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Winter Evenings Amusement, OR, JOVIAL COMPANION. CONTAINING A CHOICE SELECTION OF SONGS, MUCH ADMIRED. And Sung at most genteel Places of Amusement.
Boston. [...] and sold by J. WHITE, near Charles- [...] Bridge, and by W. T. CLAP, in [...] Street. 1795.
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CONTENTS.
- The Marseilles Hymn.
- Shakespeare's seven [...]
- The Tempest, 8
- The Tender Lover 10
- The [...] 11
- Drive away care ibid.
- The Rose, 12
- She dropt a Tear 13
- Jack in his Elem [...] 14
- The Sailor's Ret [...] 15
- Toby Philpot, 16
- A Rose Tree, 17
- Sandy's Ghost, 18
- The Batchelor [...] 19
- Johnny at the F [...] 21
- A Lover's Advi [...] 22
- The Dying Lo [...] 23
- The flowing [...] ibid.
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THE Winter Evenings Amusement.
The Marseilles Hymn.
YE sons of France awake to glory,
Hark! hark, what miriads bid you rise
Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary,
Behold their tears and hear their cries.
Shall hateful tyrants, mischief brooding,
With hurling hosts, a ruffian band,
Assright and desolate the land,
While peace and liberty lie bleeding?
To arms, to arms, ye brave!
Th' avenging sword unsheath,
March on! march on! all hearts resolv'd
On Victory or Death.
Now the dang'rous storm is low'ring,
Which [...]each'rous kings confederate raise;
The dogs of war let loose are howling,
[...]nd so! our fields and cities blaze.
[...]nd shall we basely view the ruin,
While lawless see, with guilty pride,
[Page 4]
Sorends desolation far and wide,
With crimes and blood his hands embruing.
To arms, to arms, ye brave!
Th' avenging sword unsheath,
March on! march on! all hearts resolv'd
On Victory or Death.
With luxury and pride surrounded,
The v [...]le insatiate despots dare,
Their thirst of power and gold unbounded,
To mete and vend the light and air.
Like beasts of burden would they load us,
Like gods would bid their slaves adore,
But man is man, and who is more?
Then shall they longer lash and goad us?
To arms, to arms, ye brave!
Th' avenging sword unsheath,
March on! march on! all hearts resolv'd
On Victory or Death.
O Liberty! can man resign thee,
Once having [...]elt thy gen'rous flame?
Can dungeons, bolts and bars confine thee,
Or whips thy noble spirit tame?
Too long the world has wept bewailling
That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield,
But freedom is our sword and shield,
And all their arts are unavailing.
To arms, to arms, ye brave!
[...] avenging sword unsheath,
March on! march on! all hearts resolv'd
On Victory or Death.
[Page 5]
Shakespeare's seven Ages parapisras'd
OUR immortal poet's page
Says, that all the world's a stage,
And that men, with all their airs,
Are nothing more than players:
Each using skill and art,
In his turn to tap his part.
All to fill up this farcical scene, O.
Enter here,
Exit there,
Stand in view,
Mind your cue.
High down, ho down, derry, derry down,
All to fill up this farcical scene, O.
First the infant in the lap,
Mewling, pewling with its pap,
Like a chicken that we truss,
Is swaddled by its nurse,
Who to please the puppet tries,
As it giggles, and it cries.
All to fill up this farcical scene, O.
Hush a-bye,
Wipe an eye,
Kisse pretty,
High down, ho down, derry, derry down,
All to fill up this farcical scene, O.
Then the pretty babe of grace,
With his shining morning face,
And satchel on his back,
To school, alas! must pack;
[Page 6] But like a snail he creeps,
And for bloody Mondy weeps.
All to fill, &c.
Book mislaid,
Truant play'd,
Red in pickle.
[...] to tickle.
High down, ho down, &c.
Then the lover next appears,
Sous'd over head and ears,
Like a lobster on the fire,
Sighing ready to expire;
With a deep hole in his heart,
Through you may drive a cart.
All to fill up, &c.
Beauty spurns him;
Passion burns him,
Like a wizard,
[...] and gizzard,
High down, ho down, &c.
Then the soldier, ripe for plunder,
Breathing [...]ughter, blood and thunder.
Like a cat among the mice,
Kicks a dust up in a trice;
And talks of shatter'd brains,
Sca [...]t [...]'d limbs and streaming veins.
All to fill up, &c.
[...]ight and fly,
Run and die,
Pop and pelter,
He [...]er, skelter.
High down, ho down, &c.
[Page 7]
Then the justice in his chair,
With broad and vacant stare,
His wig of formal cut,
And belsy like a butt;
Well lined with turtle hash,
Callipe—and callipash.
All to fill up, &c.
Baud and trull,
Pimp or cull,
At his nod,
Go to quod.
High down, ho down, &c.
Then the slipper'd pantaloon,
In life's dull afternoon,
With spectacles on nose;
Shrunk shank in youthful hose:
His voice once big and round,
Now whistling in the scund.
All to fill up, &c.
Body bent,
Vigour spent,
Shiging noddle,
Widdle, waddle.
High down, ho down, &c.
At last to end the play,
Second childhood leads the way,
And like sheep that's got the rot,
All our senses go to pot.
So dea [...]h among [...] us pops,
And down the curtain drops.
to sill up, &c,
Then the coffin,
We move oft in,
[Page 8] While the bell
Tolls the knell.
Of high, and low, down into the cold ground
All to finish this sarcical scene, O.
The Tempest.
CEASE, rude borons, boisterous railer,
List ye land [...]men all to me;
Mossmates hear a brother sailor
Sing the dangers of the sea.
From bounding billows first in motion,
Where the dist [...]nt whirlwinds rise,
To the tempest troubl'd ocean.
Where the seas contend with skies.
Hark, the boatswain hoarsly bawling,
By top-sail-sheets and halliat [...]s stand:
Down your stay-sails, quick be hawling,
Your top-gallant-sails hand boys hand.
Still it freshens, set in the braces,
Close reef, top-sail-sheets let go;
Lust boys, luff, don't make wry faces,
Up your top-sails nimbly clew.
The top-sail-yards point to the wind boys,
See all clear to reef each course;
Let the sore-sheet go, don't mind it,
If the weather should turn worse.
Fore and aft the sprit-sail-yard g [...]t,
Reef the mizen, see all clear;
Hand up the preventer braces,
Man the sore-yard, cheer boys, cheer.
Now all ye on down beds sporting,
Fondly lock'd in beauty's [...]ms,
[Page 9] [...]resh enjoyments wanton courting,
[...]tart from all but love's alarms.
Around us roars the tempest louder,
[...]hinking what fear our hearts enthralls;
[...]arder yet, it still blows barder,
[...]ow again the boatswain calls.
Now the thunder's dreadful roaring,
[...]al on peal contending clash;
On our heads fresh rains fast pouring,
In our eyes blue lightnings flasn.
All around us one wide water,
All above us one black sky;
Different deaths at once surprize us,
Hark! what means the dreadful cry?
The fore mast's gone, cries every tongue out
Over the lee, twelve foot above deck;
[...] leak beneath the chesstree sprang out,
Call all hands and clear the wreck.
Quick the lanyards cut to pieces,
Come my hearts, be stout and cold;
Humb the well, for the leak increases,
[...]our feat of water in the hold.
Whilst over the waves our ship is beating,
[...] all for wives and swee [...]hearts mourn;
[...]as! from hence there is no retreating,
[...]as! from hence there is no return.
Still the leak is gaining on us,
[...]h chain-pumps are choak'd below;
[...]ven have mercy here upon us,
[...]only that will save us now.
[Page 10]
Over the lee beam lies the land, boys,
Let the guns be over-board thrown;
To the pumps come every hand, boys,
See—our mizen-mast is gone.
But the leak we sind it cannot pour fast,
We have lighted her a foot or more;
Up and rig a jury fore-mast,
She is right, she is right, we are all off shore,
Now once more on joys be thinking,
Since kind fortune sav'd our lives:
Push the cann, boys, let's be drinking,
To our sweethearts and our wives.
Push it round, about ship wheel it,
To your lips a bumper join;
Where's the tempest now, who seels it?
Now our danger's drown'd in wine.
The Tender Lover.
BEautious Charmer, pride of nature
Idol-goddess of my heart;
Soul of sweetness, heav'n-born [...] [...]reature,
Ease a tender Lover's smart.
How I do adore and languish,
Witness all the pow'rs above;
Nothing can asswage my anguish,
But a smile for her I love.
Every step inspires devotion,
Ev'ry look displays a grace;
So majestic is your motion,
So angelic is your face.
[...]
[Page 13]
She dropt a Tear, and cry'd be True.
THE ling'ring winds that feebly blow,
Why thus impede my way?
[...]hy moves the lazy ship so flow,
When Mary mourns my stay?
[...]r when she made my last adieu,
[...]e dropt a tear and cried, "be true."
When as the midnight watch I keep
I view [...]he the sparkling sea,
While round my shipmates careless sleep,
I fondly think on thee,
Remembrance paints the last adieu,
When Mary wept and cried, "be true."
Tho' I be distant as the pole.
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:
[...]jected I rejoin the crew,
[...] fondly hope my Mary's true.
[...]ne than ye briskly pleasing gales
[...]or once auspicious prove,
[...]e swell the bosom of my sails,
[...]d waft me to my love.
[Page 14] Moor'd in her arms to toils adieu,
If still I find my Mary true.
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;
[...] 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 leave a roving life,
At every mess we find a friend,
At every port a wife.
I have a spanking wife at Portsmouth gate,
A pigmy at Goroe,
An orange tawney up the Streights,
A black at Saint Luicee;
Thus whatsoever course we bend,
We lead a jovial life,
At every mess we find a friend,
At every port a wife.
Will Gaste, by death was ta'en aback,
I came to bring the news,
[Page 15] Poll, whimper'd sore, but what did Jack
Why stood in William's shoes,
The run—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 for.
And drink your generous 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 Sailor's Return.
THE breeze was fresh, the ship in stay
Each breaker hush'd the shore abaze,
When Jack, no more on duty call'd,
His true love's token overhaul'd,
Then broken gold, the braided hair,
The tender motto writ so fair,
Upon his 'bacco box he views,
Naney the Poet, love the Muse—
Of you love me 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,
When Jack, as with his messmates dear;
He shared the grog, their hearts to cheer,
[Page 16] Took from his 'bacco box a quid,
And spelled for comfort on the lid—
If you love me as I love you,
No pair so happy as we two.
The voyage that has been long and hard,
But that had yielded full rew [...]rd,
That brought each sailor to his friend,
Happy and rich, and duties 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 me as I love you,
No pair so happy as we two.
Toby Philpot.
DEAR Tom, this brown jug that now foams with mild ale,
(in which I will drink to sweet Nan of the vale)
Was once Toby Philpot, a thirsty old soul,
As e'er drank a bottle, or fathom'd a bowl;
In boozing about 'twas his praise to excel,
And among jolly tope [...]s he bore off the bell.
[...] in dog days he sat at his ease,
In a [...]-woven arboor as gay as you please
With a friend & a pipe, puffing sorrow away,
And with honest old stingo was soaking his clay,
His breath doors of lise on a sudden were shut
And he died full a [...] big as a Dorchestor but,
[Page 17]
His body, when long in the ground it had lain,
And time, into clay had dissolv'd it again,
[...] potter found out—in a covert so snug,
And with part of sat Toby he form'd this brown jog,
[...]ow sacred to friendship, to mirth, and mild ale,
Here's a health to my lovely sweet Nan of the vale.
A Rose Tree.
HE. Duet.
A Rose tree in full bearing,
Had sweet flowers fair to see,
One rose beyond comparing,
For beauty attracted me.
Tho' eager then to win it,
Lovely, blooming, fresh, and gay:
find a canker in it—
And now throw it far away.
SHE.
[...]ow fine this morning early,
And sunshiny, clear, and bright!
[...]o late I lov'd you dearly,
Tho' lost now each fond delight.
The clouds seem big with showers,
[...]nny beams no more are seen;
[...]rewell ve fleeting hours.
[...]our falshood has chang'd the scene.
[Page 18]
Sandy's Ghost.
WHEN Mary heard young Sandy's tale
And slumb'ring saw his death-like shade,
Her blooming features all turn'd pale,
And all her wonted beauty fled;
Can words, said she, my grief express,
Why didst thou Sandy, cross the sea,
How are my sorrows now increas'd,
Yet, sav'st thou, weep no more for me.
Why didst thou leave the peaceful shore,
To make the rocks thy dying bed;
How did the boistrous billows roar,
And sport about thy drooping head;
Ah! well might horror chill thy blood,
Yet didst thou then remember me,
Ah! cruel rocks, relentless flood!
Sandy, I must still weep for thee.
Why, lovely shadow, art thou flown?
How hast thou now increas'd my woe,
Art thou to happier regions gone?
And must I languish here below?
Oh! haste and guide me to that shore,
Where love's from disappointment free
Where you and I shall part no more,
Where I shall cease to weep for thee.
All earthly bliss I'd gladly leave,
Could I thy floating body find,
I'd scorn the rocks, despise the waves,
To lay my dust to rest with thine;
O'erwhelm'd with grief, she droop'd her h [...]
Life's functions all at once gave way,
When soft and low the dying said,
Sandy, I cease to weep for thee.
[Page 19]
The Batchelor Married.
COME all you merry Bachelors,
That fain-would married be;
pray you be advised,
And take advice from mes
single life is free from strife,
From sorrow care and woe,
Besides your wives will plague your lives,
With a weary pound of tow.
Before that I was married,
My girl was a thrifty dame,
[...]he would do all kinds of country work,
Would hatchel card and [...]p [...]n,
[...]nd wead potatoes, flax and corn,
Through rough and smooth would go,
[...]nd take a baby on her knee,
And spin her pound of tow.
[...]ut now since she's got married,
She is more topping grown;
[...] things are strangely altered,
She scolds in a [...]ul tone,
[...] revels in my ears all day,
And when to bed we go,
[...] that's the work she'd rather [...],
Than spin a pound of tow.
[...]ought say wife a store of flax,
As good as e'er you saw,
[...]d out of it she hatche'ed
One single pound of tow;
[...]n [...]y of that pound of tow,
[Page 20] I wish it ne'er begun;
I'm afraid my wife [...] end her life
Before the tow gets spun.
For every day she lies in bed
Until that it be noon,
Then calls her maid to an her cloaths,
'Till the wavering tea goes on:
Then gossiping and tattling,
From house to house she'll go.
And that's the work she rather do,
Than spin her pound of tow.
Instead of hasty pudding,
She must have the best of tea,
With a sine duck or partridge
On her table every day;
And if her wants are not supply'd,
For it my [...] must go,
With the porridge pot and laddle,
Or the wheel that spins the tow.
As for those city damsel'
They go both neat and fine,
In drinking tea and brandy
Is all that they do mind;
Then gossiping and [...]a [...]ling,
From lane to lane they'll go,
And that's the work they'd rather do,
Than spin a pound of tow.
Then commend me to some country lass,
That can both wash and wring,
[Page 21] Can do all kinds of country work,
Will hatchel, card and spin,
And weed potatoes, flux and corn,
Through rough and smooth will go,
And rock the cradle with her foot,
And spin a pound of tow.
Johnny at the Fair.
O Dear! what can the matter be?
Dear, dear! what can the matter be?
O dear, what can the matter be,
[...]ohnny's so long at the fair.
He promis'd to buy me a fairing shou'd please me,
And this for a kiss, oh! he vow'd he wou'd teaze me,
He promis'd to buy me a bunch of blue ribbons,
To tie up my bonny brown hair.
O dear, what can the matter be,
Dear, dear, what can the matter be,
O dear, what can the matter be,
Johnny's so long at the fair.
He promis'd to buy me a basket of posies,
A garland of lillies, and a garland of roses,
A little straw hat to set off the blue ribbons,
That tic up my bonny brown hair.
O dear, what can the matter be?
Dear, dear, what can the matter be,
[Page 22] O dear, what can the matter be?
Johnny's so long at the fair.
He promis'd to buy me a pair of new sloings,
A pair of blue garters that cost him but [...] pence;
A bunch of fine feathers to match the b [...] ribbon.,
That tis up my bonny brown hair.
O dear! what can the matter be?
Dear, dear, what can the matter be?
O dear, what can the matter be?
Johnny's so long at the fair.
There see, see, he is a coming,
Look, how he is running,
There, see, see him a coming,
Johnny's come home from the fair.
A Lover's advice.
LOVELY nymph, assuage my anguish,
At your feet a tender swain
Prays you will not let him languish:
One kind look wou'd ease his pain.
Did you know the lad that courts
You, he not long need sue in vain
Prince of song, of daneo, of sports,
You scarce will meet his like again.
[Page 23]
The dying Lover
WHEN late I wander'd o'er the plain,
From nymph to nymph, I strove in vain
My wild desires to rally;
But no [...] they're of themselves come home,
And, strange! no longer seek to roam,
They centre all in Sally.
Yet she, unkind one, damps my joy,
And cries, I court but to destroy:
Can love with ruin tally?
By those dear lips, those eyes, I swear,
I would all deaths, all torments bear,
Rather than injure Sally.
Can the weak taper's feeble rays,
Or lamps, transmit the sun's bright blaze;
Oh! no—then how shall [...]
In words, be able to express
My love?—it burns to such ex [...]ss,
I almost die for Sally.
Come, then, oh! come, thou sweater far
Than jessamine and roses are,
O lillies of the valley;
O follow love, and quit your fear,
He'll guide you to those arms, my dear,
And make me blest in Sally.
The flowing Bowl.
RAIL no more, ye learned asses,
Gainst the joy the bowl supplies;
[Page 24] Sound its depth, and fill your glasses,
Wisdom at the bottom lies:
Fill 'em higher still, and higher,
Shallow draughts perplex the brain;
Sipping quenches all our fire,
Bumpers light it up again.
Draw the scene for wit and pleasure.
Enter jollity and joy:
We for thinking have no leisure,
Manly mirth is our employ:
Since in life there's nothing certain,
We'll the present hour engage;
And, when death shall drop the curtain,
With applause we'll quit the stage.
FINIS.