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NAUTICAL SONGSTER OR SEAMANS COMPANION.
TO ENCREASE THE JOYS OF SATURDAY NIGHT: A COLLECTION OF THE NEWEST AND MOST APPROVED SONGS Interspersed with many Originals.
BALTIMORE: Printed for HENRY S. KEATINGE 1798.
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CONTENTS.
- A sailor on the top-mast. 52
- A sailor and an honest heart 55
- Adieu my gallant sailor 56
- Bold Jack the sailor here I come 28
- Cold blew the wind, no gleam of light, 14
- Come all hands ahoy to the anchor 11
- Good People all attend to me 38
- How blest the life a sailor leads 5
- How imperfect is expression 60
- Her mouth with a smile, devoid of all guile 82
- Jove's a god of ten thousand 64
- In storms when clouds obscure the sky 24
- I sail'd from the downs in the Nancy 31
- If a sailor would not like a lubber appear 11
- Luff, luff my lads, the gale increases 63
- My temples with clusters of grapes I'll entwine 31
- My heart's soft emotions admit no disguise 59
- Spanking Jack was so comely, so pleasant, so jolly 37
- Sweet Poll of Plymouth was my dear 41
- Sweet is the ship that under sail 44
- Soft zephyr on thy balmy wing 21
- The sea was calm, the sky serene 42
- [Page 4]The turban'd Turk who scorns the world 46
- 'Twas post meredian, half past four 49
- To distant shores the breezy wind 51
- 'Tis said we vent'rous die hard 61
- The wandering sailor ploughs the main 33
- The patriot exil'd far from home ibid
- 'Twas Saturday-night, the twinkling stars 53
- The billet doux ob! didst thou bear 16
- Tho' winter spreads his drear domain 9
- The Yarmouth roads are right a head 6
- Tho' Bacchus may boast of his care killing bowl 17
- The breeze was fresh, the ship in stays 25
- When seated with Sall, all my mess mates around 43
- When the anchor's weighed, and the ship's unmoor'd 47
- When thirst of gold enslaves the mind 58
- Whither my love, ah! whither art thou gone 18
- What virgin or shepherd in valley or grove 29
- When fair Susan I left with a heart full of woe 22
- When I had scarcely told sixteen 23
- When gen'rous wine expands the soul 72
- Ye vile swinish herd in the sly of taxation 35
- Ye gents give ear to me I pray 19
- Ye ling'ring winds that feebly blow 8
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NAUTICAL SONGSTER
America, Commerce, &c.
HOW blest the life a sailor leads,
From clime to clime still ranging;
For as the calm the storm succeeds,
The scene delights by changing.
Tho' tempests howl along the main,
Some objects will remind us,
And cheer with hope to meet again
The friends we left behind us.
Then under full sail we laugh at the gale,
And the landsmen look pale, never heed them:
But toss of the glass to a favorite lass,
To America, Commerce, and Freedom.
But when arriv'd in sight of land,
Or safe in port rejoicing;
Our ship we moor, our sails we hand,
Whilst out the boat is hoisting;
With cheerful hearts the shore we reach,
Our friends delighted greet us;
And tripping lightly o'er the beach,
The pretty lasses meet us.
When the full-flowing bowl enlivens the soul,
To foot it we merrily lead them,
And each bonny lass will drink off her glass
To America, Commerce and Freedom.
[Page 6]
Our prizes sold, the chink we share,
And gladly we receiv it;
And when we meet a brother Tar,
That wants, we freely give it:
No free-born sailor yet had store,
But cheerfully would lend it,
And when 'tis gone—to sea for more,
We earn it but to spend it.
Then drink round my boys, 'tis the first of our joys
To relieve the distress'd, clothe and feed them;
'Tis a duty we share with the brave and the fair,
In this land of Commerce and Freedom.
TACK and HALF TACK.
THE Yarmouth roads are right a-head,
The crew with ardour burning;
Jack sings out, as he heaves the lead,
On tack and half tack turning;
By the deep eleven:
Lash'd in the chain the line he coils,
Then round his head 'tis swinging;
And thus to make the land he toils,
In numbers quaintly singing,
By the mark seven:
And now, lest we run plump ashore,
He heaves the lead and sings once more,
Quarter less four.
[Page 7]
About ship lads, tumble up there—can't you see?
Stand by—well—hark, hark, the helm's a-lee—
Here she comes, up tacks and sheets, hawl mainsail —hawl, hawl, off hawl:
And as the long lost shore we view,
Exulting shout the happy crew,
Each singing as the sail he furls,
Hey for the fiddle and the girls.
Hey for the fiddle, &c.
The next tack we run out to sea,
Old England's shore appearing;
Again we tack, and Jack with glee,
Sings out, as land we're nearing,
And a half eleven;
And as they name some beauty near,
To tars of bliss the summit,
Jack joins the jest, the jibe, the jeer,
And heaves the ponderous plummit,
By the mark seven.
And now while dang'rous breakers roar,
Jack cries, lest we run plump ashore,
Quarter less four.
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[...]us tars at sea, like swabs at home,
By tack and tack are bias'd;
The farthest way about we roam,
To bring us home the nighest,
By the deep eleven:
For one tack more, and 'fore the wind,
Shall we, in a few glasses,
Now make the land, both true and kind,
To find our friends and lasses,
By the mark seven:
Then heave the lead, my lads, once more,
Soon shall we gaily tread the shore,
And a half four.
She dropt a tear, and cried "Be true."
YE ling'ring winds that feebly blow,
Why thus impede my way?
Why moves the lazy ship so slow,
When Mary mourns my stay?
For when she bade me last adieu,
She dropt a tear and cried, "be true."
When as the midnight watch I keep
I view the sparkling sea,
While round my shipmates careless sleep,
[Page 9]I fondly think on thee;
Remembrance paints the last adieu,
When Mary wept, and cried "be true."
Tho' I be distant as the Poll,
Tho' furious tempests foam;
Tho' billows mount, the thunders roll,
No distance, time, or storm,
The scene can banish from my view,
When Mary wept and cried "be true."
Oft up the shrouds my steps are borne,
I take my airy stand,
And oft my longing eyes I turn,
And look in vain for land:
Dejected I rejoin the crew,
Yet fondly hope my Mary's true.
Come then ye briskly pleasing gales,
For once auspicious prove;
Come swell the bosoms of my sails,
And waft me to my love.
Moor'd in her arms, to toils adieu,
If still I find my Mary true.
THE INVITATION. Tune—"In storms when clouds obscure the sky."
THO' winter spreads his drear domain,
And whirl-winds howl o'er ev'ry plain,
Tho' snows descend in northern storms,
[Page 10]The thought of Bet my bosom warms;
Let tempests roll
From pole to pole,
And wild tornadoes threat;
Blest with thy love,
I'll chearly rove,
And think on thee, my Bet.
Then haste, Eliza, to my cot,
Where Winter's frowns shall be forgot;
Thy presence makes each season gay,
And stern December sweet as May.
Come then, my dear,
Disperse thy fear,
No dangers here beset;
As swift as thought
The hours will sport,
While blest with thee, my Bet.
And when the Spring new paints the mead,
To thee I'll tune my oaten reed,
Or lead thee to yon silent grove,
Sweet harbor of content and love:
There b [...]gth and gay,
I'll bless the day,
When first my love I met;
I'll laugh at pain,
Nor e'er again
Will part with thee, my Bet.
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SOUNDING THE BOWL.
IF a sailor would not like a lubber appear,
He must very well know how to hand, reef, and steer
But a better manoeuvre 'mongst seamen are found,
'Tis the tight little maxim to know how to sound;
Which a sailor should learn, from a bay to a shoal,
But the best kind of sounding is sounding the bowl.
I've sounded ashore, and I've sounded at sea,
I've sounded a-weather, I've sounded a-lee;
I've sounded my quine at the rendezvous house,
And I've sounded my purse, without finding a souse;
What then, we've a brother in each honest soul,
And sailors can ne'er want for sounding the bowl.
All men try for sounding, wherever they steer,
Your Nabobs for soundings try hard in Cape Clear;
And there is not a soul, from the Devil to the Pope,
That could live but for sounding the Cape of Good-Hope;
Nor fear then, nor danger, our hearts shall controul,
Tho' at sea we're in soundings, while sounding the bowl.
JACK AT THE WINDLASS.
COME all hands ahoy to the anchor,
From our friends and relations to go;
Poll blubbers and cries, devil thank her,
[Page 12]She'll soon take another in tow;
This breeze, like the old one, will kick us,
About on the boisterous main,
And one day, if death should not trick us,
Perhaps we may come back again.
With a will ho, then pull away, jolly boys,
At the mercy of fortune we go,
We're in for't then damme, what folly boys,
For to be down-hearted, yo ho!
Our boatswain takes care of the rigging,
More specially when he gets drunk,
The bobstays supplies him with swigging,
He the cable cuts up for old junk;
The studding-sail serves for his hammock,
With the clue-lines he bought him his call,
While ensigns and jacks, in a mammoc,
He sold to buy trinkets for Poll.
With a will ho, &c.
Of the purser, this here is the maxim,
Slops, grog, and provision he sacks;
How he'd look if you was but to ax him,
With the captain's clerk who 'tis that goes snacks;
Oh, he'd find it another guess story—
That would bring his bare back to the cat,
If his admiral's honor and glory
Was only just told about that.
With a will ho, &c.
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Our chaplain's both holy and godly,
And sets us for heaven agog;
Yet to my mind he looks rather odly,
When he's swearing and drinking of grog;
When he took on his knees Betty Bowser,
And talk'd of her beauty and charms,
Cry'd I, which is the way to heav'n now sir?
Why you dog, cried the chaplain, her arms.
With a will ho, &c.
The gunner's a devil of a bubber,
The carfindo can't fish a mast,
The surgeon's a lazy land lubber,
The master can't steer if he's ask'd;
The lieutenants, conceit are all wrapt in,
The mates hardly merit their flip;
Nor is there a swab but the captain,
Knows the stem from the stern of the ship,
With a will ho, &c.
Now fore and aft having abus'd them,
Just but for my fancy and gig,
Could I find any one that ill us'd them,
Dam'me but I'd tickle his wig.
Jack never was known for a railer,
'Twas fun ev'ry word that I spoke;
And the sign of a true-hearted sailor,
Is to give and to take a good joke.
With a will ho, &c.
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SWEET ELLEN, SORROW'S CHILD.
COLD blew the wind, no gleam of light,
When Ellen left her home,
And brav'd the horrors of the night,
O'er dreary wilds to roam:
The lovely maid, had late been gay,
When hope and pleasure smil'd;
But now, alas! to grief a prey
Was Ellen, sorrow's child.
She long was William's promis'd bride,
But ah! how sad a doom:
The gentle youth, in beauty's pride,
Was summon'd to the tomb!
No more those joys shall Ellen prove,
Which many an hour beguil'd,
From morn to eve she mourns her love,
Sweet Ellen, sorrow's child.
With fault'ring step, away she hies,
O'er William's grave to weep,
For Ellen, there, with tears and sighs,
Her watch would often keep;
[Page 15]The pitying angel saw her woe,
And came with aspect mild,
Thy tears shall now no longer flow,
Sweet Ellen, sorrows child.
Thy plaintive notes were heard above,
Where thou shalt soon find rest,
Again thou shalt behold thy love,
And be forever blest:
Ah! can such bliss be mine, she cry'd,
With voice and looks so wild;
Then sunk upon the earth and dy'd—
Sweet Ellen, sorrow's child!
THE BUD OF THE ROSE.
HER mouth, with a smile,
Devoid of all guile,
Half open to view
Is the bud of the rose,
In the morning that blows,
Impearl'd with the dew.
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More fragrant her breath
Than the flow'r-scented heath.
At the dawning of day;
The hawthorn in bloom,
The lily's perfume,
Or the blossoms of May.
THE BILLET-DOUX.
THE billet-doux, oh! didst thou bear
To my Lorenza? lovely maid!
I see how look'd the modest fair,
I hear the gentle things she said.
The mantling blood her cheek forsakes,
But quick returns the rosy hue,
With trembling haste the seal she breaks,
And reads my tender billet-doux.
The billet-doux, when I receive,
I press it to my throbbing heart;
Sweet words! I cry, such joys you give,
Oh! never, never, thence depart;
And now it to my lips is press'd;
But when the magic name I view,
Again I clasp it to my breast,
My fond, my tender billet-doux.
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FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE.
THO' Bacchus may boast of his care killing bowl,
And folly in thought-drowning revels delight,
Such worship alas! hath no charms for the soul,
When softer devotions the senses invite;
To the arrow of fate, or the canker of care,
His potions oblivious a balm may bestow;
But to fancy that feeds on the charms of the fair,
The death of reflection's the birth of all woe.
What soul that's possest of a dream so divine▪
With riot would bid the sweet vision begone?
For the tear that bedews sensibility's shrine,
Is a drop of more worth than all Bacchus's tun.
The tender excess which enamours the heart,
To few is imparted, to millions deny'd,
'Tis the brain of the victim that tempers the dart,
And fools jest at that for which sages have dy'd.
Each change and excess hath thro' life been my doom,
And well can I speak of its joy and its strife;
The bottle affords us a glimpse through the gloom.
[Page 18]But love's the true sunshine that gladdens our life.
Come then, rosy Venus, and spread o'er my sight,
The magic illusions that ravish the soul,
Awake in my breast the fond dream of delight,
And drop from thy myrtle one leaf in my bowl.
Then deep will I drink of the nectar divine,
Nor e'er, jolly God, from thy banquet remove,
But each tube of my heart ever thirst for the wine
That's mellow'd by friendship and sweeten'd by love.
WHITHER MY LOVE.
WHITHER my love, ah! whither art thou
Let not thy absence cloud this happy dawn;
Say by my heart can falsehood e'er be known,
Ah! no, I judge it by thy own.
The heart he gave with so much care,
Which treasured in my breast I wear;
Still for its master beats alone,
I'm sure the selfish thing's his own.
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THE BARKING BARBER, Or, NEW Bow Wow. A comi-satyri-poetical lecture on blockheads, by Pasquin Shaveblock, shaver extraordinary.
YE gents, give ear to me I pray,
I am a barking barber,
The best accommodations have,
Keen razors and hot lather:
Pray walk into my noted shop,
I shave as clean as any;
And when I've done it to your mind,
Will charge you but a penny.
Bow, wow, wow,
I am a barking barber,
Bow, wow, wow.
Ye ragged pates, your hair I'll crop,
And dress it vastly pretty;
Or if your blocks are bare, walk in,
I warrant I can fit ye,
With bag, or que, or long pig-tail,
Or bushy wig, or grizzled,
So well bepowder'd, clean, and white,
And eke so nicely frizzled.
Bow, wow, &c.
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My shop, well furnish'd out with blocks,
Becomes an exhibition,
Of heads of ev'ry age and kind,
And every condition:
A lawyer's head without a quirk,
Without chicane a proctor's;
A lady's head without a tongue,
Without a nostrum doctor's.
Bow, wow, &c.
A poet's head without a rhyme,
A wit's to without punning;
Without a crotchet fidler's head,
A jockey's without cunning;
A cuckold's head devoid of horns,
His wife's without invention;
A barber's head without his brains,
And others I could mention.
Bow, wow, &c.
And let none of the wicked wits
Despise my occupation;
The greater always shaves the less,
In ev'ry rank and station:
The rich will ever shave the poor,
The lawyers, an't please ye,
[Page 21]Well lathers you with promises,
Then shaves you mighty easy.
Bow, wow, &c.
And shavers clean, I trow there are,
Of every profession;
But pardon now, my customers,
This whimsical digression;
And walk into my noted shop,
I shave as clean as any;
And when I've done it to your mind,
Will charge you but a penny.
Bow, wow, &c.
THE MANSION OF PEACE.
SOFT zephyr on thy balmy wing,
Thy gentlest breezes hither bring;
Her slumbers guard some hand divine,
Ah! watch her with care like mine.
A rose, a rose from her bosom had stray'd,
I'll seek to replace it, to replace it with art;
But, no, no, no, 'twill her slumbers invade,
I'll wear it fond maid, next my heart.
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Alas! silly rose, hadst thou known,
'Twas Daphne that gave thee thy place,
Thou ne'er from thy station had'st flown,
Her bosom's the mansion of peace.
When fair Susan I left.
WHEN fair Susan I left, with a heart full of woe,
And to sea went, my fortune to mend;
Her soft swelling bosom beat hard to and fro,
When she lost both her love and her friend:
Fare thee well, Tom, she cry'd, and bade me adieu,
While the tears rain'd in showers from her eyes;
I sail'd full of grief, to join the ship's crew,
While loud waves to my sorrow reply'd.
The winds they blew hard, and the sea loud did roar,
While blue lightning around us did flash;
I thought of my Susan, and wish'd me on shore,
Still the waves most tremendous did dash:
At length a leak sprung, and all hands call'd on deck,
In vain ev'ry art try'd to save;
I swam on a plank, and escap'd from the wreck,
The rest met a watery grave.
Kind fortune thus having preserved my life,
To my Susan I thought I would go,
With joy I should meet with my long absent wife;
But my hopes were all chang'd into woe.
[Page 23]For the news reach'd her ears that the ship it was lost,
And Thomas her love was no more,
She died like a rose when nipt by the frost,
And I live her loss to deplore.
I NEVER WILL BE MARRIED.
WHEN I had scarcely told sixteen,
My flatt'ring tell-tale glass,
Told me there seldom could be seen,
A blighter, bonnier lass.
Full twenty lovers round me bow'd,
But high my head I carried,
And with a scornful air I vow'd,
I never would be married.
Young Harry warmly urg'd his suit,
And talk'd of wealth in store,
While Jemmy thought to strike me mute,
And told his conquests o'er.
Each youth a diff'rent art essay'd,
And still their arts I parried;
Believe me, sirs, I laughing said,
I never will be married.
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Then five revolting summers past,
While I the tyrant play'd,
Ah then I fear'd 'twould be at last,
My fate to die a maid.
Of all the lovers in my train,
There was but one that tarried,
I thought 'twas time to change my strain,
And we this morn were married.
In storms when clouds, &c.
IN storms when clouds obscure the sky,
And thunders roll, and light'nings fly,
In the midst of all those dire alarms,
I think, my Sally on thy charms.
The troubled main,
The wind and rain,
My ardent passion 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, &c.
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But should the gracious powers 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.
THE TOKEN.
THE breeze was fresh, the ship in stays,
Each breaker hush'd the shore ahaze,
When Jack, no more on duty call'd,
His true love's token over-haul'd,
The broken gold, the braided hair,
The tender motto, writ so fair,
Upon his 'bacco box he views,
Nancy the poet, Love the muse—
If you love I as I love you,
No pair so happy as we two.
The storm, that like a shapeless wreck,
Had strew'd with rigging all the deck,
That tars for sharks had given a feast,
And left the ship a hulk, had ceas'd,
[Page 26]When Jack, as with his mess-mates dear,
He shar'd the grog, their hearts to cheer,
Took from his 'bacco-box a quid,
And spelled for comfort on the lid—
If you love I as I love you, &c.
The battle that with horror grim,
Had madly ravish'd life and limb,
Had scuppers drench'd with human gore,
And widow'd many a wife, was o'er,
When Jack, to his companions dear,
First paid the tribute of a tear;
Then, as his 'bacco-box he held,
Restor'd his comfort as he spell'd—
If you love I as I love you,
No pair so happy as we two.
The voyage that had been long and hard,
But that had yielded full reward;
That brought each sailor to his friend,
Happy and rich, was at an end;
When Jack, his toils and perils o'er,
Beheld his Nancy on the shore;
He then his 'bacco-box display'd,
And cry'd, and seiz'd the yielding maid—
If you love I as I love you,
No pair so happy as we two.
[Page 27]
WHEN GEN'ROUS WINE.
WHEN gen'rous wine expands the soul,
How pleasure hovers round the bowl,
Avaunt, avaunt ye cares of fancy's crew,
And give the guilty wretch his due;
Avaunt ye cares of fancy's crew.
And give the guilty wretch his due, &c. &c.
But let the juice of sparkling wine,
My grosser sense to love refine;
As Jove his nectar drinks above,
I'll quaff whole goblets full of love. I'll quaff, &c.
Then why should I at life repine,
Bring me Venus, bring me wine,
Fill the ever flowing bowl,
In circles gay and pleasures roll;
Ever open, ever free,
Hail thou friend to jolity,
My brows with Bacchus chaplets crown'd,
I live to love, my cares are drown'd.
[Page 28]
JACK IN HIS ELEMENT.
BOLD Jack the sailor, here I come,
Pray how do you like my nib?
My trowsers white, and trampers rum,
My nab and flowing jib;
I sail the seas from end to end,
And lead a joyous life,
At every mess we find a friend,
At every port a wife.
I have heard them talk of constancy,
Of grief, and such like fun;
I have constant been to ten, cry'd 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,
At every port a wife.
I've a spanking wife at Portsmouth gate,
A pigmy at Goree,
An orange tawny up the Straights,
A black at Saint Lucie;
Thus whatsoever course we bend,
We lead a jovial life,
[Page 29]In every mess we find a friend,
At every port a wife.
Will Gaffe by death was ta'en a-back
I came to bring the news,
Poll whimper'd sore, but what did Jack,
Why stood in William's shoes:
She cut, I chac'd, and in the end
She lov'd me as her life,
So she has got an honest friend,
And I a loving wife.
Come all you sailors that do go
The unfortunate seas to rub,
You must work, love, and fight your foes
And drink your gen'rous bub;
Storms that our masts in splinters tear,
Can take our joyous life,
In every want we find a friend,
In every port a wife.
THE WEDDING DAY.
WHAT virgin or shepherd in valley or grove,
Will envy my innocent lays,
The song of the heart, and the offspring of love,
When sung in my Corrydon's praise.
[Page 30]O'er brook and o'er break, as he hies to the bow'r,
How blightsome my shepherd can trip,
And sure when of love he describes the soft pow'r,
The honey-dew drops from his lip.
How sweet is the primrose, the violet how sweet,
And sweet is the eglantine breeze,
But Corrydon's kiss, when by moonlight we meet,
To me is far sweeter than these.
I blush at his raptures, I hear all his vows,
I sigh when I offer to speak,
And oh! what delight my fond bosom o'erflows,
When I feel the soft touch of his cheek.
Responsive and shrill be the notes from the spray,
Let the pipe thro' the village resound,
Be smiles in each face, oh! ye shepherds to day,
And ring the bells merrily round:
Your favors prepare my companions with speed,
Assist me my blushes to hide,
A twelve-month ago on this day I agreed,
To be my lov'd Corrydon's bride.
[Page 31]
THE TAR FOR ALL WEATHERS.
I SAIL'D from the Downs in the Nancy,
My jib how it smack'd thro' the breeze,
She's a vessel as tight to my fancy,
As ever sail'd thro' the salt seas;
Then adieu to the white cliffs of Britain,
Our girls and our dear native shore,
For if some hard rock we should split on,
We shall never see them any more.
But sailors were born for all weathers,
Great guns let it blow high, blow low,
Our duty keeps us to our tethers,
And where the wind drives we must go.
When we enter'd the Gut of Gib'ralter,
I verily thought she'd have sunk;
For the wind it began so to alter,
She yaw'd just as tho' she was drunk;
The squall tore our mainsail to shivers,
Helm a-weather, the hoarse boatswain cries,
Brace the foresail athwart—see she quivers,
As through the rough tempest she flies.
But sailors are born, &c.
The storm came on thicker and faster;
As black just as pitch was the sky,
When truly a doleful disaster
Befell three poor sailors and I;
Ben Buntline, Sam Shroud, and Dick Handsail,
By a blast that came furious and hard,
[Page 32]Just while we were furling the mainsail,
Were ev'ry soul swept from the yard.
But sailors were born, &c!
Poor Ben, Sam and Dick cry'd peccavi,
As for I at the risk of my neck,
While they sunk down in peace to old Davy,
Caught a rope, and so landed on deck;
Well, what would you have? we were stranded,
And out of a fine jolly crew,
Of three hundred that sail'd, never landed,
But I, and (I think) twenty-two.
But sailors were born, &c.
After thus we at sea had miscarri'd,
Another guess [...]ay sat the wind,
For to England I came and got marri'd▪
To a lass that was comely and kind;
But whether for joy or vexation,
We know not for what we are born,
Perhaps I may find a kind station,
Perhaps I may touch at Cape-Horn.
But sailors, &c.
[Page 33]
The wandering Sailor.
THE wand'ring sailor ploughs the main,
A competence in life to gain;
Undaunted braves the stormy seas,
To find at last content and ease;
In hopes when toil' and danger's o'er,
To anchor on his native shore.
When winds blow hard, and mountains roll,
And thunder shakes from pole to pole.
Tho' dreadful waves surrounding foam,
Still flattering fancy wafts him home;
In hopes when toil and danger's o'er,
To anchor on his native shore.
When round the bowl the jovial crew,
The early scenes of life renew;
Tho' each his favorite fair will boast,
This is their universal toast,
May we, when toil and danger's o'er,
Cast anchor on our native shore.
THE EXILED PATRIOT. Tune—"The wandering Sailor."
THE patriot exil'd far from home,
In foreign climes compell'd to roame;
From his detested, cruel foes,
He wanders far, to find repose:
[Page 34]In hopes when tyrants are no more,
Freedom will bless his native shore.
It was not fear drove him away,
He never can his trust betray;
He dar'd not give a king that blood,
Devoted to his country's good;
But firmly waits the happy hour,
Freedom shall bless his native shore.
His generous soul with rapture views,
The page that brings the happy news;
How freedom's sons their rights maintain,
And stubborn despots sue in vain;
Convinc'd, when tyrants are no more,
Freedom shall bless his native shore.
Whilst partial vict'ries of a king,
Makes slaves and fools elated sing;
He mourns the blood a tyrant draws,
In such a dire infernal cause:
But soon shall tyrants reign be o'er,
And freedom bless his native shore.
No idle buzz of Duncan's fame,
Or Dutch defeat makes him complain;
Ten thousand captur'd ships can't save,
The system from its op'ning grave:
[Page 35]Then tyranny shall be no more,
And freedom bless his native shore.
He smiling looks towards the land
Where vict'ry crowns the Gallic band,
And anxious waits the great event,
When they shall make the grand descent,
Then to sea he hies once more,
To join them on his native shore.
Address to the swinish multitude.
YE vile swinish herd, in the stye of taxation,
What would you be after disturbing the nation?
Give over your grumbling—be off—to your stye,
Nor dare to look out if a king should pass by.
Derry down; down, down derry down.
Do you know what a king is?—By Patrick I'll tell you,
He has power in his pocket to buy you and sell you
To make you his soldiers, or keep you to work,
To hang you or cure you, for ham or salt pork.
Derry down, &c.
Do you think that a king is no more than a man;
Ye Irish, ye swinish ironical clan▪
I swear by his office, his right is divine,
To flog you, and feed you, and treat you like swine.
Derry down, &c.
[Page 36]
To be sure I have said—but I spoke it abrupt,
That the state is defective and also corrupt;
Yet remember I told you with cautoin to peep,
For swine at a distance we prudently keep.
Derry down, &c.
Now the Church, and the State, to keep each other warm,
Are married together, pray where is the harm?
How healthy and wealthy are husband and wife!
But swine are excluded the conjugal life.
Derry down, &c.
"What use do we make of your money?" you say;
By the first law in nature—we take our own pay—
And next, on our friends a few pensions bestow,
And to you we apply when our treasures run low.
Derry down, &c.
What know you of commons, of kings, or of lords,
But what the dim light of taxation affords!
Be contented with that, and no more of your rout,
Or a new Proclamation will muzzle your snout!
Derry down, &c.
And now for the sun, or the light of the day,
"It doth not belong to a PITT," you will say—
I tell you be silent and hush all your jars,
Or he'll charge you a farthing a-piece for the stars.
Derry down, &c.
[Page 37]
The Sailor's consolation.
SPANKING Jack was so comely, so pleasant, so jolly,
Tho' winds blew great guns, still he'd whistle and sing;
Jack lov'd his friend, and was true to his Molly,
And if honor gives greatness, was great as a king.
One night, as we drove with two reefs in the mainsail,
And the scud came on low'ring upon a lee shore;
Jack went up aloft for to hand the top-ga'nt sail,
A spray wash'd him off, and we ne'er saw him more.
But grieving's a folly, come let us be jolly;
If we've troubles at sea boys, we've pleasures ashores
Whiffling Tom, still of mischief or fun in the middle,
Through life in all weathers at random would jog;
He'd dance, and he'd sing, and he'd play on the fiddle
A [...] with an air his allowance of grog.
Long side [...] a Don, in the Terrible frigate,
As yard-arm, and yard-arm we lay off the shore,
In and out Whiffling Tom did so caper and jig it,
That his head was shot off, and we ne'er saw him more!
But grieving's a folly, &c.
Bonny Ben was to each jolly mess-mate a brother,
He was manly and honest, good-natur'd and free;
If ever one tar was more true than another,
To his friend and his duty that sailor was he.
[Page 38]One day with the David to heave the cadge anchor,
Ben went in the boat on a bold craggy shore,
He overboard tript, when a shark and a spanker,
Soon nipt him in two, and we ne'er saw him more.
But grieving's a folly, &c.
But what of it all, lads, shall we be down-hearted,
Because that may-hap we now take our last sup;
Life's cable must one day or other be parted,
And death in fast mooring will bring us all up.
But 'tis always the way on't, one scarce finds a brother
Fond as pitch, honest, hearty, and true to the core,
But by battle, or storm, or some damn'd thing or other,
He's pop'd off the hooks, and we ne'er see him more.
But grieving's a folly, &c.
MODERN FASHIONS. Tune—"Bow wow."
GOOD people all attend to me, I'll sing you a merry tale, sir,
About the various novelties and titles that prevail sir;
For now both Lords and Ladies that wear their hair or wigs sir,
If they throw powder on their heads, are called Guinea pigs, sir.
Squeak, Squeak, Squeak,
Pretty Guinea Pigs, Sir.
[Page 39]
Then for the rest, whose hungry maws a guinea can't afford, sir,
They are, by pride and folly's laws, call'd swine, upon my word, sir;
And if to save appearances they cut their hair away, sir,
Why then we call them simple crops, and laugh at them all day, sir,
Ha! ha! ha! a pretty herd of swine, sir,
Grunt, Grunt, Grunt.
Twas yesterday I saw a beau come tripping thro' a square, sir,
Two pounds of powder on his sconce to hide his want of hair, sir;
He met a taylor on the way, a little dapper dog, sir,
And push'd him from him with disdain, crying "surely your a hog, sir," Hog, hog, hog
A little dirty hog, sir.
The taylor bristled up his locks, and snapt his sheers in fury,
Saying, "tho' your tail is now so long, I'll warrant these will cure ye;
To call a man like me a hog—a very pretty rig, sir,
You saucy stub-nose puppy dog—nay hang me your a pig, sir."
Pig, pig, pig,
A stupid long tail pig, Sir.
The taylor flourishing his shears, then seiz'd his hair so neatly,
That in a trice he whipt it off, and dock'd him most completely;
[Page 40]The beau stood trembling by his side, while stitch-louse full of gig, sir,
Cried, "smoke a beau who's lost his tail, a stump tail Guinea pig, sir.
Crop, crop, crop.
A pig without a tail, sir.
Then we have coats without the skirts, call'd Spencers by the mob, sir,
And hats with brims twelve inches round, to fit each kiddy's knob, sir;
Besides our ladies in their caps have feathers niddy noddy, sir,
And round their necks they wear cravats, and gowns without a body, sir.
Oh! oh! oh!
Our ladies have no bodies, sir,
No, no, no.
Likewise our females on their heads place turbans like a turk, sir,
And golden chains hang down their breasts, of ornamental work, sir;
Those beauties they contrive to show, which poor men soon bewitches,
Indeed, I'm told it for a fact, they often wear the breeches.
Lack! Lack! Lack!
Women wear the breeches, sir.
[Page 41]
Now prosper well my neighbours all, and let the fashions pass, sir,
May every one have health and strength, both pig and swinish class, sir;
Then let us always merry be, or hot or cold the weather,
And may we ever well agree, like loving pigs together.
Grunt, Grunt, Grunt, &c.
Sweet Poll of Plymouth.
SWEET Poll of Plymouth was my dear,
When forc'd from her to go;
As down 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 plough'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;
But press'd, as we were homeward bound,
I thought my heart would break.
[Page 42]
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 cried:—
My Poll, my sweetest flow'r of May!
She languish'd, droop'd, & died.
The little Sailor Boy.
THE sea was calm, the sky serene,
And gently blew the eastern gale,
When Anna, seated on a rock,
Watch'd the Lovina's less'ning sail.
To Heav'n she thus her pray'r address'd:—
"Thou who can'st save, or can'st destroy,
From each surrounding danger guard
My much lov'd little Sailor Boy.
When tempests o'er th [...] ocean howl,
And even sailors shrink with dread,
Be some protecting Angel near,
To hover round my William's head:
He was belov'd by all the plain
His father's pride, his mother's joy,
[Page 43]Then safely to their arms restore
Their much lov'd little Sailor Boy.
May no rude foe his course impede,
Conduct him safely o'er the waves,
O may he never be compell'd
To fight for pow [...]r, or mix with slaves.
May smilling peace his steps attend,
Each rising hour be crown'd with joy,
As blest as that when I again
Shall meet my much lov'd Sailor Boy.
When seated with SALL. Sung, by Mr Harwood, in the farce of the Pu [...]se.
WHEN seated with SALL, all my mess-mates around,
Fol de rol de rol de rol de ri do.
The glasses shall jingle, the joke shall go round;
With a bumper, then here's to you boy,
Come lass a buss, my cargo's joy,
Here Tom, be merry, drink about,
If the sea was grog we'd see it out,
For we're met here to be jolly, jolly boys,
For we're met here to be jolly.
[Page 44]
Come strike up the fiddles—Dick, Sall, giv's your hand▪
Fol de rol de rol de ri do.
Take partners, od-zooks ne'er shilly shally stand,
Lead up cast down and hands across,
Now lads another noggin toss,
Here's to the girl that I love most,
Join mess-mates in my favorite toast (here's Sall)
For we're met here to be jolly, jolly boys, &c.
In glee, jig, and merriment the moments shall fly,
Fol de rol de rol de ri do.
While Bacchus's bumpers brighten friendship's eye.
Oh damme old one tip's your hand,
My service ever pray command,
'Tis past me, pleasure, joy, delight,
Another glass, and then good-night (wives and sweethearts)
For we're met here to be jolly, jolly boys, &c.
Lovely Nan.
SWEET is the ship, that under sail,
Spreads her white bosom to the gale,
Sweet, oh! sweets the flowing can,
Sweet, oh! sweets the flowing can,
Sweet to poise the lab'ring oar,
That tugs us to our native shore,
[Page 45]
When the boatswain pipes, the barge to man.
When the boatswain pipes, &c.
Sweet sailing with a fav'ring breeze,
But oh! much sweeter than all these,
But oh! &c.
Is Jack's delight, his lov'ly Nan.
The needle, faithful to the north,
To shew of constancy the worth,
A curious lesson teaches man.
The needle time may rust—a squall
Capsize the binnacle & all,
Let seamanship do all it can.
My love in worth shall higher rise,
Nor time shall rust, nor squalls capsize
My faith & truth to lov'ly Nan.
When in the bilboes I was penn'd,
For serving of a worthless friend,
And ev'ry creature from me ran:
No ship, performing quarantine,
Was ever so deserted seen;
None hail'd me—woman, child, nor man.
But tho' false friendship's sails were furl'd,
Though cut adrift by all the world,
I'd all the world in lovely Nan.
[Page 46]
I love my duty, love my friend,
Love truth & honor to defend,
To moan their loss, who dangers ran:
I love to take an honest part,
Love beauty, & a spotless heart;
By manners love to shew the man.
To sail thro' life, by honor's breeze,
'Twas all along of loving these,
First made me doat on lovely Nan.
None can love like an Irishman.
THE turban'd Turk, who scorns the world,
May strut about with his whiskers curl'd,
Keep a hundred wives under lock and key,
For nobody else but himself to see;
Yet long may he pray with his Alcoran,
Before he can love like an Irishman.
Like an Irishman, like an Irishman,
Before he can love like an Irishman.
The gay monsieur, a slave no more,
The solemn Don, and the soft Signor,
The Dutch mynheer, so full of pride,
The Russian, Prussian, Swede beside;
[Page 47]They all may do what e'er they can,
But they'll never love like an Irishman.
Like an Irishman, like an Irishman,
But they'll never love like an Irishman.
The London folks themselves beguile,
And think they please in a capital stile;
Yet let them ask, as they cross the street,
Of any young virgin they happen to meet,
And I know she'll say, from behind her fan,
That there's none can love like an Irishman.
Like an Irishman, like an Irishman,
That there's none can love like an Irishman.
A sailor's life at sea.
WHEN the anchor's weighed, & the ships unmoor'd,
And landsmen lay behind, sir,
The sailor, joyful ships on board,
And swearing prays for a wind, sir.
Towing here, yoing there,
Steadily, readily, cherrily merrily,
Still from care & thinking free,
Is a sailor's life at sea.
[Page 48]
When we sail with a fresh'ning breeze,
And landsmen all grow sick, sir,
The sailor lolls with his mind at ease,
And the song & can go quick, sir.
Laughing here, quaffing there,
Steadily, &c.
When the wind at night whistles o'er the deep,
And sings to landsmen dreary,
The sailor fearless goes to sleep,
Or takes his watch most chearly.
Boozing here, snoozing there,
Steadily, &c.
When the sky grows black, & the wind blows hard
And landsmen skulk below, sir,
Jack mounts up to the top-main-yard,
And turns his quid as he goes, sir.
Hawling here, bawling there,
Steadily, &c.
[Page 49]
When the foaming waves run mountain high,
And landsmen cry, "All's gone," sir;
The sailor hangs 'twixt sea and sky,
And he jokes with Davy Jones, sir.
Dashing here, clashing there,
Steadily, &c.
When the ship, d'ye see, becomes a wreck,
And landsmen hoist the boat, sir;
The sailor scorns to quit the deck,
While a single plank's afloat, sir.
Swearing here, tearing there,
Steadily, readily, &c.
NANCY, or the Sailor's Journal.
'TWAS post meridian, half past four,
By signal I from Nancy parted;
At six she linger'd on the shore,
With uplift hands, & broken hearted.
At seven, while tautning the fore-stay,
I saw her faint, or else 'twas fancy:
At eight we all got under way,
And bade a long adieu to NANCY.
[Page 50]
Night came, and now eight bells had rung
While careless sailors, ever cheary;
On the mid-watch, so jovial sung,
With tempers labor cannot weary.
I little to their mirth inclin'd,
While tender thoughts rush'd on my fancy,
And my warm sighs encreas'd the wind,
Look'd on the moon, and thought of Nancy.
And now arriv'd that jovial night,
When ev'ry true-bred tar carouses
When, o'er the grog, all hands delight
To toast their sweethearts and their spouses:
Round went the can, the jest, the glee,
While tender wishes fill'd each fancy;
And when, in turn, it came to me,
I heav'd a sigh, and toasted Nancy.
Next morn a storm came on at four,
At six, the elements in motion,
Plung'd me, and three poor sailors more,
Headlong, within the foaming ocean.
Poor wretches! they soon found their graves
For me, it may be only fancy,
But love seem'd to forbid the waves
To snatch me from the arms of Nancy.
[Page 51]
Scarce the foul hurricane was clear'd,
Scarce winds and waves had ceas'd to rattle,
When a bold enemy appear'd,
And dauntless we prepar'd for battle:
And now, while some lov'd friend or wife,
Like light'ning rush'd on every fancy;
To providence I trusted life,
Put up a prayer, & thought on Nancy.
At last, 'twas in the month of May,
The crew (it being lovely weather)
At three, A. M. discover'd day,
And England's chalky cliffs together:
At seven, up channel how we bore,
While hopes and fears rush'd on my fancy;
At twelve I gaily jump'd ashore,
And to my throbbing heart prest NANCY!
THE FEARLESS TAR.
TO distant shores the breezy wind,
The jolly tar from home conveys;
No anxious thoughts annoy his mind,
Whilst whistling he the sheet belays.
Tho' storms around him loudly roar,
And from his jacket brine shall drip;
[Page 52]Unmov'd he hears the tempest roar,
And takes his can of gen'rous flip.
No silly cares can him oppress.
If tight his ship, & sea-room clear;
Nor on his heart can ought impress.
The distant thought of coward fear.
Though storms around, &c.
Yet when he views his native land,
His swelling heart with ardour glows;
And as he leaps upon the strand,
'Tis thus his tongue with rapture flows:
Nor storms, nor tempests here assail,
Nor brine shall from my jacket drip;
Here love alone shall blow the gale,
And we drink cans of gen'rous flip.
The hardy Tar.
A Sailor, on the top—mast,
No fear nor danger knows,
Tho' death he sees advancing,
In every gale that blows.
With courage ne'er unshaken,
He views the surge below,
And a grave in each wave,
While the stormy wind doth blow.
[Page 53]
When sailing on the ocean,
In danger of our lives,
We pray for heav'ns protection,
Our sweethearts, & our wives:
How little knows the landsmen
The toil we undergo,
When we sail in each gale,
And the stormy wind doth blow,
Now fortune she has smiled,
And homeward we are bound;
Our pockets lin'd with gold, my boys,
Our brows with laurels crown'd.
Let's push about the bowl, my boys,
And pay before we go,
And we'll roll on the shore,
Let the wind blow high or low.
SATURDAY NIGHT at SEA.
'TWAS Saturday-night, the twinkling stars
Shone on the rippling sea,
No duty call'd the jovial tars,
The helm was lash'd a—lee;
The ample can adorn'd the board.
Prepar'd to see it out,
Each gave the lass that he ador'd,
And push'd the grog about.
[Page 54]
Cri'd honest Tom, my Peg I'll toast,
A frigate neat and trim,
All jolly Portsmouth's favorite boast,
I'll venture life and limb;
Sail seven long years, and ne'er see land,
With dauntless heart, and stout,
So tight a vessel to command,
Then push the grog about.
I'll give, cri'd little Jack, my Poll,
Sailing in comely state;
Top-ga'nt sail set, she is so tall,
She looks like a first rate:
Ah! wou'd she take her Jack in tow,
A voyage for life throughout,
No better birth I'd wish to know,
Then push the grog about.
I'll give, cri'd I, my charming Nan,
Trim, handsome, neat & tight;
What joy, so fine a ship to man!
Oh! she's my heart's delight:
So well she bears the storms of life,
I'd sail the world throughout,
Brave ev'ry toil for such a wife,
Then push the grog about.
[Page 55]
Thus to describe Poll, Peg▪ or Nan,
Each his best manner tri'd;
'Till summon'd by the empty can,
They to their hammocs hi'd:
Yet still did they their vigils keep,
Though the huge can was out;
For in soft visions, gentle sleep,
Still push'd the grog about.
The honest Tar.
A SAILOR and an honest heart,
Like ship and helm, are ne'er apart;
For how should one stem wind and tide,
If t'other should refuse to guide?
With that she freely cuts the waves.
And so the Tar,
When clashing waves around him jar,
Consults his heart, and danger braves,
Where duty calls; nor asks no more
Then grog aboard and girl ashore.
'Tis not a thousand leagues from home,
More horrid that the billows foam;
'Tis not that gentler is the breeze
In channel, than in distant seas;
Danger surrounds him far and near;
But honest tar,
Tho winds and water round him jar,
[Page 56]Consults his heart; and scorns to fear;
The risks he runs endears him more
To grog aboard, and girl ashore.
'Tis not that in the hottest fight,
The murd'rous ball will sooner light
On that than any other spot,
To face the cannon is his lot;
He must of danger have his share;
But honest tar,
Tho' fire and wind, and water jar,
Consults his heart, and shakes off care;
And when the battle's heat is o'er,
In grog aboard, drinks girl ashore.
TACK and TACK.
ADIEU my gallant sailor, obey thy duty's call,
Tho' false at sea, there's truth ashore;
Till nature is found changing, thou'rt sure of constant Poll;
And yet, as now we sever,
Ah much I fear that never
Shall I, alas, behold thee more.
Jack kiss'd her, hitch'd his trowsers, and hied him to be gone,
Weighed anchor, and lost sight of shore;
Next day a brisk south-wester a heavy gale brought on;
[Page 57]Adieu, cri'd Jack, for ever,
For much I fear that never,
Shall I, sweet Poll, behold you more.
Poll heard that to the bottom was sunk her honest tar,
And for a while lamented sore;
At length, cri'd she, I'll marry, what should I tarry for;
I may lead apes for ever,
Jack's gone, and never, never
Shall I, alas, behold him more!
Jack safe and sound returning, sought out his faithful Poll.
Think not, cri'd she, that false I swore;
I'm constant still as ever, 'tis nature's chang'd, that's all;
And thus we part for ever,
For never, sailor, never,
Shall I, alas behold you more!
If, as you say, that nature like winds can shift and veer,
About ship for a kinder shore;
I heard the trick you play'd me, and so, d'ye see, my dear,
To a kind heart for ever
I've splic'd myself, so never
Shall I, false Poll, behold you more.
[Page 58]
THE NEGRO BOY, Who was sold by an African Prince for a metal watch.
WHEN thirst of gold enslaves the mind,
And selfish views alone bear sway,
Man turns a savage to his kind,
And blood and rapine mark his way▪
Alas! for this poor simple toy,
I sold a guiltless Negro Boy.
His father's hope, his mother's pride,
[...] comely to the view,
I tore him helpless from their side,
And gave him to a ruffian crew:
To fiends that Afric's coast annoy,
I sold the weeping Negro Boy.
In isles that deck the western main,
The [...] happy youth was doom'd to dwell,
A poor forlorn insulted slave,
A b [...]ast that christians buy and sell:
And yet for this same simple toy,
I sold the weeping Negro Boy.
May he who walks upon the wind,
Whose voice in thunder's heard on nigh;
Who doth the raging tempests bind,
And wings the lightning thro' the sky;
Forgive the wretch, who for a toy,
Could tell a helpless Negro Boy.
[Page 59]
THE LOVELY BRUNETTE.
MY heart's soft emotions admit no disguise▪
To cheat the poor nymphs of the plain;
For the passion I feel, is confess by my eyes,
And love shews the wounds of the swain,
And love shews, &c
And such were my plaints when I happily met
The arch hazel eyes of my lovely Brunette.
Would you know all the magic that lives in her e'en
By which my fond heart she has won;
Go take, like the Grecian▪ each beauty that's seen,
And comprize all their graces in one
Then wonder, like me, at the pleasure fraught Bet,
And wear the soft chains of the lovely Brunette.
The wandering kidlings that sport on the hill,
Leave their browsing to list to her law;
She charms the swift course of each murmuring rill,
And arrests the bright chariot of day:
The winds stop, enraptur'd, to list to my Bett,
And gratefully fan the accomplish'd Brunette.
[Page 60]
Had I all the wealth stern avarice sought,
When he ravag'd the glittering mine;
Oh had I the treasure that Creces had bought,
These gems, my dear girl, should be thine.
But triffles like these are despis'd by my Bett,
For merit alone wins the lovely Brunette.
How imperfect is expression.
HOW imperfect is expression,
Some emotions to impart—
When we mean a fond confession,
And yet seek to hide the heart!
When our bosoms, all complying,
With delicious tumults swell,
And beat, what broken, falt'ring, dying
Language would, but cannot tell.
Deep confusion's rosy terror
Quite expressive paints my cheek;
Ask no more: behold your error!
Blushes eloquently speak.
What! though silent is my anguish,
Or breathed only to the air—
Mark my eyes—see how they languish—
Read what your's have written there.
[Page 61]
Oh! that you could once conceive me,
Once my soul's strong feelings view!
Love has nought more fond, believe me,
Friendship nothing half so true.
From you, I am wild, despairing;
With you, speechless as I touch:
This is all that bears declaring▪
And perhaps declares too much.
The joys of Saturday Night.
'TIS said we vent'rous die hard, when we leave the shore,
Our friends should mourn, lest we return, to bless their sight no more;
But that is all a notion bold Jack can't understand,
Some die upon the ocean, and some upon the land,
Yet since 'tis clear howe'er we steer, that life's not under our command,
Let tempests howl, and billows roll, and dangers press;
Yet spite of these there are some joys, us jolly tars to bless,
For Saturday-night still comes, my boys, to drink to Poll and Bess.
[Page 62]
One seaman tends the sails, another heaves the log,
Our purser swops our pay for slops, the landlord sells us grog▪
Thus each man to his station, to keep life's ship in trim,
What argufies narration, the rest is fortune's whim
Cheerily my hearts, then play your parts, boldly resolved to sink or swim:
The mighty surge may ruin urge▪ and danger press,
Yet spite of these, &c.
This life, for all the world's just like the ropes on board a ship,
Each man's rigg'd out a vessel stout, to take for life a trip.
The shrouds, the stays, and braces, are joys, and hopes, and fears,
The lanyards, sheets, and traces, just as each passion veers:
The wind prevails, direct the sails, as on the sea of life we steer,
Then let the storm heav'ns face deform, and danger press,
Yet spite of these, &c.
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BEN MAINSAIL'S INVITATION. Tune—Life's like a sea.
LUFF, luff, my lads the gale increases,
While we scud before the wind;
Reef the mainsail, 'till it ceases,
While she floats, boys, never mind.
On the larboard tack we venture,
And behold a craggy shore,
As the destin'd port we enter,
While the raging billows roar.
True to honor and to duty,
All such maxims sailors boast,
Yet we drink to love and beauty,
And can give the seaman's toast:
"Wives and sweethearts," on the ocean,
We all swig it to a man;
Fearing danger's all a notion,
Let us booze the flowing can.
The boatswain piping, loudly thunders,
To your quarters sore and aft;
The great guns spunge, prepare for wonders,
While, my lads the wind's abaft:
With grape, we can nine pounders rattle,
Naval heroes drink and sing;
He that bravely falls in battle,
Gains more honor than a king:
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Jove's a God of ten thousand.
JOVE'S a God of ten thousand, the monarch I know,
Loves his bottle, girl, song, and a jest,
Has a monst'rous regard for choice spirits below,
And is charm'd when his creatures are blest.
But he's vex'd when a fool takes it into his head,
That he's lost if he meddles with pleasure;
And thinks; too, the fellow confounded ill bred,
To refuse when he offers the treasure.
When a zealot has turn'd up the white of his eyes,
With long phiz, and a puritan strain;
I have seen the God laugh; and in fun from the skies,
Make up mouths at the blockhead again.
Then push round the bottle, let each give his song,
Wit, humour, and friendship attend us,
And while for enjoyment our passions are strong,
Let's ask not his Godship to mend us.
Thus we'll revel 'till morning peeps into our glass,
Then to scenes of new rapture remove,
To embrace with devotion a wife or a lass,
And be blest on the bosom of love.
FINIS.