Still great's the pleasures of the chace.

Then dripping like a drowning rat,

At night you would not think it,

What glorious wine, if it were not

We're too fatigued to drink it.

Ah bodder not of love and war,

The joy of hunting's greater far,

Hark, echo in melodious tones,

Halloos and whistles, sighs and groans

While many a broken sconce and face

Proclaim the pleasures of the chace.

A SAVAGE LOVE SONG.

So sweet I'll dress my Zootka fair,

Such pretty toys her charms shall deck,

The nails of foes shall grace her hair,

Their eyes and teeth adorn her neck.

A hut I'll build her of catalps,

And sweetly hang it round with scalps,

[Page]

And while we frantic skip and sing,

And join to form the mystic ring,

And tymbals bang and cymbals twang,

And cymbals twang and tymbals bang,

And jump and prance,

And frisk in wedlock's devious dance,

We'll drink and yam,

And make the Banjier cry giam.

The rose Europe's beauties boast,

Asia, the saffron's silkly dye,

Let ebon wives grace Afric's coast,

Can these with lovely Zootka vie?

Her olive cheek the gloss outshines

That decorates the copper mines.

Come then, and frantic, &c.

Some shave their eyebrows for the fair,

Others for love pull out their teeth,

Some by the roots tear up their hair,

To form a pretty marriage wreath,

My loving feet at Zootka's nose

Shall aim a hundred tender blows,

And as they frantic, &c.

THE SHIPWRECK.

Avert yon omen, gracious heav'n!

The ugly scud,

By rising winds resistless driv'n,

Kisses the flood.

[Page] How hard th [...] lot for sailors cast,

That they should roam

For years, to [...] perish thus at last,

In sight of [...]ome.

For of the com [...]ing gale we mourn,

A tempest g [...]ows,

Our vessel shatt [...]er'd, so and torn,

That down sh [...]e goes.

The tempest com [...]es, while meteors red,

Portentous fly,

And now we touch old Ocean's bed,

Now reach the sky.

On sable wings in gloomy flight,

Frien [...]ds seem to wait,

To snat [...] us in this dreadful night,

Dark as our fate;

Unless some kind, some pitying pow'r

Should [...] interpose;

She labours so, within this hour,

That down she goes.

But see on rosy pinions born,

O'er the mad deep,

Reluctant beams the sorrowing morn,

With [...]s to weep.

Deceitful sorrow, cheerless light,

Dreadful to think,

The morn is risen in dreadful night

Our hope, to sink,

[Page] She splits, she starts, through sluices driven,

The water flows.

Adieu, ye friends, have mercy heaven,

For down she goes.

SONG. FARMER.

A flaxen-headed cow-boy,

As simple as may be,

And next a merry plough-boy,

I whistled o'er the lea:

But now a saucy footman,

I strut in worsted lace,

And soon I'll be a butler,

And wag my jolly face.

When steward I'm promoted,

I'll snip a tradesman's bill.

My master's coffers empty,

My pockets for to fill:

When lolling in my chariot,

So great a man I'll be,

You'll forget the little plough-boy

That whistled o'er the lea.

I'll buy votes at elections,

But when I've made the pelf,

I'll stand poll for parliament,

And then vote in myself:

[Page] Whatever's good for me, sir,

I never will oppose;

When all my AYES are sold off,

Why then I'll sell my NOES.

I'll joke, harangue, and paragraph,

With speeches charm the ear,

And when I'm tir'd on my legs,

Then I'll sit down a peer.

In court or city honour,

So great a man I'll be,

You'll forget the little plough-boy

That whistled o'er the lea.

THE MILLER.

Merry may the maid be

That marries the miller,

For foul day and [...]air day

He's ay bringing till her;

Has ay a penny in his purse

For dinner and for supper;

And gin she please a good fat cheese,

And lumps of yellow butter.

When Jemie first did woo me,

I spier'd what was his calling;

Fair maid, said he, O come and see,

Ye're welcome to my dwelling:

[Page] Though I was shy, yet I cou'd soy,

The truth of what he told me,

And that his house was warm and couth,

And room in it to hold me.

Behind the door a bag of meal,

And in the kist was plenty

Of good hard cakes his mither bakes,

And bannocks were na scanty;

A good fat sow, a sleeky cow

Was standing in the byre;

Whilst lazy puss with mealy mouse,

Was playing at the fire.

Good signs are these, my mither says,

And bids me take the miller;

For foul day or fair day,

He's ay bringing till her;

For meal and ma't she does na want,

Nor any thing that's dainty:

And now and then a keckling he [...]

To lay her eggs in plenty.

In winter when the wind and rain

Blaws o'er the house and byre;

He sits beside a clean hearth stane,

Before a rousing fire:

With nut-brown ale, he tells his tale▪

Which rows him o'er fou [...]appy;

Who'd be a king?—a pretty thing,

When a miller lives so happy.

[Page]

SONG.

Tune, Dus [...]y Night.

When first a maid within her breast,

Perceives the subtile flame,

She finds a something break her rest▪

Yet knows not whence it came.

A husband 'tis she wants.

Now riper grown at fight of man,

Her swelling bosom glows;

Old maids, may say, the sex trepan,

But miss r [...]uch better knows,

A husband tis she wants.

If pale and wan the drooping fair,

Seems sinking in her grave;

It vain is medicinal care,

'Tis this alone can save.

A husband 'tis I mean.

Let maidens stale their doctrine preach,

'Gainst what like us they love;

For trust me they the same would teach,

If they the same could have.

A husband 'tis I mean.

Then on, dear girls, and boldly prove

There's truth in what I say:

Let Hymen take the torch of love,

And gild cach happy day.

A husband 'tis I mean.

[Page]

THE LAMPLIGHTER.

I'm jolly Dick the Lamplighter,

They say the Sun's my dad;

And truly I believe it, Sir,

For I'm a pretty lad.

ather and I the world delight,

And make it look so gay,

The difference is, I lights by night,

And father lights by day.

But father's not the likes of I,

For knowing life and fun,

For I strange tricks and fancy spy

Folks never shew the sun.

Rogues, owls, and bats can't bear the light▪

I've heard your wise ones say;

And so, d'ye mind, I sees, at night,

Things never seen by day.

At night men lay aside all art,

As quite a useless task,

And many a face and many a hear [...]

Will then pull off the mask.

Each formal prude, and hosy wight,

Will throw disguise away,

And sin it openly at night,

Who sainted it all day.

His darling hoard the miser views▪

Misses from friends decamp,

[Page] And many a statesman mischief brews

To his country o'er his lamp.

So father and I, d'ye take me right,

Are just on the same lay▪

I barefaced sinners light by night,

And he false saints by day.

I'M IN HASTE.

As cross the field the other morn

I tripp'd so blythe and gay,

The 'Squire with his dog and gun

By chance came by that way;

Whither so fast, young maid? he cry'd,

And caught me round the waist,

Pray stop awhile. Dear Sir, said I,

I can't, for I'm in haste.

You must not go [...]s yet, cried he,

For I have much to say;

Come, sit you down, and let us chat,

Upon this new-mown [...]ay.

I've lov'd you long, and oft have wish'd

These ruby lips to taste;

I'll have a kiss. Well then, said I,

Be quick, for I'm at haste.

Just as he spoke, I saw young Hodge

Come thro' a neighb'ring gate,

He caught my hand, and cried, dear girl,

I fear I've made you wait;

[Page] But here's the ring, come, let's to church,

The joys of love to taste;

I left the 'Squire, and laughing said,

You see, Sir, I'm in haste.

WHILE HIGH THE FOAMING SURGES RISE.

While high the foaming surges rise▪

And pointed rocks appear,

Loud thunders rattle in the skies,

Yet sailors must not scar.

In storms in wind

Their duty mind;

A loft, below,

They cheerful go,

To reef or steer, as 'tis design'd,

No fear or dangers fill the mind.

The fignal for the line is made,

The haughty foe's in sight;

The bloody [...]lag's aloft display'd,

And fierce they dreadful fight.

Each minds his gun,

No dangers shun;

A loft, below,

They cheerful go,

Tho' thunders roar, yet still we find

No fears alarm the sailor's mind.

The storm is hush'd, the battle's o'er,

The sky is clear again;

[Page] We toss the [...]n to those on shore

While we are on the main,

To Poll and Sue,

Sincere and true;

The grog goes round,

With pleasure crown'd,

In war or peace alike you'll find

That honour fills the sailor's mind.

A LAUGHING SONG.

Come, ye wasting sons of care,

Live to laugh, and hang despair;

Pining grief is nought but folly,

Laugh with me, and be as jolly;

Ever thus your mirth shall flow.

Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Ever thus your mirth shall flow,

Ha, ha, ha, ha, &c.

Columbians, thus be ever gay,

Come where laughter leads the way;

To the winds give simple sorrow,

Laugh to-day, and cry to-morrow:

Life's a jest, we wise ones know.

Ha, ha, ha, &c.

Since good-humour here doth reign,

With all my heart let's laugh again;

What dull mortal can withstand it,

When the gods and you command it?

True enjoyment here below

Is ha, ha, ha, &c.

[Page]

THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL.

On Richmond Hill there lives a lass,

More bright than May-day morn;

Whose charms all other maids surpass,

A rose without a thorn▪

This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet,

Has won my right good will;

I'd crowns resign, to call her mine,

Sweet lass of Richmond Hill.

Ye zephyrs gay that fan the air,

And wanton thro' the grove!

O whisper to my charming fair—

I die for her and love.

This lass so neat, &c.

How happy will that shepherd be,

Who calls this nymph his own!

O may the choice be fix'd on me!

Mine's fix'd on her alone.

This lass so neat, &c.

SONG. POOR SOLDIER.

Since love is the plan,

I'll love if I can—

Attend, and I'll tell you what sort of a man:

In address how complete,

And in dress spruce and neat▪

No matter how tall so he's over five feet;

[Page] Not dull, nor too [...]itty,

His eyes I'll think pretty,

If sparkling with pleasure whenever we meet.

In a song bear a bob,

In a glass of hob-nob,

Yet drink of his reason his noddle ne'er rob;

Tho' gentle he be,

His man he shall see,

Yet never be conquer'd by any but me.

This, this is my fancy;

If such a man I can see,

I'm his if he's mine; until then, I'll be free.

THE ECHOING HORN.

The echoing horn calls the sportsman abroad,

To horse, my brave boys, and away;

The morning is up, and the cry of the hounds

Upbraids our too tedious delay,

What pleasures we find in pursuing the fox!

O'er hill and o'er valley he flies:

Then follow, we'll soon overtake him, huzza,

The traitor is seiz'd on and dies.

Triumphant returning at night with the spoil,

Like bacchanals shouting and gay,

How sweet with our bottle and glass to refresh

And lose the fatigues of the day!

With sport, love, and wine, sickle fortune defy,

Dull wisdom all happiness sours;

Since life is no more than a passage at best,

Let's strew the way over with flow'rs.

[Page]

SONG.

This, this my lad's a soldier's life,

He marches to the sprightly fife,

And in each town to some new wife

Swears he'll be ever true.

He's here, he's there, where is he not?

Variety's his envy'd lot;

He eats, drinks, sleeps, and pays no shot,

And follows the loud tattoo.

Call'd out to face his country's foes,

The tears of fond, domestic woes,

He kisses off, and boldly goes

To earn of fame his due.

Religion, liberty, and laws,

Both his are, and his country's cause,

For these thro' danger, without pause,

He follows the loud tattoo.

And if at last in honour's wars,

He earns his share of danger's scars,—

Still he feels bold, and thanks his stars

He's no worse fate to rue.

At Chelsea, free from toil and pain,

He wields his crutch, points out the slain,

And, in fond fancy, once again

Follow the loud tattoo.

[Page]

A FAVORITE SONG.

Jack Ratlin was the ablest seaman,

None like him could hand, reef, or steer:

No dang'rous toil, but he'd encounter

With skill, and in contempt of fear.

In fight a lion,—the battle ended,

Meek as the bleating lamb he'd prove;

Thus Jack had manners, courage merit,

Yet did he sigh,—and all for love.

The song, the jest, the flowing liquor,

For none of these had Jack's regard:

He, while his messmates were carousing,

High sitting on his pending yard,

Would think upon his fair one's beauties,

Swear never from such charms to rove;

That truly he'd adore them living,

And, dying, sigh—to end his love.

The same express the crew commanded

Once more to view their native land,

Among the rest brought Jack some tidings;

Would it had been his love's fair hand!

Oh! Fate! her death defac'd the letter—

Instant his pulse forgot to move!

With quiv'ring lips, and eyes uplifted,

He heav'd a sigh!—and dy'd for love.

[Page]

BALLAD, IN THE WHIM OF THE MOMENT.

I was, d'ye see, a waterman,

As tight and spruce as any,

'Twixt Richmond town

And Horsly down

I earn'd an honest penny;

None could of fortune's favours brag

More than could lucky I,

My cot was snug, well fill'd my cag,

My grunter in the sty.

With wherry tight

And bosom light

I cheerfully did row,

And to complete this princely life,

Sure never man had friend and wife

Like my Poll and my partner Joe.

I roll'd in joys like these awhile,

Folks far and near caress'd me,

'Till woe is me,

So lubberly

The press gang came and press'd me:

How could I all these pleasures leave?

How with my wherry part?

I never so took on to grieve,

It wrung my very heart.

But when on board

[Page] They gave the word

To foreign parts to go,

I rued the moment I was born,

That ever I should thus be torn

From my Poll and my partner Joe.

I did my duty manfully,

While on the billows rolling,

And night and day

Could find my way

Blindfold to the main-top bowling:

Thus all the dangers of the main

Quicksands and gales of wind,

I brav'd in hopes to taste again

The joys I left behind:

In climes a [...]ar,

The hottest war,

Pour'd broadsides on the foe,

In hope these perils to relate,

As by my side attentive sat,

My Poll and my partner Joe.

At last it pleas'd his Majesty

To give peace to the nation,

And honest hearts,

From foreign parts,

Came home for consolation:

Like lightning—for I felt new life,

Now safe from all alarms—

I rush'd, and found my friend and wife

Lock'd in each other's arms!

Yet fancy not

[Page] I bore my lot

Tame, like a l [...]bber:—No,

For seeing I was finely [...]rick'd,

Plump to the devil I fairly kick'd

My Poll and my partner Joe.

BALLAD, IN THE WHIM OF THE MOMENT.

I am a jolly fisherman,

I catch what I can get,

Still going on my betters' plan

All's fish that comes to net:

Fi [...] just like men, I've often caught,

Crabs, gudgeons, poor John, codfish,

Ard many a time to market brought

A dev'lish sight of odd fish.

This all are fishermen through life,

With weary pains and labour,

This baits with gold, and that a wife,

And all to catch his neighbour:

Then praise the jolly fisherman,

Who takes what he can get,

Still going on his betters' plan,

All's fish that comes to net.

The pike, to catch the little fry,

Extends his greedy jaw,

For all the world, as you and I

Have seen your man of law:

He who to laziness devotes

[Page] His time is sure a numb fish,

And members who gives silent votes

May fairly be called dumb fish.

False friends to eels we may compare,

The roach resembles true ones;

Like gold-fish we find old ones rare,

Plenty as herrings new ones.

Then praise, &c.

Like fish then mortals are a trade,

And trapp'd, and sold and bought,

The old wife and the tender maid,

Are both with tickling caught;

Indeed the fair are caught, 'tis said,

If you but throw the line in,

With maggots, flies, or something red,

Or any thing that's shining:

With small fish you must lie in wait

For those in high condition,

But 'tis alon [...] a golden bait

Can catch a learn'd physician.

Then praise, &c.

SONG. IN LOVE IN A VILLAGE.

How blest the maid whose bosom

No headstrong passion knows,

Her days in joys she passes,

Her nights in calm repose:

Where e'er her fancy leads [...]er,

No pain, no fear invades her,

[Page] But pleasure without measure,

From every object flows.

No pain, no fear, where e'er she goes,

How blest the maid whose bosom

No headstrong passion knows,

Her days in joy she passes,

Her nights in calm repose;

Where e'er her fancy leads,

No pains no fears invades,

No fear invades, no fear invades.

I'D THINK ON THEE, MY LOVE.

In storms when clouds obscure the sky,

And thunders roll, and lightnings fly,

In midst of all these dire alarms,

I think, my Sally, on thy charms▪

The troubled main,

The wind and rain,

My ardent passions prove,

Lash'd to the helm,

Should seas o'erwhelm,

I'd think on thee my love.

When rocks appear on every side,

And art is vain the ship to guide,

In varied shapes when death appears,

The thoughts of thee my bosom cheers.

The troubled main,

The wind and rain,

[Page] My ardent passion prove,

Lash'd to the helm,

Sould seas o'erwhelm,

I'd think on thee my love.

But should the gracious pow'rs be kind,

Dispel the gloom and still the wind,

And waft me to thy arms once more,

Safe to my long-lost native shore:

No more the main,

I'd tempt again,

But tender joys improve;

I then with thee,

Should happy be,

And think on nought but love,

HOMEWARD BOUND.

Come loose ev'ry sail to the breeze,

The course of my vessel improve,

I've done with the toils of the seas,

Ye sailors! I'm bound to my love,

Ye sailors! I'm bound to my love,

Ye sailors! I'm bound to my love.

I've done with the toils of the seas,

Ye sailors! I'm bound to my love▪

Since Emma is true as she's fair,

My griefs I fling all to the wind,

'Tis a pleasing return for my cares;

My mistress is constant and kind.

[Page]

My sails are all fill'd to my dear:

What tropick-bird swifter can move,

Who cruel shall hold his career,

That returns to the nest of his love.

Hoist ev'ry sail to the breeze,

Come, ship-mates, and join in the song:

Let's drink while the ship cuts the seas,

To the gale that may drive her along.

DEAR IS MY NATIVE VALE.

Dear is my little native vale,

The ring-dove builds and warbles there;

Close by my cot she tells her tale

To ev'ry passing villager.

The squirrel leaps from tree to tree,

And shells his nuts at liberty.

In orange groves and myrtle bow'rs,

That breathe a gale of fragrance round,

I charm the fairy-footed hours

With my lov'd lute's romantic sound;

Or crowns of living laurel weave▪

For those that win the race at eve.

The shepherd's horn, at break of day,

The ballad danc'd in twilight glade;

The canzolet and roundelay,

Sung in the silent greenwood shade.

[Page] These simple joys that never fail,

Shall bind me to my native vale▪

MARY's DREAM.

The moon had clim'd the highest hill

That rises o'er the source of Dee,

And from the eastern summit shed

Her silver light on tow'r and tree;

When Mary laid her down to sleep,

Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea,

When soft and low a voice was heard

Say—Mary, weep no more for me.

She from her pillow gently rais'd

Her head to ask who there might be,

And saw young Sandy shivering stand,

With palid cheek and hollow eye.

O, Mary dear! cold is my clay,

It lies beneath a stormy sea;

Far, far from thee, I sleep in death,

So, Mary, weep no more for me.

Three stormy nights and stormy days,

We toss'd upon the raging main,

And long we strove our bark to save,

But all our striving was in vain:

E'vn then, when horror chill'd my blood,

My heart was fill'd with love for thee;

The storm is past, and I at rest,

So, Mary, weep no more for me;

[Page]

O! maiden dear, thyself prepare,

We soon shall meet upon that shore

Where love is free from doubt or care,

And thou and I shall part no more.

Loud crow'd the cock! the shadow fled!

No more of Sandy could she see;

But soft the passing spirit said,

O! Mary! weep no more for me.

THE TARTAN PLAID.

By moonlight on the green,

Where lads and lasses stray,

How sweet the blossom'd bean,

How sweet the new-made hay.

But not to me sae sweet

The blossom of the thorn,

As when my lad I meet

More fresh than May-day morn.

Give me the lad so blithe and gay▪

Give me the tartan plad [...]ie;

For spite of all the world can say,

I'll wed my Highland Laddie.

His skin is white as snow,

His [...]n are bonny blue;

Like rose-bud sweet his mow,

When wet with morning dew.

Young Will is rich and great.

And fain would [...]a' me his;

But what is pride or state

[Page] Without love's smiling bliss.

Give me the lad, &c.

When first he talk'd of love,

He look'd so blithe and gay,

His flame I did approve,

And cou'd nae say him nay.

Then to the kirk I'll haste,

There prove my love and truth;

Reward a love so chaste,

And wed the constant youth.

Give me the lad, &c.

SONG. POOR SOLDIER.

The wealthy fool, with gold in store,

Will still desire to grow richer?

Give me but these, I ask no more,

My charming girl, my friend and pitcher

My friend so rare, my girl so fair,

With these what mortal can be richer?

Give me but these, a fig for care,

With my sweet girl, my friend, and pitcher.

From morning sun I'd never grieve

To toil a hedger or a ditcher,

If that when I come home at eve

I might enjoy my friend and pitcher.

My friend so rare, &c.

[Page] Tho' fortune ever shuns my door,

I know not what 'tis can bewitch her;

With all my heart—can I be poor,

With my sweet girl, my friend, and pitcher.

My friend so rare, &c.

SONG.

When Britain first at Heav'n's command,

Arose from out the azure main,

Arose, &c.

This was the charter, the charter of the land,

And guardian angels sung the strain;

Rule, Britannia, Britannia, rule the waves,

For Britons never will be slaves.

The nations not so blest as thee,

Must in their turns to tyrants fall,

Must, &c.

Whilst thou shalt flourish, shalt [...]lourish great and free,

The dread and envy of them all.

Rule, Britannia, &c.

[...]till more majesti [...] shalt thou rise—

More dreadful from each foreign stroke▪

[...]ore dreadful, &c.

[...] the loud blast that tears the skies▪

Serves but to root thy native oak▪

Rule, Britannia, &c.

[Page]

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall [...]ame;

All their attempts to bend thee down,

All their, &c.

Will but arouse, arouse thy gen'rous flame,

And work their woe, and thy renown.

Rule, Britannia, &c.

To thee belongs the rural reign—

Thy cities shall with commerce shine,

Thy cities, &c.

All thine shall be, shall be the subject main,

And ev'ry shore it circles thine.

Rule, Britannia, &c.

The Muses, still with freedom found,

Shall to thy happy coast repair,

Shall, &c.

Bless'd isle! with beauty, with matchless beauty crown'd,

And manly hearts to guard the fair.

Rule, Britannia, Britannia rule the waves,

For Britons never will be slaves.

NOTHING LIKE GROG.

A plague of these musty old l [...]bbers,

W [...] [...] us to fast and to think,

And patient fall in with life's rubbers,

With nothing but water to drink.

A can of [...]d stuff, had they twigg'd it,

Would have set them for pleasure agog,

[Page] And spite of the rules,

The rules of the schools,

The old fools would have all of them swigg'd it,

And swore there was nothing like grog.

My father, when last I from Guinea

Return'd with abundance of wealth,

Cry'd, Jack, never be such a ninny

To drink;—says I,—father your health!

So I pass'd round the stuff, and he twigg'd it,

And it set the old codger agog;

And he swigg'd and mother,

And sister, and brother,

And I swigg'd, and all of us swigg'd it,

And swore there was nothing like grog.

One day, when the chaplin was preaching.

Behind him I curiously slunk,

And, while he our duty was teaching,

As how we should never get drunk,

I tipt him the stuff, and he twigg'd it,

Which soon set his reverence agog:

And he swigg'd, and Nick swigg'd,

And Ben swigg'd, and Dick swigg'd,

And I swigg'd, and all of us swigg'd it,

And swore there was nothing like grog.

Then trust me, there's nothing as drinking

So pleasant on this side the grave,

It keeps the unhappy from thinking,

And m [...]ke em more valient, more brave.

[Page] For me, from the moment I twigg'd it,

The good stuff has set me agog,

Sick or well, late or early,

Wind foully or fairly,

I've constantly, constantly swigg'd it:

And d—n me, there's nothing like grog.

TRUE FRIENDSHIP.

Blest friendship, hail! thy gifts possessing,

That happy mortal's rich indeed,

Thou willing giv'st each earthly blessing,

To all but those who are in need.

Thy words are sweet as Hybla's honey,

In accents kind, and mild, and civil

Flows thy advice, thou giv'st not money,

For money is the very devil;

And rather than the foul temptation

Sould into scrapes thy friend betray,

Disinterested consideration,

Thou kindly takes it all away.

Are his affairs at rack and manger,

Lest a bad world thy friend should chouse

No time for thee to play the stranger,

Thou deign'st to manage all his house,

To make hi [...] thy good pleasure tarry,

To kiss thy feet, to hop o'er sticks,

To run, to leap, to fetch and carry,

And play a thousand monkey tricks.

Nay, if thy liquorish chops would water,

[Page] To ease him of domestic strife,

Thou ridd'st him of a flirting daughter,

Or, kinder still, thou steal'st his wife.

Come then, my friend, prevent my pleasures,

And out of [...]oors politeness kick,

With me, and mine, pray keep no measures,

Drench me with bumpers, make me sick;

My cellar bleed, devour my mutton,

Upon my vitals dine and sup;

Come on thou kind, thou friendly glutton,

Kill, barbecue, and eat me up.

Then, to the last a friend, desert me,

That wise by dear experience grown,

And having no kind friend to hurt me,

I may, at last, become my own.

PATRICK O'ROW.

Patrick O'Row is my name,

My calling's the trade of a boxer,

I'm a devil of a fellow for same,

Why I'm bottom like any game cock, Sir.

Oh, I tips 'em so tight,

Left and right,

And to blind him so well I know how,

To the spine of the back. I am blood,

Ah, honey, 'twou'd do your heart good,

To be lather'd by Patrick O'Row.

[Page]

I presently knocks down my men,

Your servant, says I, pray call again;

Then I close up their peepers, and then,

I wish you good night, Mr. Galahgan.

Were alive Master Slack,

On his back

I'd lay him as flat as he's now.

'Tis my washing, my lodging and food,

Ah, honey, 'twoud do your heart good

To be lather'd by Patrick O'Row.

There's Johnson, and George, and Big Ben,

Three bruisers that well can rally you,

Tho' they thump'd the three Birmington men,

Say I, my lads, little I value you.

Mendoza and Ward

Can strike hard,

And to stop and put in, well know how;

Nay, they're ev'ry reaf of them blood,

Yet, honey, 'twoud do them all good

To be lather'd by Patrick O'Row.

Wid a handful of fellows like these,

Britannia, what glory I'd bring her to;

Let the Spaniards come on when they please,

Devil burn me, we'd teach them a ting or two.

[Page]

Wid a phalanx of fists

In our lists,

So nately we'd bodder their glow,

We'd presently try if they're blood.

Ah, honey, 'twou'd do their pride good

To be lather'd by patrick O'Row.

Come all ye tight lads who wou'd earn

True fame, in a possee gather ye,

How your country you'd serve wou'd ye learn,

Just only come here till I lather you.

Oh, I'll make you so tight,

Left and right,

And each knock me down argument know;

Come here then, and try if you're blood.

Devil burn me, 'twou'd do your hearts good

To be lather'd by Patrick O'Row.

SOUND ARGUMENT.

We bipeds, made up of frail clay,

Alas are the children of sorrow,

And tho' brisk and merry to-day,

We all may be wretched to-morrow.

For sunshine's succeeded by rain,

Then, fearful of life's stormy weather,

Lest pleasure shou'd only bring pain,

Let us all be unhappy together.

[Page]

I grant the best blessings we know

Is a friend, for true friendship's a treasure,

And yet, lest your friend prove a foe,

Oh taste not the dangerous pleasure:

Thus friendship's a flimsy affair,

Thus riches and health are a bubble,

Thus there's nothing delightful but care,

Nor any thing pleasing but trouble.

If a mortal would point out that life

That on earth could be nearest to heav'n,

Let him, thanking his stars, chuse a wife

To whom truth and honour are given:

But honour and truth are so rare,

And horns when they're cutting so tingle

That with all my respect to the fair,

I'd advise him to sigh and live single.

It appears from these premises plain

That wisdom is nothing but folly,

That pleasure's a term that means pain,

And that joy is your true melancholy.

That all those who laugh ought to cry,

That 'tis fine frisk and fun to be grieving,

And that, since we must all of us die,

We should taste no enjoyment while living.

KATE OF ABERDEEN.

The silver moon's enamour'd beam

Steals softly through the night▪

[Page] To wanton with the winding stream,

And kiss reflecting light;

To courts be gone, heart-soothing sleep,

Where you've so seldom been,

Whilst I May's wakeful vigil keep

With Kate of Aberdeen.

The nymphs and swains expectant wait,

In primrose chaplets gay,

Till morn unbars her golden gate,

And gives the promis'd May;

The nymphs and swains shall all declare

The promis'd May, when seen,

Not half so fragiant, half so fair,

As Kate of Aberdeen.

I'll tune my pipe to playful notes,

And rouse your nodding grove,

Till new-wak'd birds distend their throats,

And hail the maid I love:

At her approach the lark mistakes,

And quits the new dress'd green:

Fond birds, 'tis not the morning breaks,

'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

Now blithsome o'er the dewy mead,

Where elves disportive play,

The festal dance young shepherds lead,

Or sing their love-tun'd lay,

Till May in morning-robe draws nigh,

And claims a virgin queen;

The nymphs and swains exulting cry,

"Here's Kate of Aberdeen."

[Page]

THE LINNETS.

As bringing home the other day

Two linnets I had ta'en,

The pretty warblers seem'd to pray

For liberty again.

Unheedful of their plaintive notes,

I sang across the mead;

In vain they tun'd their downy throats,

And flutter'd to be freed.

As passing thro' the tufted grove

Near which my cottage stood,

I thought I saw the queen of love

When Chlora's charms I view'd.

I gaz'd, I lov'd, I press'd her stay

To hear my tender tale;

But all in vain, she fled away,

Nor could my sighs prevail.

Soon thro' the wound which love had made,

Came pity to my breast;

And thus I as compassion bade,

The feather'd pair address'd:

"Ye little warblers, cheerful be,

"Remember not ye flew:

"For I who thought myself so free,

"Am far more caught than you."

SONG.

When the men a courting came,

Flatt'ring with their prittle prattle,

[Page] Of their follies I made game,

Rallied with my tittle tattle.

Cooing to me, wooing to me,

Teazing of me, pleasing of me,

Off'ring pelf, each silly elf

Come cooing, wooing, and bowing to me.

The divine, with looks demure,

Talk'd of tythes and eating plenty;

Shew'd the profits of his cure,

And vow'd to treat me with each dainty.

Cooing to me, &c.

The learn'd serjeant of the law

Shew'd his parchments, briefs, and papers,

In his deeds I found a flaw,

So dismiss'd him in the vapours.

Cooing to me, &c.

Physic now display'd his wealth,

With his nostrums; but the fact is,

I resolv'd to keep my health,

Nor die a martyr to his practice.

Cooing to me, &c.

But at last a swain bow'd low,

Candid, handsome, tall, and clever,

Squeez'd my hand—I can't tell how,

But he won my heart for ever.

Cooing to me, wooing to me,

Teazing of me, pleasing of me,

Off'ring pelf, each silly elf,

I sent all other wooers from me.

[Page]

LIFE's LIKE A SEA IN CONSTANT MOTION.

Life's like a sea in constant motion,

Sometimes high and sometimes low;

Where every one must brave the ocean,

Whatsoever winds do blow.

Tho' at night by squalls or showers,

Or driven by some gentle gales,

If dangers rise be ever ready

To manage well the swelling sails.

What, tho' the wayward winds should bluster,

Let us not give way to fear;

But all our patience let us muster,

And learn by reason how to steer;

Let judgment ever keep us steady.

For that's a balance seldom fails;

If danger's rise, be ever ready

To manage well the swelling sails.

Trust not too much your own opinion,

When the vessel's underway;

Let good examples be your dominion,

That will seldom lead astray.

But shou'd thunder o'er you shudder,

Or Bore as o'er the surface rails,

Let good directions guide the rudder,

Whilst Providence conducts the sails.

When you are safe from dangers riding

In some favorite port or bay,

[Page] Hope, be the anchor you confide in,

Care awhile, in slumbers lay;

Next, each a can of liquor flowing,

And good fellowship prevails;

Let every heart with rapture glowing,

Drink, "Success unto the Sails!"

THE HONEY-MOON.

Wou'd you know, my good friends, what the honey-moon is,

How long the duration, how perfect the bliss,

A proof may be found, and a sample be seen,

In some boarding school couple just left

Gretna-green.

My dearest, my duck,

My sweetest, my chuck;

Miss Kitty's an angel, her Billy's a god;

Whips crack, glasses jingle,

While sighs intermingle,

And Cupid assents, and goes nidditty nod,

Niddity nod, niddity nod,

O'er Kitty the angel, and Billy the god.

Papa's and mama's surly tempers once past,

Bright Bloomsbury-square has this couple at last!

In three week's possession, how pleasure will cloy!

Neglect hurts the lady, and time cools the boy.

[Page] So impatient to roam;—

Ma'am, you're never at home,

A path so vexatious no wife ever trod;

My torment, my curse;—

You are bad—you are worse.

While Cupid flies off, from a quarrel so odd,

Niddity nod, niddity nod,

And Miss is no angel, and Billy no god.

To routs hies the lady, to gambling goes master,

To part from each other, ne'er couple went faster,

While raking at night, and distraction at noon,

Soon close all the joys of the sweet honeymoon.

Bleeding hearts, aching [...]eads,

Sep'rate tables and beds,

Renders wedlock's sweet countenance dull as a clod.

Then hie for a summons

From grave Doctors Commons,

While proctors and parchments go niddity nod,

Niddity nod, niddity nod,

O'er Kitty the angel, and Bill the god.

SONG.

When fairies dance round on the grass,

Who revel all night in the roun'

[Page] Then say will you meet me, sweet lass,

Alone by the light of the moon?

Then say, &c.

First swear you will never deceive

The lass you have conquer'd so soon,

Nor leave a lost maiden to grieve,

Alone, by the light of the moon.

Nor leave, &c.

I swear to be constant and true,

Nor would I be false for a crown:

I'll meet you at twelve on the green,

Alone by the light of the moon.

I'll meet, &c.

The nightingale perch'd on the thorn,

Enchants ev'ry ear with her song,

And is glad on the absence of morn,

To salute the pale light of the moon.

And is, &c.

How sweet is the Jessamine grove!

How sweet are the roses in June!

More sweet is the language of love.

Breath'd forth by the light of the moon.

More sweet, &c.

DOT AND CARRY ONE.

Pounds, Shillings, pence, and farthings, I

Have at my fingers end,

[Page] And how to sell, and how to buy,

To borrow of to lend;

But this, tho I ne'er went to school,

My pate has run upon.

Addition be my golden rule,

Ha! dot and carry one.

At loss and gain a scholar got,

Right early was I taught

To gain of guineas all I could

To lose the devil a groat;

For fractions and divisions, when

They practise sword and gun,

Subtract myself I will, and then

Ha! dot and carry one.

But words no more I'll numerate,

And thus sum total lies:

Of war no more I'll sing or prate,

Reduction I'll despise:

And if cockade and roguish eye

Has not my Susan won;

If she's resolv'd to multiply,

Ha! dot and carry one.

THE SAILORS WATERY GRAVE.

While o'er the raging roaring seas,

The sailors heart is sore opprest,

While landsmen safe, with health and ease,

For wives and children we've no rest;

[Page] To them perhaps ne'er shall return,

Our little savings cannot save,

But we are lost and they long mourn,

The sailors cold! cold! wat'ry grave.

Kind landsmen, oh! reflect a while,

The awful scenes that us befal,

On sailors orphans cast a smile,

Poor hearts! shou'd they for pity call;

To them perhaps ne'er to return,

Our little savings cannot save,

But we are lost! and they long mourn,

The sailors cold! cold! wat'ry grave.

DRINK AND BE MERRY.

Wine, wine is the liquor of life;

The heart is consumed by care;

Good fellows then end the strife,

'Twixt the bottle and despair.

CHORUS.

Derry down, hey down derry,

Drink and drive care away;

Drink all the night and day,

Drink and be merry.

Brisk wine and impertinent care,

Dispute the controul of me;

Let me be my master, despair,

Wine, thou shalt my mistress be!

[Page]

[...] Derry down, hey down derry,

Drink and drive care away;

Drink all the night and day,

Drink and be merry.

NANCY OF THE DALE.

My Nancy leaves the rural train,

A camp's distress to prove;

All other ills she can sustain,

But living from her love:

Yet, dearest, tho' your soldier's there,

Will not your spirit fail,

To mark the dangers you must share,

Dear Nancy of the dale?

Dear Nancy, &c.

Or should you, love, each danger scorn,

Ah! how shall I secure

Your health—'mid toils which you were born

To sooth—but not endure:

A thousand perils I must view,

A thousand ills assail;

Nor must I tremble e'en for you,

Dear Nancy of the dale.

Dear Nancy, &c.

FLOWERS OF EDINBURGH

My love was once a bonny lad,

He was the flower of all his kin,

[Page] The absence of his bonny face

Has rent my tender heart in twain▪

I day nor night find no delight,

In silent tears I still complain;

And exclaim 'gainst those my rival foes,

That ha'e ta'en from me my darling swain.

Despair and anguish fills my breast,

Since I have lost my blooming rose;

I sigh and moan while others rest,

His absence yields me no repose.

To seek my love I'll range and rove,

Thro' ev'ry grove and distant plain;

Thus I'll ne'er cease, but spend my days,

To hear tidings from my darling swain.

There's naething strange in nature's change,

Since parents shew such cruelty;

They caus'd my love from me to range,

And knows not to what destiny.

The pretty kids and render lambs

May cease to sport upon the plain;

But I'll mourn and lament in deep discontent

The absence of my darling swain.

Kind Neptune, let me thee intreat,

To send a fair and pleasing gale;

Ye dolphins sweet, upon me wait,

And convey me on your tail;

Heavens bless my voyage with success,

While crossing of the raging main,

[Page] And send me safe o'er to that distant shore,

To meet my lovely darling swain.

All joys and mirth at our return

Shall then abound from Tweed to Tay:

The bells shall ring, and sweet birds sing,

To grace and crown out nuptial day.

Thus bless'd wi' charms in my love's arms,

My heart once I will regain;

Then I'll range no more to a distant shore,

But in love will enjoy my darling swain.

PLATO's ADVICE.

Says Plato, why should man be vain,

Since bounteous heav'n hath made him great?

Why looketh he with insolent disdain,

On those undeck'd with wealth or state!

Can costly robes or beds of down,

Or all the gems that deck the fair;

Can all the glories of a crown

Give health, or ease the brow of care?

The scepter'd king, the burthen'd slave,

The humble and the haughty die:

The rich the poor, the base, the brave,

In dust, without distinction lie:

Go search the tomb where monarchs rest,

Who once the greatest titles wore,

Of wealth and glory they're berest,

And all their honours are no more.

[Page]

So flies the meteor thro' the skies,

And spreads along a glided train;

When shot—'tis gone—its beauty dies—

Dissolves to common air again;

So 'tis with us, my jovial souls,

Let friendship reign while here we stay;

Let's crown our joys with flowing bowls.

When Jove commands we must obey.

THE DISCONSOLATE SAILOR.

When my money was gone that I gain'd in the wars,

And the world 'gan to frown on my fate;

What matter'd my zeal or my honoured scars,

When indifference stood at each gate.

The face that would smile when my purse was well lin'd,

Shew'd a different aspect to me;

And when that I cou'd nought but ingratitude find,

I hi'd once again to the sea.

I thought it unwise to repine at my lot,

Or to bear with cold looks on the shore;

So I pack'd up the trifling remains I'd got,

And a tri [...]te, alas! was my store.

A handkerchief held all the treasure I had,

Which over my shoulder I threw;

[Page] Away then I tradg'd with a heart rather sad,

To join with some jolly ship's crew.

The sea was less troubled by far than my mind,

For when the wide main I survey'd,

I could not help thinking the world was unkind,

And fortune a slippery jade.

And I vow'd if once more I could take her in tow,

I'd let the ungrateful one soe:

That the turbulent winds and the billows could show,

More kindness than they did to [...]me.

DANS VOTRE LIT.

Dans votre lit, my Fanny say,

When past the busy hours of day;

Stay and let me happy be,

To find you sometimes think on me.

Dans votre lit.

But whether absent or in view,

My thoughts are fondly bent on you;

When in my dreams I'm full of glee,

And in my arms embracing thee.

Dans votre lit.

But soon as dawn appears, my fair,

The blissful vision's lost in air;

[Page] Consent and you shall quickly set,

'Twill make it sweet reality.

Dans votre lit.

The soft confession make, my fair,

And with it glad my raptur'd ear;

And in return I'll swear to thee,

Ten thousand worlds I'd give to be

Dans votre lit.

THE JEW BROKER.

Ye jo [...]bers, underwriters, ye tribes of pen a [...] ink,

Wid my fal lal de ra, &c.

Who on the alley's gay parterre your tea and coffee drink,

Wid my fal lal de ra, &c.

Rattling up your yellow boys come hither at my call,

I'm buyer and I'm seller, and I can sa [...]ve you all,

Wid my fal lal de ra, &c.

Ye bulls, ye bears, ye lame ducks, and all the waddling crew,

If twas not for us smouch [...]rs, I don't know what you'd do;

If e'er you want shecurities, 'tis we that find good pail,

Our friends have got de tarnish—but den they shometimes [...]il.

Wid my fal, &c.

[Page]

If nobleman have lost race-horse, and all their money spent,

My heart it melts, I draw de pond, I lend for cent per cent;

But if a life you would insure dats old and crazy grown,

Do ways and means I'll let you know to get de business done.

Wid my fal, &c.

Ye captains and ye colonels, ye jointer'd widows all,

To little Isaac come when your stocks begins to fall;

I'll put you in a method once more to raise d [...] cash,

I'll buy into your sinking—funds—dat you may cut a flash.

Wid my fal, &c.

Ye parsons wid good livings, ye courtiers wid good place,

Advice I'll give you cra [...]is, and tink upon your case;

If dare ish poshibility, for you I'll raise de dust—

But den you must excuse me if I sarve myself de first.

Wid my fal, &c.

I give advice to every tribe, but physic and the law,

But they outwit de Jews themselves, for bills at sight they draw;

[Page] We, when we lend our monish, run some risk —tho' 'tis but small—

But they take all de monish, and run no risk at all.

Wid my fal, &c.

THE TINKER.

A tinker I am, my name's Natty Sam,

From morn to night I trudge it:

So low is my fate, my pers'nal estate

Lies all within my budget.

CHORUS.

Work for the tinker, ho! good wives,

For they are lads of mettle;

Twere well if you could 'mend your lives

As I can mend a kettle▪

The man of war, the man of the bar,

Physicians, priests, free-thinkers,

That rove up and down great London town,

What are they all? but tinkers.

Work for the tinker, &c.

Those among the great, who tinker the state,

And badger the minority;

Pray what's the end of their work, my friend?

But to rivet a good majority.

Work for the tinker, &c.

[Page]

This mends his name, that cobbles his fame▪

That tinkers his reputation;

And thus, had I time, I could prove in my [...]hime▪

Jolly tinkers of all the nation.

Work for the tinker, &c.

JACK IN HIS ELEMENT.

Bold Jack the Sailor here I come,

Pray how d'ye like my nib,

My trowsers wide, my trampers rum,

My nab, and flowing jib?

I sails the seas from end to end,

And leads a joyous life,

In ev'ry mess I find a friend,

in ev'ry port a wife.

I've heard them talk of constancy,

Of grief, and such like fun,

I've constant been to ten, cried I,

But never griev'd for one:

The flowing sails we tars unbend,

To lead a roving life,

In every mess we find a friend,

In every port a wife.

I've a spanking wife at Portsmouth-gates▪

A pigmy at Goree,

An orange-tawny up the Stairs,

A black at St. Lucie:

[Page] Thus whatsomdever course I bend,

I leads a jovial life,

In every mess I find a friend,

In every port a wife.

Will Gaft by death was ta'en aback,

I came to bring the news,

Poll wimper'd sore, but what did Jack?

Why, stood in William's shoes:

She [...]t, I chased, but in the end

She lov'd me as her life,

And so she got an honest friend,

And I a loving wife.

Thus be we sailors all the go,

On fortune's sea we ru [...],

We works, and loves, and fights the foe,

And drinks the generous bub:

Storms that the mast to pieces rend,

Can't shake our jovial life,

In every mess we find a friend,

In every port a wife.

WHEN THE FANCY STIRRING BOWL.

When the fancy stirring bowl

Wakes its world of pleasure,

Glowing visions gild my soul,

And life's an endless treasure;

[Page] Mem'ry decks my wasted heart,

Fresh with gay desires,

Rays divine my senses dart,

And kindling hope inspires.

Then who'd be grave,

When wine could save

The heaviest soul from sinking,

And magic grapes,

Give angel shapes,

To ev'ry girl we're drinking.

Here sweet benignity and love

Shed their influence round me,

Gather'd ills of life remove,

And leave me as they found me,

Tho' my head may swim, yet true

Still to nature's feeling;

Peace and beauty swim there too,

And rock me as I'm reeling.

Then who'd be grave, &c.

On youth's soft pillow tender truth

Her pensive lesson taught me,

Age soon mock'd the dream of youth;

And wisdom wak'd and caught me.

A bargain then with love I knock'd

To hold the pleasing gipsey,

Then wise to keep my bosom lock'd,

But turn the key when tipsey.

Then who'd be grave, &c.

When time assuag'd my heated heart

The [...]ray beard blind and simple,

[Page] Forgot to cool one little part

Just flush'd by Lucy's dimple.

That part's enough of beauty's [...]ype

To warm an honest fellow;

And tho' it touch me not when ripe▪

It melts still while I'm mellow▪

Then who'd be grave, &c.

I'D RATHER BE EXCUS'D.

Returning from the fair one eve,

Across yon verdant plain,

Young Harry said he'd see me home;

A tight, a comely swain.

He begg'd I would a fairing take,

And would not be refus'd;

Then ask'd a kiss, I blush'd and cry'd▪

I'd rather be excus'd.

You're coy, said he, my pretty maid,

I mean no harm I swear;

Long time I have in secret sigh'd

For you my charming fair:

But if my tenderness offend,

And if my love's refus'd,

I'll leave you—what, alone? cry'd I,

I'd rather be excus'd.

He press'd my hand, and on we walk'd,

He warmly urg'd his suit;

[Page] But still to all I said he was

Mo [...]t obstinately mute.

At length, got home, he angry cry'd▪

My fondness is abus'd;

Then die a maid—indeed, said I,

I'd rather be excus'd.

JOVIAL COMPANIONS.

Come, come, my jolly lads!

The wind's abaft;

Brisk gales our sails shall crowd:

Come bustle, bustle, bustle, boys,

Ha [...]l the boat;

The boatswain pipes aloud:

The ship's [...]nmoor'd;

All hands on board;

The rising gale

Fills every sail,

The ship's well mann'd and stor'd.

Then s [...]ing the [...]lowing bowl—

Fond hopes arise—

The girls we prize

Shall bless each jovial soul:

The cann boys bring—

We'll drink and sing,

While [...]oaming billows roll.

Tho' to the Spanish coast

We're bound to steer,

We'll still our rights maintain;

[Page] Then bear a hand, be steady, boys,

Soon we'll see

Old England once again:

From shore to shore

While cannons roar,

Our tars shall show

The haughty foe,

Britannia rules the main.

Then sling the flowing be [...], &c▪

DEATH OR LIBERTY.

Whilst happy in my native land,

I boast my country's charter;

I'll never basely lend my hand

Her libe [...]ies to barter.

The noble mind is not at all

By poverty degraded;

'Tis guilt alone can make us fall,

And well I am persuaded,

Each happy freeman's song shall be,

Give me death or liberty.

Give me death, &c.

Tho' small the pow'r which fortune grants▪

And few the gifts she sends us,

The lordly hireling often wants

That freedom which defends us;

By law secur'd from lawless strife,

Our house is our castellum;

Thus bless'd with all that's dear in life,

[Page] For lucre shall we sell 'em?

No!—ev'ry freeman's song shall be,

Give me death or liberty.

Give me death, &c.

SONG. DESERTER.

Somehow my spindle I mislaid,

And lost it underneath the grass;

Damon, advancing, bow'd his head,

And said, what seek you, pretty lass?

A little love but urg'd with care,

Oft leads a heart, and leads it far.

'Twas passing by yon spreading oak

T [...]t I my spindle lost just now▪

His [...]ife then kindly Damon took,

And from the t [...]e he cut a bow.

A little love, &c.

Thus did the youth his time employ,

While me he tenderly beheld;

He talk'd of love, I leap'd for joy,

For ah! my heart did fondly yield.

A little love, &c.

MA CHERE AMIE.

Ma chere amie, my charming fair,

Whose smile can banish ev'ry care;

[Page] In kind compassion smile [...]n me,

Whose only care, is love of thee.

Ma c [...]ere amie, ma chere amie, ma chere amie, ma chere amie.

Under sweet friendship's sacred name,

My bosom caught the tender flame;

May friendship in thy bosom be

Converted into love for me,

Ma chere amie, &c.

Together rea [...]'d, together grown,

O let us now unite in one!

Let pity soften thy decree,

I droop, dear maid! I die for thee▪

Ma chere amie, &c.

THE ROSE.

No flower that blows is like this rose,

Or scatters such perfume;

Upon my breast, ah! gently rest,

And ever, ever bloom!

Dear pledge, to prove a parent's love,

A pleasing gift thou art;

Come, sweetest flower, and from this hour

Live henceforth in my heart!

LOVE's A BUBBLE.

Love's a bubble, courting trouble,

Whilst we love, and love in vain;

[Page] When 'tis over, is the lover,

Now we're got him, worth the gain▪

Is love treasure? Is it pleasure?

That can pay whole years of care,

Is the blessing worth caressing?

Speak, ye swains, and own ye fair.

Kind ye're pleasing, coy we're teazing,

Love's a fond fatiguing chase:

Smiles deceive us, hopes relieve us,

Hearts our sport from place to place.

Cupid, smiling, life beguiling,

Tempts us with the playful toy;

Oft denying, oft complying,

Love's our torment and our joy.

THE HONEST SAILOR.

That girl, who fain wou'd chuse a mate,

Shou'd ne'er in fondness fail her;

May thank her lucky stars, if Fate

Shou'd splice her to a sailor.

He braves the storm, the battle's heat,

The yellow boys to nail her;

Diamonds, if diamonds she could eat,

Wou'd seek her honest sailor.

If she be true, sure of his heart,

She never need bewail her;

[Page] For tho' a thousand leagues apart,

Still constant is her sailor.

Tho' she be false, still he is kind,

And comes with smiles to hail her;

He trusting, as he trusts the wind,

Still [...]aithless to her sailor.

A butcher [...]an procure her prog;

Three-threads to drink, a taylor:

What's that to biscuit and to grog,

Procur'd her by her sailor.

She who would such a mate refuse,

The devil sure must all her;

Search round, and if you're wise, you'll chuse

To wed an honest sailor.

SONG.

You may talk of a brogue, and of Ireland (sweet nation)

Of bulls and of howls, and Palaver, commeca;

But, mon Dieu! it's no more to the French boderation,

Than Vin de Bourdeaux like to sweet Usquebaugh.

If I go back again, blood and 'ounds! how I'll wriggle,

And congè, and caper, and make the folks stare,

And instead of potatoes, how Shelah will giggle,

[Page] When I cries, Ma'am, hand me that sweet pomme de [...]erre.

With their petit Cha [...]son, Ca ira, Ca ira,

Malbrook, Mermington, and their dans votre lit,

By the pow'rs they're all nonsense & bodder, agrah! to our diddero, bubbero, whack, langolee.

Oh, mon jolly tight Shelah, ah! how could I scorn her?

When I lov'd her so dearly, ma foi, hubbaboo!

And go round the globe, ay, from corner to corner,

Fo [...] soup maigre, la dance, and for frogs and virtu.

And then to forsake magnifique Tippirary,

For pauvre Versailles, and its ca [...]e [...]ing throng;

And eat fricassees only fit for a fairy,

Instead of substantial beef, rotè de muton.

With their petit Chanson, &c.

Oh! I kissed a Grisette who holloed out ma si don [...],

And yet I consol'd her all night and all day;

To be sure I was not her sweet Irish Cupidon,

Her petit Mignon and mi Lor Anglois:

But when she found out sans six sous was poor Pat, Sir,

It was allez, miserable diable, John Bull;

So I e'en gave this bla [...]ying Frenchified cat, Sir,

Of good wholesome shele [...]ah, a complete stomach full.

With their petit Chanson, &c.

[Page]

SONG. CHELSEA PENSIONER

Sing the loves of John and Jean,

Sing the loves of Jean and John;

John for her would leave a queen,

Jean for him the noblest don.

She's his queen,

He's her don;

John loves Jean,

And Jean loves John.

Whate'er rejoices happy Jean

Is sure to burst the sides of John,

Does she for grief, look thin and lean,

He instantly is pale and wan:

Thin and lean,

Pale and wan,

John loves Jean

And Jean loves John.

'Twas the lily hand of Jean

Fill'd the glass of happy John:

And heav'ns! how joyful was she seen,

When he was for a licence gone!

Joyful seen,

They'll dance anon,

For John weds Jean,

And Jean weds John.

John has ta'en to wife his Jean,

Jean's become the spouse of John,

[Page] She no longer is his queen,

He no longer is her don.

No more queen,

No more don;

John hates Jean,

And Jean hates John.

Whatever 'tis that pleases Jean,

Is certain now to displease John;

With scolding they're grown thin and lean,

With spleen and spite thy're pale and wan.

Thin and lean,

Pale and wan,

John hates Jean,

And Jean hates John.

John prays heav'n to take his Jean,

Jean at the devil wishes John;

He'll dancing on her grave be seen,

She'll laugh when he is dead and gone.

They'll gay be seen,

Dead and gone,

For John hates Jean,

And Jean hates John.

SONG.

I sail'd in the good ship Kitty,

With a stiff blowing gale and rough sea,

Left Polly the lads call so pretty,

Safe here at anchor, yo yea, yo yea, yo yea, yo yea, yo yea.

[Page]

She lubber'd salt tears when she parted,

And cry'd, now be constant to me;

I told her not to be down hearted,

So up with the anchor yo yea.

When the wind whistled larboard and starboard,

And the storm came on weather and lee,

The hope I with her should be harbour'd,

Was my cable and anchor, yo yea.

And yet my boys, would you believe me,

I return'd with no rhino from sea;

My Polly would never receive me,

So again I heav'd anchor, yo yea.

TWEED SIDE.

What beauties does Flora disclose?

How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed?

Yet Mary's still sweeter than those;

Both nature and fancy exceed.

Nor daisy, nor sweet-blushing rose,

Nor all the gay flowers of the field,

Nor Tweed gliding gently thro' those

Such beauty and pleasure does yield.

The warblers are heard in the grove,

She linet, the lark, and the thrush,

The blackbird and sweet cooing dove,

With music enchant every bush.

[Page]

Come let us go forth to the mead,

Let us see how the primroses spring:

We'll lodge in some village on Tweed,

And love while the feather'd folks sing.

How does my love pass the long day;

Does Mary not tend a few sheep?

Do they never carelessly stray,

While happily she lies asleep!

Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest,

Kind nature indulging my bliss,

To relieve the soft pains of my breast,

I'd steal an ambrosial kiss.

'Tis she does the virgins excel,

No beauty with her may compare;

Love's graces around her do dwell,

She's fairest where thousands are fair.

Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray?

Oh tell me at noon where they seed;

Shall I seek them on sweet winding Tay,

Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed.

SONG. FRIENDLY TARS.

While up the shrouds the sailor goes,

Or ventures on the yard,

The landman▪ who no better knows,

Believes his lo [...] is hard.

But Jack with smiles, each danger meets,

Casts anchor, heaves the log,

[Page] Trims all the sails, belays the sheets,

And drinks his can of grog.

When mountains high the waves that swell

The vessel rudely bear,

Now sinking in a hollow dell,

Now quiv'ring in the air.

Bold Jack, &c.

When waves 'gainst rocks and quicksands roar,

You ne'er hear him repine,

Freezing near Greenland's icy shore,

Or burning near the line.

Bold Jack, &c.

If to engage they give the word,

To quarters all repair,

While splinter'd masts go by the board,

And shot sing thro' the air.

Bold Jack, &c.

SONG. ISLANDERS.

When Yanko, dear, fight far away,

Some token kind me send:

One branch of olive, for dat say

Me wish de battle end.

The poplar tremble while him go,

Say of dy life take care,

[Page] Me send no laural, for me know

Of dat he find no share.

De ivy say my heart be true,

Me droop, say willow tree,

De torn he say me sick for you,

De sun-flower, tink of me.

Till last me go weep wid de pine,

For fear poor Yanko dead;

He come, and I de myrtle twine,

In chaplet for him head.

SONG. ISLANDERS.

A bed of moss we'll straight prepare,

Where, near him gently creeping.

We'll pat his cheeks, and stroke his hair,

And watch him while he's sleeping.

Sweet flowers of every scent and hue,

Pinks, violets and roses,

And blooming hyacinths we'll strew,

As sweetly he reposes.

And we'll with fond emotion start,

And while, with admiration,

We softly feel his fluttering heart,

Partake its palpitation.

[Page]

THE VIRTUE OF DRUNKENNESS.

If the beauty of truth unadorned is seen best,

The man that is drunk of fair truth is the test;

For liquor man's natural temper assumes,

While every thing artful flies off with the fumes,

The vizor of life is pull'd off by the bowl,

And the face of a drunkard exhibits his soul.

Then beware all who are in rascality sunk,

You'll all be detected if once you get drunk.

If contempt of all danger true courage e'er gave

The man that is drunk as a lion is brave;

For like any Caesar, he'ell riot and storm,

And talk of great feats he's two weak to perform.

He'll utter big oaths, know not what to be at,

Thump his head with his fist, but there's nothing in that,

Then beware Braggadocias in cowardice sunk,

You'll all be detected if once you get drunk.

Come on let us drink then, right conscious the bowl,

In each rosy cheek tho' it light up the soul,

Can nothing of worldly deformity shew,

Nor prove that we ought but with honesty glow.

'Tis the ordeal of truth and of gen'rous delight,

Which to keep us all honest, we'll try ev'ry night.

Proving still by our acts in no meanness we're, sunk,

But true honest friends, whether sober or drunk.

[Page]

THE MERRY SAILOR.

How pleasant a sailor's life passes,

Who roams o'er the watterry main:

No treasure he ever amasses,

But cheerfully spends all his gain:

We're strangers to party and faction,

To honour and honesty true,

And would not commit a base action,

For power and profit in view.

CHORUS.

Then why should we quarrel for riches,

Or any such glittering toys?

A light heart and a thin pair of breeches,

Goes thro' the world my brave boys.

The world is a beautiful garden,

Enrich'd with the blessings of life;

The toiler with plenty rewarding,

But plenty too often breeds strife:

When terrible tempests assail us,

And mountainous billows affright,

No grandeur nor wealth can avail us,

But skilful industry steers right.

Then why, &c.

The courtier's more subject to dangers

Who rules at the helm of the state;

Than we, who're to politics strangers,

Escape the snare laid for the great:

The numerous blessings of nature,

[Page]

In various nations we try;

No mortals on earth can be greater▪

Who merrily live till we die.

Then why, &c.

THE PEDLER.

I am a jolly gay pedler,

Come here to sell my ware;

Yet tho' in all things I'm a meddler,

I meddle most with the fair.

When I shew my ribbands to misses,

Tho' copper and siller I gain;

Yet better I'm pleas'd with the blisses,

hat I cannot now explain.

I am a jolly gay pedlar, &c.

Fools say that this life is but sorrow,

And seem disinclind to be gay;

But why should we think of to-morrow,

When we may be happy to-day?

I rove round the world for my pleasure,

Resolv'd to take nothing amiss;

And think my x [...]istence a treasure,

When blest with the cup and the kiss.

They surely are thick heeded asses.

Who know that youth's gone in a crack,

Yet will not enjoy, as it passes,

The season that never comes back.

Let time jog on slower, or quicker,

[Page] Or whether we're silly, or wise;

We shall not be the worse for good liquor,

Or the smiles of a girl with black eyes.

SONG.

By rougery 'tis true,

I opolent grew,

Just like any other professional sinner;

An orphan, d'ye see,

Would just wash down my tea,

And a poor friendless widow would serve me for dinner.

I was to be sure,

Of the helpless and poor

A guardian appointed to manage the pelf;

And I manag,d it well,

But how—say you—tell?

Why let them all starve to take care of myself.

With these tricks I went on,

Till, faith, sir, anon,

A parcel of stupid mean spirited souls,

As they narrowly watch'd me,

Soon at my tricks catch'd me,

And, in their own words, haul'd me over the coals.

[Page]

In the pillory, that fate

For rougues soon or late,

I stood for the sport of a dissolute mob;

Till my neck master Ketch

Was so eagar to stretch,

That I gave up the thing as a dangerous job.

Now a wolf—from their dams

I steal plenty of lambs,

Pmper'd high, and well fed— [...]n insatiable glutton,

In much the same sphere

When a man, I move here,

Make and break laws at pleasure, and kill my own mu [...]ton.

Then since for their sport,

No one here moves the court,

Nor am I ameanable to an employer,

I shall for ever prefer,

With your leave, my good sir,

The life of a wolf to the life of a lawyer.

THE DUSTMAN.

I'm dashing Dick, the Dustman,

None my calling can degrade,

For I am not the first man

Who had driven a dirty trade.

[Page] Dust, ho! Dust, ho! I ring my bell and cries,

My tricks if you would find them,

Pretty early you must rise.

For watch me still howe'er you will,

I bears off many a prize,

And if I want to blind 'em,

I throws dust in their eyes.

Why what's your man of honour.

And what's your madam fame?

A jilt when he has won her,

That proves a dirty name.

Victory! Victory! he draws his sword and cries,

In the midst of slaughter find him,

See where the savage flies;

He spares no life,

Nor friends nor wife,

Where'er he finds a prize,

Till death at last to find him,

Throws dust into his eyes.

The lawyer, the physician,

And e'en the learned divine,

Each drives in his condition,

As black a trade as mine.

Fees, ho! Fees, ho! each draws his purse and cries,

Their conseience can't bend 'm,

The wretched patient dies;

All [...]ra [...]ers fail.

[Page] And in a jail

The ruin'd client lies,

Unless you throw to blind 'em

Gold dust into their eyes.

And so, d'ye see, men bustle,

To see who's dirty first;

And one another hustle,

A [...]d all to raise the dust.

[...]ust, ho! Dust, ho! each draws his purse and cries,

And whom old Nick behind him,

Will take to mount up tries,

All scrabling go,

From friend to foe,

To bear away some prize;

And each throws dust to blind him,

Plump in his neighbour's eyes.

THE SAILOR's FAREWELL.

The top sails shiver in the wind,

The ship she casts to sea,

But yet my soul, my heart my mind,

Are Mary moor'd with thee;

For tho' thy sailor's bound [...]far,

Still love shall be his leading star.

Should landsmen flatter when we're sail'd,

O doubt their artful tales;

No gallant sailor ever fail'd,

[Page] If love breathe constant gales;

Thou art the compass of my soul,

Which steers my heart from pole to pole.

Syrens in every port we meet,

More fell than rocks and waves;

But such as grace the British fleet,

Are lovers and not slaves;

No soes our courage shall subdue,

Altho' we've left our hearts with you.

These are our cares—but if you're kind,

We'll scorn the dashing main,

The rocks, the billows, and the wind,

The power of France and Spain:

Now England's glory rests with you,

Our sails are full—sweet girls, adieu!

SEQUEL TO THE SAILOR's FAREWELL.

No topsail shivers in the wind,

Our ship's safe moor'd in port

In Mary's arms my heart reclin'd,

No more of waves the sport;

And now to her return'd from far,

Alone she prov'd my leading star.

Tho' landsmen flatter'd when I sail'd,

And artful tales renew,

But still my Mary never fail'd,

[Page] To keep my love in view,

From trying gales and bloody war,

She still has prov'd my leading star.

Tho' Syrens strove to win my heart,

From port to port the same,

In vain my thoughts take Mary's part,

And dwell upon her name,

No sounds have charms but her dear voice,

Her constant sailor's lovely choice.

But now return'd and Mary kind

To care we'll bid adieu,

And thou my dear shall steer my mind.

All's joy when blest with you,

Dear idol of thy sailor's heart,

Let wedlock join us ne'er to part,

DUET. INKLE AND YARICO

Inkle

O say simple maid, have you form'd any notion

Of all the rude dangers in crossing the ocean?

When winds whistle shrilly, ah! won't they remin'd you

To sigh with regret for the grot left behind you?

[Page]Yarico.

Ah no I could follow and sail the world over,

Nor think of my grot, when I look at my lover!

The winds which blow round us, your arms for my pollow.

Will lull us to sleep, whilst we're rock'd by each billow.

Inkle.

"Then say, lovely lass, what if haply esp [...] ing

A rich gallant vessel with gay colours flying?

Yaric [...]

I'll journey with thee, love, to where the land narrows,

And fling all my cares at my back with my arrows."

Both.

O say then, my true love we never will sunder,

Nor shrink from the tempest, nor dread the big thunder,

Whilst constant, we'll laugh at all changes of weather,

And journey all over the world both together.

[Page]

THE END OF A SONG.

Lawyers pay you with words, and fine ladies with vapours,

Your parsons with preaching, and dancers with capers:

Soldiers pay you with courage, and some with their lives;

Some men with their fortune [...],—and some with their wives!

Some with fame, some with conscience, and many throw both in:

Physicians with Latin, and great men with nothing,

I, not to be [...]ingular in such a throng,

For your kindness pay you with the end of a song.

But pleading, engrossing, declaring, and vap|'ring,

And fighting, and hect'ring, and dancing, and cap'ring;

And preaching and swearing, and bullying, prescribing▪

And coaxing, and wheedling, and feeing, and bribing;

And every professional art of hum-drumming,

Are clearly of some sort of species of humming:

[Page] Humming! nay take me with you, the term's very strong.

But I only meant—humming the end of a song.

For all who thus kindly may pay me attention,

I would I had language of some new invention

My thanks to return; for where's the expression

Can describe of your kindness the greatful impression?

May ev'ry desire of your heart be proptious,

Be lasting success the result of your wishes;

Unimpair'd be your joys, your lives happy and long,—

And now—I am come to the end of my song.

SONG. ROSINA.

Belville.

Her mouth, which a smile,

Devoid of all guile,

Half opens to view,

Is the bud of the rose

In the morning that blows,

Impearl'd with the dew.

More fragrant her breath

Than the flow'r scented heath

[Page] At the dawning of the day,

The hawthorn in bloom,

The lilly's persume,

Or the blossoms of May.

SONG. ROSINA.

William.

When bidden to the wake or fair,

The joys of each free hearted swain,

'Till Phoebe promis'd to be there,

I loiter'd last of all the train,

If chance some fairing caught my eye,—

The ribbon gay, or silken glove!

With eager haste I ran to buy,

For what is gold compar'd to love?

My posy on her bosom plac'd;

Could Harry's sweeter scents exhale;

Her auburn looks my ribbon grac'd,

And flutter'd in the wanton gale.

With scorn she hears me now complain,

Nor can my rustic presents move:

Her heart prefers a richer swain,

And gold, alas! has banish'd love.

ANNA's URN.

Incompass'd in an angel's frame,

An angel's virtues lay;

[Page] Too soon did heav'n assert the claim,

And call'd its own away;

And call'd its own away.

My Anna's worth, my Anna's charms,

Must never more return,

Must never more return,

What now shall fill those widow'd arms,

Ah! me, Ah! me, Ah! me, my Anna's urn.

SONG.

Tune, Ye Gods, ye gave to me a Wise.

Our fathers left a race of Kings,

And we were glad to find them;

O how we lov'd the pretty things!

And laugh'd and ran behind them.

We la [...]d our necks beneath their feet,

So humble and so lowly;

And they rode over as we mete,

Still pleas'd to see our folly.

But warmly now our hearts incline,

To rule the land without them;

The MOULDY PARCHMENTS we resign,

And from the globe we'll rout e'm.

ODE TO THE DRUM.

I hate that dum's discordant sound,

Parading round, and round, and round;

[Page] To thoughtless youth it pleasure yields,

And lures from cities and from fields.

To sell their liberty for chains

Of tawdry lace, and glitt'ring arms,

And when ambition's voice commands▪

To march and fight, and fall in foreign lands.

I hate that drum's discordant sound,

Parading round, and round, and round;

To me it talks of ravag'd plains,

And burning towns and ruin'd swains,

And mangled limbs and dying groans,

And widow's teas, and orphan's moans,

And all that misery's hand bestows,

To swell the catalogue of human woes.

SONG.

Tune, Highland Laddie.

Proud monarchs rais'd to wear a crown,

Forget the power by which they hold it;

They tread the passive subject down,

And thirst for vengeance when they're told it

CHORUS.

But, no more with blind submission—

We'll read them o'er a new commission;

The Peoples voice

Shall be their cho [...]e,

And tread beneath their feet—oppression.

[Page]

And men forget that kings of old,

Depending on their free election,

Durst at their peril be so bold,

To rule but as they had direction.

But, no more, &c.

Or, if the king a SOT betrays,

Or, if humane his disposition;

Some minister assumes and sways,

And robs to feed his own ambition.

But, no more, &c.

Thus kings and ministers succeed,

In either still the tyrant reigning;

They suck the poor and as they feed,

Forbid the sufferer's complaining,

CHORUS.

But, no more with blind submission;

We'll read them o'er a new commission—

The people's voice

Shall be their choice,

And tread beneath their feet—oppression.

BLOW HIGH, BLOW LOW.

Blow high, blow low, let tempests tear the mainmast by the board,

My heart with thoughts of thee my dear and love well stor'd;

Shall brave all danger, scorn all fear,

The roaring winds, the raging sea;

[Page] In hopes on shore, to be once more,

Safe moor'd with thee.

Blow high, &c.

Aloft, while mountains high we go,

The whistl'ing wind that scuds along;

And the surges roaring from below,

Shall my signal be to think on thee,

And this shall be my song,

Blow high, &c.

And on that night when all the crew,

The memory of their former lives,

O'er flowing canns of slip renew,

And drink, their sweet-hearts and their wives;

I'll heave a [...]gh, and think on thee,

The burthen of my song shall be,

Blow high, &c.

THE NEGLECTED TAR.

I sing the British seaman's praise,

A theme renown'd in story,

It will deserve more polish'd lays;

Oh! 'tis your boast and glory.

When mad-brain'd war spreads death around,

By them you are protected;

But, when in peace the nation's found,

These bulwarks are neglected.

Then, oh! protect the hardy tar,

Be mindful of his merit.

[Page] And when again you're plung'd in war,

He'll shew hi [...] daring spirit.

When thickest darkness covers all,

Far on the trackless ocean;

When lightnings dart, when thunders roll,

And all is wild commotion:

When o'er the bark the white top'd waves,

With boist'rous sweep are rolling,

Yet coolly still, the whole he braves,

Untam'd amidst the howling.

Then, oh! protect, &c.

When deep immers'd in sulph'rous smoke,

He feels a glowing pleasure;

He loads his gun, he cracks his joke,

Elated beyond measure.

Though fore and aft the blood-stain'd deck,

Should lifeless trunks appear;

Or should the vessel float a wreck,

The sailor knows no fear.

Then, oh! protect, &c.

When long becalm'd, on Southern brine,

Where scorching beams assail him;

When all the canvas hangs supine,

And food and water fail him;

Then oft he dreams of Britain's shore,

Where plenty still is reigning;

They call the watch, his rapture's o'er,

He sighs, but scorns complaining▪

Then, oh! protect, &c.

[Page]

Or burning on this noxious coast,

Where death so oft befriends him,

Or pinch'd by hoary Greenlands frost,

True courage still attends him:

No clime can this eradicate,

He glories in annoyance;

He fearless braves the storms of fate,

And bids grim death defiance.

Then, oh! protect, &c.

Why should the man who knows no fear,

In peace be then neglected,

Behold him move along the pier,

Pale, meagre, and dejected!

Behold him begging for employ;

Behold him disregarded;

Then view the anguish in his eye,

And say, are tars rewarded?

Then, oh! protect, &c.

To them your dearest rights you owe,

In peace then would you starve them?

What say ye, Britain's sons?—Oh! no.

Protect them, and preserve them.

Shield them from poverty, and pain,

'Tis policy to do it;

Or, when grim war shall come again,

Oh, Britons, ye may rue it!

Then, oh! protect, &c.

[Page]

FAVOURITE INDIAN DEATH SONG.

The sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day,

But glory remains when their lights fade away;

Begin ye tormentors, your threats are in vain,

For the son of AL [...]NOMOOK shall never complain.

Remember the arrows he shot from his bow;

Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low:

Why so slow? Do you wait 'till I shrink from my pain?

No—the son of ALKNOMOOK shall never complain.

Remember the wood—where in ambush we lay,

And the scalps which we bore from your nation away:

Now the flame rises fast! you exult in my pain;

But the son of ALKNOMOOK shall never complain.

I go to the land where my father is gone:

His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son:

Death comes like a friend,—he relieves me from pain;

And the son of ALKNOMOOK has scorn'd to complain.

[Page]

SONG.

When the chill Sirocco blows,

And winter tells a heavy tale;

When 'pyes and daws, and rooks and crows,

Do fit and curse the frost and snows.

Then give me ale!

Stout brown ale, nut brown-ale,—

O give me nut brown ale.

Ale in a Saxon rumkin then,

Such as will make a Grimalkin prate,

Bids valour burgeon in all men;

Quickens the poet's wit and pen;

Despises fate—

Old brown ale, nut-brown ale,

O give me stout brown ale.

Ale that the plowman's heart up keeps,

And equals it to tyrant's thrones,

That wipes the eye which over weeps,

And lulls in sweet and dainty sleeps

The wearied bones.

Old brown ale, nut brown ale—

O give me stout brown ale.

SONG.

When Jove was resolv'd to create the round earth,

He subpoena'd the virtues divine,—

[Page] Young Bacchus he sat precedentum of mirth,

And the toast was "wit, women, and wine."

The sentiment tickl'd the ear of each god—

Appollo he wink'd at the Nine;

And Venus gave Mars, too, a sly wanton nod,

When she drank to wit, women, and wine.

Old Jove shook his sides, and the cup put around,

While Juno, for once look'd divine;

These blessings, says he, shall on earth now abound,

And the toast is wit, women, and wine.

These are joys, worthy gods, which to mortals are given,

Says Momus who will not repine;

For what's worth out notice, pray tell me in heav'n,

If man have wit, women, and wine?

This joke you'll repent, I'll lay fifty to seven,

Such a [...]action no power can decline;

Old Jove by yourself you will keep house in heav'n,

For w [...]'ll follow wit, women, and wine.

Thou'rt right, says old Jove, let us hence to the earth,

Men and gods think variety fine;

[Page] Who'd stay in the clouds, when good-nature and mirth,

Are be [...]y with wit, women, and wine.

WHEN I WAS A YOUNKER.

When I was a younker, and liv'd with my dad,

The neighbours all thought me a smart little lad;

My mammy she call'd me a white headed boy,

Because with the girls I liked to toy.

There was Ciss,

Priss,

Letty,

and Betty,

And Doll,

With Meg, Peg, Jenny and Winny and Moll;

I flatter their chatter so sprightly and gay;

I rumble 'em, tumble 'em; that's my way.

One fine frosty morning a-going to school,

Young Moggy I met, and she call'd me a fool:

Her mouth was my primmer, a lesson I took;

I swore it was pretty and kiss'd the book.

But school,

Fool,

Primmer,

and Trimmer,

and Birch,

And boys for the girls that I've left in the lurch.

I flatter, &c.

[Page]

'Tis very well known I can dance a good jig;

And at cudgels from Robin I won a fat Pig:

I wrestle a fall, and a bar I can fling.

And when o'er a flaggon, can sweetly sing.

But Pig,

jig,

Wicket,

and Cricket,

And Ball.

I'd give up to wrestle with Moggy of all.

I flatter, &c.

TWIGGLE AND A FRIZ.

London town is just like a barber's shop;

But by the Lord Harry, 'tis wondrous big!

There the painted doll, and the powder'd fop,

And many a blocknead wears a wig.

And I tickled each phiz,

With a twiggle and a friz;

With a twiggle, twiggle, twiggle and a frizzle,

With a twiggle, twiggle, twiggle,

And a frizzle, frizzle, frizzle.

And I tickled each phiz,

With a twiggle and a friz.

A captain of horse I went to shave.

O, damme! says he, with a martial frown;

I pois'd my rasor like a barber brave;

I took him by the nose; he knock's me down

But I tickled, &c.

[Page]

I next went to dress up a fine gallant Miss;

Down the lady fits and her bosom bares;

Cupid or the devil made me sieze a kiss;

But ere my iron cool'd I was kick'd down stairs.

But I tickled, &c.

I went to dress a Lawyer, O rare sport!

Who had a false oath that day for to swear.

By my skill sore trouble I spar'd the court;

For my iron burnt Six-and-eight-pence's ear.

So I tickled, &c.

I went for to dress up an old maid's hair,

Wrinkl'd and bald as a scalded pig;

As she led the dance down with a swimming ai [...]

The poor old lady dropp'd her wig.

So I tickled, &c.

SONG.

How blithe was I each morn to see

My swain come o'er the hill!

He leap'd the brook and flew to me;

I met him with good will.

Oh! the broom, the bonny broom,

Where lost was my repose;

I wish I were with my dear swain,

With his pipe and my ewes.

[Page]

I neither wanted ewe nor lamb,

When his flock, near me lay;

He gather'd in my sheep at night,

And eheer'd me all the day.

Oh! the broom, &c.

Me tun'd his pipe and reed so sweet,

The birds stood list'ning by;

The fleecy flock stood still and gaz'd,

Charm'd with his melody.

Oh! the broom, &c.

While thus we spent our time, by turns,

Betwixt our flooks and play,

I envy'd not the fairest dame,

Tho' ere so rich and gay.

Oh! the broom, &c.

He did oblige me every hour:

Cou'd I but faithful be?

He stole my heart, could I refuse

Whate'er he ask'd of me?

Oh! the broom, &c.

Hard fate! that I must banish'd be,

Gang heavily and mourn,

Because I lov'd the kindest swain,

That ever yet was born,

Oh! the broom, &c.

[Page]

SONG. DUENNA,

Adieu, thou dreary pile! where never dies

The sullen echo of repentant sighs!

Ye sister mourners of each lonely cell,

Inur'd by hymns and sorrows, fare-you-well!

For happier scenes, I fly this darksome grove.

—To saints a prison, but a tomb of love!

SONG.

When little on the village green

We play'd, I learn'd to love her,

She seem'd to me some fairy queen,

So light tripp'd Patty Clover,

With every simple childish art

I try'd each day to move her;

The cherry pluck d the bleeding heart,

To give to patty Clover.

The fairest flow'ts to deck her breast,

I chose—an infant lover;

I stole the goldfinch from its nest,

To give to Patty Clover,

SONG. ROSINA.

Ere bright Rosina met my eyes

How peaceful pass'd the joyous day!

[Page] In rural sport I gain'd the prize,

Each virgin listen'd to my lay.

But now no more I touch the lyre,

No more the rustic sports can please;

I live the slave of fond desire,

Lost to myself, to mirth, and ease.

The tree that, in a happier hour,

Its boughs extended o'er the plain;

When blasted by the lightning's pow'r,

Nor charm's the eye, nor shades the swain.

SWEET POLL OF PLYMOUTH.

Sweet poll of Plymouth was my dear,

When forc'd from her to go;—

Adown her cheeks rain'd many a tear,

My heart was fraught with woe.—

Our anchor weigh'd, for sea we stood,

The land we left behind;

Her tears then swell'd the briny flood,

My sighs increas'd the wind.

We plow'd the deep, and now between

Us lay the ocean wide;

For five long years I had not seen

My sweet, my bonny bride.

That time I sail'd the world around,

All for my true love's sake;

[Page] But press'd, as we were homeward bound,

I thought my heart would break.

The press-gang bold I ask'd in vain

To let me once on shore:

I long'd to see my poll again,

But saw my Poll no more.

And have they torn my love away!

And is he gone!—she cry'd:

My Polly—sweetest flow'r of May,

She languish'd droop'd, and dy'd.

SEQUEL TO SWEET POLL OF PLYMOUTH.

When Edward first heard Poll of Plymouth was dead,

The functions of life made a pause;

His piteous eyes stood aghast in his head,

And his ship-mates enquired the cause.

He stood for a while, then address'd them all round,

With his hands closely prest to his heart:

Within this sad letter at once I have found

The sceptre of death and his dart.

It tells me my sweet Poll of Plymouth is dead,

My joy and my only delight;

[Page] When I was torn from her she took to her bed,

And sighing, resign'd her dear life!

He fancy'd he saw his dear Poll in the clouds,

Oh wait for poor Edward he cries:

And wast as he fancy'd he ran up the shrouds,

And eagerness flash'd in his eyes.

He call'd to all hands, then gave a loud shriek,

And now quite distracted he raves;

Do not you see that my heart's sprung a leak?

Then threw himself into the waves.

All hands were employ'd to prevent his sad fate;

The long boat was launch'd out in vain;

They drag'd him on shore, but alas! 'twas too late;

For he never once breathed again!

MY AIN KIND DEARY O.

Will ye gang o're the Iee-rig,

My ain kind deary O!

And cuddle there so kindly

Wi' me, my kind deary O!

[Page]

At [...]hornie dike, and birken tree,

We'll daff and ne'er be weary O!

They'll scug ill een frae you and me,

Mine ain kind deary O!

Nae herds wi' kent or cooly there,

Shall ever come to fear ye O:

But lav'rocks whistling in the air,

Shall woo like me their deary O!

While others herd their lambs and ewes,

And toil for warld's gear my jo,

Upon the lee my pleasure grows,

Wi' you my kind deary O!

PRAISE OF LOVE.

Never 'till now I knew love's smart,

Guess who it was that stole my heart?

'Twas only you, if you'll believe me.

'Twas only you, &c.

Since that I've felt love's fatal power,

Heavy has pass'd each anxious hour,

If not with you, if you'll believe me.

If not with you, &c.

Honour and wealth no joys can bring,

Nor I be happy though a king;

[Page] If not with you, if you'll believe me,

If not with you, &c.

When from this world I'm call'd away,

For you alone I'd wish to stay;

For you alone, if you'll believe me.

For you alone, &c.

'Grave on my tomb where'er I'm laid,

Here lies one who lov'd but one maid;

That's only you, if you'll believe.

That's only you, &c.

FINIS.

Information about this book

Title statement

Social harmony; or, The cheerful songster's companion. [Six lines of verse]

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI :

Date

2011-05.

ID [DLPS]

N22372

ID [TCP]

N22372

ID [STC]

Evans 29541

ID [NOTIS]

APX9876

ID [IMAGE-SET]

29541

ID [EVANS-CITATION]

99026884

Availability

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online 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.

Series

Early American Imprints, 1639-1800 ; no. 29541.

Notes

(Evans-TCP ; no. N22372)

Transcribed from: (Readex Archive of Americana ; Early American Imprints, series I ; image set 29541)

Images scanned from Readex microprint and microform: (Early American imprints. First series ; no. 29541)

Source

— Social harmony; or, The cheerful songster's companion. [Six lines of verse],

Extent

108 p. ; 13 cm. (12mo)

Printed by Samuel Campbell, no. 124, Pearl-Street.,. New-York: :: M,DCC,XCV. [1795].

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