The Buck's pocket companion; or Merry fellow: a choice collection of songs. Selected with care from the latest European and American publications: including the modern toasts and sentiments. : [Two lines]

The Buck's pocket companion; or Merry fellow: a choice collection of songs. Selected with care from the latest European and American publications: including the modern toasts and sentiments. : [Two lines]

Table of contents

Title page

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SONG III. TO LIBERTY.

SONG. IV. The Lass of Lucern Lake.

SONG V.

SONG VI.

SONG VII.

SONG VIII.

SONG IX. The Chearful Hibernian.

SONG X. St. Patrick's Day in the Morning.

SONG XI. O what a Charming Thing's a Battle.

SONG XII. YO YEA.

SONG XIII. Paddy's Expedition.

SONG XIV. JACKY BULL.

SONG XV. Strephan and Flora.

SONG XVI. THE CHARMING FELLOW. FROM THE AGREEABLE SURPRISE.

SONG XVII. BRIGHT PHOEBUS.

SONG XVIII. How stands the Glass around.

SONG XIX. POOR JACK.

SONG XX. Davy Jones's Locker; Or, a sequel to the favourite song of Poor Jack.

SONG XXI. The Can of Grog.

SONG XXII. When I was a Younker.

SONG XXIII. Piquet.

SONG XXIV. The Stay Maker.

SONG XXV. The Tar for all Weathers.

SONG XXVI. The Lasses of Dublin.

SONG XXVII. Poor Tom, or the Sailor's Epitaph.

SONG XXVIII. Tug at the Oar.

SONG XXIX. The Merry Sailor.

SONG XXX.

SONG XXXI.

SONG XXXII. The All of Life is Love.

SONG XXXIII. The Girl of my Heart.

SONG XXXIV. Row Dow.

Hark Away. SONG XXXV.

SONG XXXVI. The Tar.

SONG XXXVII. The Captured Crew.

SONG XLI. One Bottle More.

SONG XLII. Corporal Casey.

SONG XLIII. Hang me if I Marry.

SONG XLIV. Fye for Shame.

SONG XLV. The Topsails shiver in the Wind.

SONG XLVI. The Ploughman.

SONG XLVII. Jack in his Element.

SONG XLVIII. Friendship and Love.

SONG XLIX. Tipple and Smoke.

SONG L. The Maid of Martindale.

SONG LI. The Disconsolate Sailor.

SONG LII. Ben Block.

SONG LIII. The Female Gamester.

SONG LIV. Prithe Fool be Quiet.

SONG LV. The Sea-Worn Tar.

SONG LVI. When I've Money I am Merry.

SONG LVII. Tho I'm a very little Lad.

SONG LVIII. The Heaving of the Lean.

SONG LIX. The Sailor's Consolation.

SONG LX. The Faithful Soldier.

SONG LXI. Homeward Bound.

SONG LXII. Heaving the Anchor.

SONG LXIII. Freedom or the Grave.

SONG LXIV. From Night Till Morn, &c.

INDEX.

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[Page]

BUCK's POCKET COMPANION; OR, MERRY FELLOW: A CHOICE COLLECTION OF SONGS. SELECTED WITH CARE FROM THE LATEST EUROPEAN AND AMERICAN PUBLICATIONS: INCLUDING THE MODERN TOASTS AND SENTIMENTS.

"Hence, loathed melancholy,

"Mirth admit me of thy crew."

NEW-HAVEN: PRINTED BY GEORGE BUNCE. M. DCC, XCVIII.

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[...]

[Page]

Shall hateful tyrants, mischief breeding,

With hireling hosts a russian band,

Affright and desclate the land,

While Peace and Liberty lie bleeding?

To arms, to arms, ye brave,

Th' avenging sword unsheath'd;

March on, march on, all hearts resolv'd

On victory or death.

Now, now the dang'rous storm is rolling,

Which treach'rous kings, confed'rate raise;

The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,

And lo! our fields and cities blaze.

And shall we basely view the ruin,

While lawless force, with guilty stride,

Spreads desolation far and wide,

With crimes and blood his hands embring?

To arms, ye brave, &c.

With luxury and pride surrounded,

The vile, 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 staves [...]

But man is man, and who is more?

Then shall they longer lash and goad us?

To arms, ye brave, &c.

O LIBERTY! can man resign thee,

Once having felt thy gen'rous [...]

Can dungeons, bolts, and bars confine thee,

Or whips thy noble spirit tame?

[Page]

Too long the world has wept, bewailing,

That Falsehood's dagger Tyrants weild:

But FREEDOM is our sword and shield,

And all their arts unavailing.

To arms, ye brave, &c.

SONG III. TO LIBERTY.

From Helvetic Liberty.

MOUNTAIN goddess! unconsin'd,

Lang our fathers rov'd with thee,

And left their sons this charge behind,

Die, or live with Liberty.

CHORUS.

Barb the arrow, fletch it new,

From the eagle's soaring wing,

Aim aright and send it true,

From the strong bow's fatal string.

Be our points the tyrants fear,

He who robs us of our right,

All our fathers held so dear,

All in which their sons delight.

CHORUS, &c.

Sing this theme to cheer the brave,

He who aids not Freedom's cause.

Let him live despis'd a slave,

Unprotected by her laws.

CHORUS, &c.

[Page]

SONG. IV. The Lass of Lucern Lake.

From the Same.

SAY will you leave your lowland haunts,

And range the hills with me;

This arm shall render light your wants,

And guard your Liberty.

The mountain doe that slits so fleet,

At earliest morn I'll take;

And make the rich repast for thee,

Dear Lass of Lucern Lake.

The choicest fruits that grace the groves,

The muscadine and pear,

Just when the bee for honey roves,

Will I at morn be there.

I'll pluck impearl'd with evening dew

The berry from the brake,

And spread the bow'r with sweets for you,

Dear Lass of Lucern Lake.

From nipping blasts, from frost and hall

Thy beauty I'll defend,

And still amidst the winter's gale

I'll live thy love and friend.

Turn then fair maid and fly with me,

Thy lowland haunts forsake,

And all my cares shall be for thee,

Dear Lass of Lucern Lake.

SONG V.

WHILE plots work revolutions,

And revolutions plots;

New model constitutions,

Be mine the best of lots.

[Page] A lass that's plump and rosy,

Good-natur'd ever free,

'Tis all I ask,

My girl, my flask

The rest is trash to me.

And what more needs the soldier blade,

Who when in battle join'd,

May yield to death his fighting trade,

What's wealth then left behind.

Then give the girl that's rosy,

Good-natur'd ever free,

'Tis all I ask,

My girl, my flask,

The rest is trash to me.

Let tyrants live in endless fear,

Despis'd and cur'sd by all;

For ever dream of dangers near,

Of poison, fire, and ball.

We heed not such who love the lass,

Good-natur'd ever free,

'Tis such I ask,

My girl, my flask,

The rest is trash to me.

SONG VI.

EDWALD.

MY fair Serena oft has seen,

When spring bedecks with flow'rs the green,

How soars the lark his mate to cheer,

Warbling sweetly love sincere.

As loves the bird that sings above,

My dear Serena, so I love.

[Page]SERENA.

My gentle Edwald oft has seen

When cuckoo-buds first paint the scene,

How in pairs the ring-doves meet,

Still cooing kind and billing sweet.

As loves the lark, or constant dove,

My gentle Edwald so I love.

BOTH.

Come then caressing let us live,

For what has life like love to give,

We'll love, and when our youth is past,

By friendship teach the flame to last.

SONG VII.

A SOLDIER I am for a lady,

What beau was e'er arm'd completer,

When face to face

Her chamber's the place,

I'm able and willing to meet her.

Gads curse, my dear lasses I'm ready.

To give ye all satisfaction,

I'm the man,

For the crack of your fan,

Tho' I die at your feet in the action.

Your bobbins may beat up a row dow dow,

Your lap dog may out with his bow wow wow

The challenge is love,

I take up the glove,

Tho' I die at your feet in the action

[Page]

SONG VIII.

IN choice of a husband us widows are nice;

I'd not have a man woul'd grow old in a trice;

Not a bear or a monkey, a clown or a fop,

But one that could bustle and stir in my shop.

A log I'll avoid when I'm chusing my lad,

And a stork that might gobble up all that I had;

Such suitors I've had sir, but off they might hop,

I want one that can bustle and stir in my shop.

The lad in my eye, is the man to my mind,

So handsome, so young, so polite, and so kind;

With such a good soul to the alter I'd hop,

He's the man that can bustle and stir in my shop.

SONG IX. The Chearful Hibernian.

ALL you that are wise, and think life worth enjoying,

Or soldier or sailor, by land or by sea;

In loving and laughing your time be employing,

Your glass to your lip, and your lass on your knee.

Come sing away honics, and cast off all sorrow,

Tho' we all die to-day, let's be merry to morrow,

A hundred years hence 'twill be too late to borrow

A moment of time to be joyous and free

Come sing away honies, &c.

[Page]

My lord and the bishop, in spite of their splendor,

When death gives the call from their glories must part;

Your beautiful dame when the summons is sent her

Will feel the blood ebb from the cheek to the heart.

Then sing away honies, &c.

For riches and honors then, why all this riot,

Your rangling and jangling and all your alarms;

Arrah! burn you my honies, you'd better be quiet,

And take while you can, a kind girl to your arms.

You'd better be singing and casting off sorrow,

Tho' you all die to-day, sure be merry to-morrow;

A hundred years hence 'twill be too late to borrow

One moment to toy and enjoy her sweet charms.

You'd better be singing, &c.

SONG X. St. Patrick's Day in the Morning.

YE lads and ye lasses so buxom and clever,

Who come from Hibernia of famous renown,

Put on your best bibs and be coming together,

So neatly yourselves all adorning.

The music shall be sweetly playing,

Each shall be dancing skipping around,

Green shamrock shall shine, sir,

To make us all fine, sir,

Salt fish and potatoes

Shall smoke my dear creatures,

And nothing be wanting which there can be found,

Full bumpers of whisky

Will make as all frisky,

On St. Patrick's day in the morning.

[Page]

St. Patrick he was of vast estimation,

And liv'd a great while, sir, before he was dead,

He frighten'd the bug-a-bos out of the nation,

So none of your sneering and scorning.

For many things he did most truly,

All as clever as clever could be,

He banish'd the bugs, sir,

From blanket and rug, sir,

Oh! hub a boo, sir,

What more could he do, sir,

Whatever he said, sir, the blind could not see;

With heart like shillaly,

Then let us be gaily,

On St. Patrick's day in the morning.

There's Phelem O'Fagan and ruddy fac'd paddy,

With many tall fellows to make up the wake;

Miss Blarney will sing with her mammy and daddy,

And play till the ev'ning's returning.

With mirth and music dance and caper,

We will jovial, jovial be.

While each pretty miss, sir,

We'll smuggle and kiss, sir,

And pull'em and haul'em,

And tenderly maul'em,

Arrah! uke in the world are so merry as we.

All this to begin, sir,

We think it no sin, sir,

On St. Patrick's day in the morning.

SONG XI. O what a Charming Thing's a Battle.

WHAT a charming thing's a battle,

Trumpets sounding, drums a beating,

Crack, crick, crack the cannons rattle,

Ev'ry heart with joy elating.

[Page] With what pleasure are we spying,

From the front and from the rear,

Round us in the smoky sky,

Head and limbs and bullets flying,

Then the groans of soldiers dying,

Just like sparrows as it were.

At each pop,

Hundreds drop,

While the muskets prittle pratile,

Kill'd and wounded,

Lie consounded,

What a charming thing's a battle.

But the pleasant joke of all,

Is when to close attack we fall,

Like mad bulls each other beating,

Shooting, stabbing, maiming, cutting.

Horse and foot,

All go to't,

Kill's the word, both men and cattle,

Then to plunder,

Blood and thunder,

What a charming thing's a battle.

SONG XII. YO YEA.

I SAIL'D in the good ship the Kitty,

With a stiff blowing gale and rough sea,

Left Polly the lads call so pretty,

Safe here at an anchor, yo yea.

Yo yea, yo yea.

She blubber'd salt tears when we parted,

And ery'd now be constent to me,

[Page] I said, my dear, do'nt be down hearted,

So up with the anchor, yo yea.

Yo yea, 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.

Yo yea, 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.

Yo yea, yo yea.

SONG XIII. Paddy's Expedition.

WHEN I took my departure from Dublin's sweet town.

And for England's own self thro' the seas I did plow,

For four long days I was toss'd up and down,

Like a quid of chew'd hay in the throat of a cow.

While afraid off the deck in the ocean to slip, sir,

I clung like a cat, a fast hold for to keep, sir,

Round about the big post that grows out of the ship, sir,

O, I never thought more to sing Langolee.

Then standing stock still all the while I was moving,

Till Ireland's coast I saw clear out of sight;

Myself the next day a true Irishman proving,

When leaving the ship on the shore for to light.

[Page] As the board they put out was too narrow by quarter;

The first step I took I was in such a totter,

That I jump'd upon land, to my neck up in water.

O, that was no time to sing Laugolee.

But as sharp cold and hunger, I never yet knew more,

And my stomach and bowels did grumble and growl;

I thought the best way to get each in good humour,

Was to take out the wrinkles of both by my soul.

So I went to a house where roast meat they provide, sir,

With a whirligig which up the chimney I spyed, sir,

And which grinds all their smoke into powder besides, sir,

Tis true as I'm now singing Langolee.

Then I went to the landlord of all the stage coaches,

That set sail for London each night of the week,

To whom I obnoxiously made my reproaches,

As a birth aboard one I was come for to seek.

But as for the inside I'd no cash in my casket,

Says I with your leave, I make bold sir to ask it,

When the coach is gone off, pray what time goes the basket,

For there I can ride and sing Langolee.

When making his mouth up, the basket, says he, sir,

Goes after the coach a full hour or two:

Very well, sir, says I, that's the thing then for me, sir,

But the devil a word that he told me was true.

[Page] For tho one went before and the other behind, sir,

They set off chick by jole at the very same time, sir,

So the same day at night I set out by moon shine, sir,

All alone by myself, singing Langolee.

O long life to the moon for a brave noble creature,

That serves us with lamp light each night in the dark,

While the sun only shines in the day which by nature,

Wants no light at all, as you all may remark,

But as for the moon by my soul I'll be bound, sir,

[...] would save the whole nation a great many pounds, sir,

To subscribe for to light her up all the year round, sir,

Or I'll never sing more about Langolee.

SONG XIV. JACKY BULL.

IN Jacky Bull, when bound for France,

The gosling you discover,

But taught to ride, to fence and dance,

A finish'd goose comes over.

With his tirce and carte—sa—sa.

And his cotillion so smart—ha—ha,

He charms each female heart, oh, la!

As Jacky returns from Dover.

For cocks and dogs, see squire at home,

The prince of country tonies,

Returned from Paris, Spain or Rome

Our squires a nice Adonis.

[Page] With his tierce and carte—sa—sa,

And his cotillion so smart—ha—ha,

He charms the female heart, oh, la!

The pink of macaronies.

SONG XV. Strephan and Flora.

STREPHON with his Flora lying,

On a flowery bank one day,

She was bashful, he was spying—

Tol lol de rol rol de rol.

She was bashful he was spying

All her beauties, as she lay.

While the amorous youth lay stealing

Kisses from the willing fair,

Still his wanton hand was feeling—

Tol lol, &c.

Still his wanton hand was feeling

The ringlets of her flowing hair.

Long they talked of love and honour,

Till her virtue wore away;

Then he clapped his hand upon her—

Tol lol, &c.

Then he clapped his hand upon her

Heaving breasts, and thus did say.

Tell me, Flora, where's the sin to

Rightly use those graceful charms;

Where's the harm of entering into—

Tol lol, &c.

Where's the harm of entering into

Such a lovely virgin's arms.

[Page]

Long, too long, have I been hoping,

Long to gain thy heart I strove;

Then be kind and freely open—

Tol lol, &c.

Then be kind and freely open

Those sweet lips with words of love.

Thus addressed by a lover,

Gay and graceful as the sun;

Flora quickly flirted up her—

Tol lol, &c.

Flora gently lifted up her

Down cast eyes, and said you've won.

Then, as quick as pointed steel is,

Flew the brisk and amorous swain,

And with vigour made her feel his—

Tol lol, &c.

And with vigour made her feel his

Kisses o'er and o'er again.

SONG XVI. THE CHARMING FELLOW. FROM THE AGREEABLE SURPRISE.

Sung by Mrs. Hodgkinson at the Theatre, N. York

LORD! what care I for mam or dad,

Why let' em scold and bellow,

For while I live I'll love my lad,

He's such a charming fellow.

The last fair day, on Gander Green,

The youth he danc'd so well, O?

[Page] [...] spruce a lad was never seen

As my sweet charming fellow.

The fair was over, night was come,

The lad was somewhat mellow.

Says he, my dear, I'll see you home,

I thank d my charming fellow.

We trudg'd along, the moon shone bright,

Says he if you'll not tell, O!

I'll kiss you here by this good light:

Lord, what a charming fellow.

You rogue, says I, you'll stop my breath,

Ye bells ring out my knell, O!

Again I'd die so sweet a death,

With my sweet charming fellow.

SONG XVII. BRIGHT PHOEBUS.

BRIGHT Phoebus has mounted the chariot of day,

And the horns and the hound, call each sportsman away.

Thro woods and thro meadows with speed now they bound,

While health, rosy health, is in exercise found.

CHORUS.

Hark away! hark away! hark away is the word, to the sound of the horn,

And echo, and echo, and echo, blithe echo makes jovial the morn.

[Page] Each hill and each valley is lovely to view,

While puss flies the covert and dogs quick pursue

Behold where she flies o'er the wide spreading plain

While the loud opening pack pursue her amain.

Hark away, &c.

At length puss is caught and lies panting for breath

And the shout of the huntsman's the signal of death

No joys can delight like the sports of the field,

To hunting all pleasures and pastimes must yield.

Hark away, &c.

SONG XVIII. How stands the Glass around.

HOW stands the glass around,

For shame, ye take no care my boys:

How stands the glass around,

Let mirth and wine abound.

The trumpets sound,

The colours they are flying boys,

To fight kill or wound,

May we still be found,

Content with our hard fate my boys,

On the cold ground.

Why soldiers why

Should we be melancholy boys;

Why soldiers why,

Whose business tis to die,

What, sighing, fie.

Drown fear, drink on, be jolly boys,

Tis he, you, or I,

Cold, hot, wet, or dry,

We're always bound to follow boys,

And scorn to fly.

[Page]

Tis but in vain,

I mean not to upbraid you boys;

Tis but in vain,

For soldiers to complain;

Should next campaign,

Send us to him who made us boys,

We're free from pain,

But if we remain,

A bottle and kind landlady,

Cures all again.

SONG XIX. POOR JACK.

GO patter to lubbers and swabs do you see,

'Bout dangers and fears and the like;

A tight water boat and good sea room give me,

And it a'n't to a little I'll strike;

Tho the tempest top-gallant mast smack smooth should smite,

And shiver each splinter of wood,

Clear the wreck, stow the yards and bowse every thing tight,

And under reef'd fore-sail we'll scud.

Avast! nor don't think me a milk sop so soft,

To be taken for trifles a-back;

For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft,

To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.

Why, I heard the good chaplain palaver one day,

About souls—heaven—mercy—and such;

And, my timbers! what lingo he'd coil and belay!

Why, twas just all as one as High Dutch,

But he said, how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye see,

Without orders that come down below;

[Page] And many fine things, that prov'd clearly to me,

That Providence takes us in tow.

For, says he, do ye mind me, let storms e'er so oft

Take the top-lifts of sailors a-back,

There's a sweet little Cherub sits perch'd up aloft,

To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack.

I said to our Poll (for you see she would cry)

When last we weigh'd anchor for sea,

What argufies sniv'ling and piping your eye:

Why, what a damn'd fool you must be!

Can't you see the world's wide and there's room for us all,

Both for seamen and lubbers ashore;

And if to old Davy I go, my dear Poll,

Why, you will never hear of me more;

What then! all's a hazard—come don't be so soft,

Perhaps I may laughing come back;

For d'ye see, there's a Cherub sits smiling aloft,

To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack.

D'ye mind me a sailor should be, ev'ry inch,

All as one as a piece of the ship,

And with her brave the world without off'ring to flinch,

From the moment the anchor's a trip.

As to me, in all weathers, all times, tides and ends

Nought's a trouble on duty that waits;

My heart is my Poll's—and my rhino my friend's,

And as for my life—tis the States!

E'en when my time comes ne'er believe me so soft

As with grief to be taken a-back;—

That same little Cherub, that sits up aloft

Will look out a good birth for Poor Jack.

[Page]

SONG XX. Davy Jones's Locker; Or, a sequel to the favourite song of Poor Jack.

WHEN last honest Jack, of whose fate I now write,

Weigh'd anchor, and cast out for sea;

For he never refus'd for his country to sight,

When call'd on no lubber was he.

To hand, reef, and steer, and house every thing tight,

Full well did he know ev'ry inch;

Tho' the top-lifts of sailors the tempest should smite,

Jack never was known for to flinch.

Tho' the top-lifts, &c.

Aloft from the mast-head one day he espy'd,

Seven sail, which appeared to his view;

Clear the decks, spunge the guns, was instantly cried,

And each to his station then flew;

And fought until many a noble was slain,

And silenced was every gun:

Twas then all the honest tar's valour was vain,

For by numbers, alas! they're undone.

Yet think not hold Jack, tho' by conquest dismayed,

Could tamely submit to his fate;

When his country he found he no longer could serve,

Looking round, he address'd thus each mate;

What's life, d'ye see, when our liberty's gone,

Much nobler it were for to die—

So now for old Davy—then plung'd in the main—

E'en the Cherub above, heav'd a sigh,

[Page]

SONG XXI. The Can of Grog.

WHEN up the shrouds the sailor goes,

And ventures on the yard,

The landsman, he no better knows,

Believes his lot is hard.

CHORUS.

Bold Jack with smile each danger meets,

Weighs anchor, heaves the log:

Trims all the sails, belays the sheets,

And drinks his can of grog.

If to engage they give the word,

To quarters he'll repair,

Now sinking in the dismal flood,

Now quiv'ring in the air.

Bold Jack, &c.

When waves 'gainst rocks and quicksands roar,

You ne'er hear him repine,

Tho' he's on Greenland's icy shore,

Or scorch'd beneath the line.

Bold Jack, &c.

SONG XXII. 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.

[Page]

There was Ciss, Priss, Letty, and Betty, and Doll,

With Meg, Peg, Jenny, and Winney, and Moll.

CHORUS.

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 primer, a lesson I took;

I swore it was pretty, and kissed the book.

But school, fool, primer, and trimmer, and birch,

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

I flatter, &c.

'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.

[Page]

SONG XXIII. Piquet.

AFTER breakfast, says Nancy, well what shall we do?

Will you try me again and our party renew?

The girl was inviting, the morning was wet,

So I stay'd at her challenge, the game of piquet.

All matters adjusted, the conquest we try,

I went out strong in hand and my courage was high,

Come on my dear girl, it is well we are met,

I'll give you enough of your game at piquet.

I defy you says she; 'tis not boasting will win,

So give me, my dear, what I am to take in;

Then she laid down her point, mine against it I set,

She allow'd it was good at this game of piquer.

But quint and quartorze too she reckoned away,

I could hold no such thing, so desir'd her to play;

And the hussy so play'd I was soon in her debt,

Both laugh'd at and lurch'd at this game of piquet.

Well my lad never mind when your courage will rise

You shall have your revenge she jeeringly cries:

And as long as I found I had something to bet,

I attack'd her again at this game of piquet.

But each effort I made still the case was the same,

Till no stakes I could raise, I then left off the game,

For the player, believe me, no credit will get,

Who offers unfurnish'd to play at piquet.

Yet, so sweet is the game my fond sancy pursues

I'll never decline it tho certain to loose;

But morn, noon or night, take the challenge up yet

And sport with my Nancy at charming piquet.

[Page]

SONG XXIV. The Stay Maker.

GAD a mercy, devil's in me,

All the damsels wish to win me,

All the damsels, all the damsels, wish to win me;

Like a maypole round me cluster,

Hanging garlands, fuss and fluster,

Lilting, cap'ring, grining, smirking,

Pouting, bobbing, winking, jerking,

Cocking bills up, chins up perking,

Kates and Betties,

Polls and Letties,

All were doating gentle creatures,

On these features.

To their aprons all would pin me;

Gad a mercy, devil's in me,;

All the ladies wish to win me.

Pretty damsels—ugly damsels—black hair'd damsels —red hair'd damsels—six foot damsels—three foot damsels—pale fac'd damsels—plump fac'd damsels—small leg'd damsels—thick leg'd damsels —dainty damsels—dowdy damsels—pretty, ugly, black hair'd, six foot, three foot, pale fac'd, plump fac'd, small leg'd, thick leg'd dowdy, dainty, all run, all run after me sir, for when pretty fellows, we pretty maids are frank and free.

Gad a mercy, devil's in me,

All the ladies with to win me;

For their stays, taking measures,

Taking measure, Oh! the pleasure,

Taking measure, taking measure,

Oh! the pleasure.

[Page] Oh! such tempting looks they gave me,

Wishing in my heart to nim me,

Pat and cry you devil Jemmy.

Pretty ladies—ugly ladies, &c.

SONG XXV. 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 should never see them any more.

But sailors were born for all weathers,

The wind then blow high or blow low,

Our duty keeps us to our tethers,

And where the wind drives we must go.

When we enter'd the Gut of Gibraltar,

I verily thought she'd have sunk;

For the wind it began so to alter,

She yaw'd just as tho'f she was drunk:

The squall tore the 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, &c.

The storm came on thicker and faster,

As black just as pitch was the sky,

When truly a doleful disaster

Befell three poor failors and I;

[Page] Ben Bluntline, Sam Shroud, and Dick Handsail,

By a blast that came furious and hard,

Just while we were furling the mainsail,

Were ev'ry soul swept from the yard.

But sailors, &c.

Poor Ben, Sam and Dick cri'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 sine jolly crew,

Of three hundred that sail'd, never landed

But I, and (I think) twenty-two.

But sailors, &c.

After thus we at sea had miscarried,

Another guess way sat the wind,

For to England I came and got married,

To a lass that was comely and kind;

But whether for joy or vexation,

We know nor for what we are born,

Perhaps I may find a kind station,

Perhaps I may touch at Cape-Horn.

But sailors, &c.

SONG XXVI. The Lasses of Dublin.

THE meadows look cheerful, the birds sweetly sing,

So gaily they carrol the praises of spring;

Tho' nature rejoices, poor Norah shall mourn,

Until her dear Patrick again shall return.

Ye lasses of Doublin, ah! hide your gay charms,

Nor lure her dear Patrick from Norah's fond arms;

[Page] Tho' sattins, and ribbons, and laces are fine,

They hide not a heart with such feelings as mine,

SONG XXVII. Poor Tom, or the Sailor's Epitaph.

HERE, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,

The darling of our crew;

No more he'll hear the tempest howling,

For death had broach'd him to.

His form was of the manliest beauty,

His heart was kind and soft;

Faithful below he did his duty,

And now he's gone aloft,

And now he's gone alost.

Tom never from his word departed,

His virtues were so rare,

His friends were many, and true hearted,

His Poll was kind and fair:

And then he'd sing so bly the and jolly,

Ah many's the time and oft!

But mirth is turn'd to melancholy,

For Tom is gone aloft.

For Tom, &c.

Yet shall poor Tom sind pleasant weather,

When he who all commands,

Shall give, to call life's crew together,

The word to pipe all hands.

Thus death, who kings and tars dispatches,

In vain Tom's life has doff'd;

For tho' his body's under hatches,

His soul is gone aloft.

His soul, &c.

[Page]

SONG XXVIII. Tug at the Oar.

O THINK on my fate—once I freedom enjoy'd

Was as happy as happy could be!

But pleasure is fled—even hope is destroy'd,

A captive, alas on the sea!

I was ta'en by the foe—'twas the fiat of fate

To tear me from her I adore!

When thought brings to mind my once happy state,

I sigh, while I tug at the oar.

Hard, hard is my fate—oh how galling my chain,

My life's steer'd by misery's chart;

And though 'gainst my tyrants I scorn to complain,

Tears gush forth to ease my full heart;

I disdain e'en to shrink, tho' I feel the sharp lash,

Yet my breast bleeds for her I adore,

While around me the unfeeling billows will dash,

I sigh and still tug at the oar.

How fortune deceives!—I had pleasure in tow,

The port where she dwelt we'd in view,

But the wish'd nuptial morn was o'er clouded with woe

And, dear Anna, I was hurried from you:

Our shallop was boarded and I borne away,

To behold my dear Anna, no more,

But despair wastes my spirits, my form feels decay,

He sigh'd and expir'd at the oar.

SONG XXIX. The Merry Sailor.

HOW pleasant a sailor's life passes,

Who roams o'er the watery main,

[Page] 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 thin pair of breeches,

Goes through the world my brave boys.

The world is a beautiful garden,

Enriched 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 grandour or wealth can avail us,

But skilful industry steers right.

Then why should we quarrel, &c.

The courtier's more subject to dangers,

Who rules at the helm of the state,

Then we, who to politics strangers,

Escape the snares laid for the great:

The various blessings of nature,

In various nations we try,

No mortals on earth can be greater,

Who merrily live till we die.

Then why should we quarrel, &c.

SONG XXX.

WHEN whistling winds are heard to blow.

In tempests o'er the earth,

[Page] The seamens oft' dashed to and fro,

Yet cheerly takes his birth:

And as he fearless mounts the shrouds,

A while the vessel swings,

Tho' skies are mantled over with clouds

The gallant sailor sings:

Tis pretty Poll and honest Jack,

My girl and friend on shore,

Will hall me at returning back,

So let the billows roar.

When bending over the rocking yard.

While seas in mountains rise.

He takes a spell however hard,

And danger e'er defies:

The storm once o'er, the gallant tar

Lets fancy freely roam,

And tho' from many a friend afar,

Thus sings of those at home.

Tis pretty Poll, &c.

On burning coast, or frozen seas,

Alike in each extreme,

The gallant sailor's e'er at ease,

And floats with fortune's stream

To love and friendship ever true,

He sleers life's course along,

And wheresoever sailing to,

Fond hope elates his song.

Tis pretty Poll, &c.

SONG XXXI.

WHEN first I slipp'd my leading strings—to please her little Poll.

My mother bought me at the fair a pretty waxen doll,

[Page] Such sloe black eyes and cherry cheeks the smiling dear possest,

How could I kiss it oft' enough, or hug it to my breast.

No sooner I could prattle it as forward Misses do

Then how I long'd and sigh'd to hear my doll prattle too;

I curl'd her hair in ringlets neat, and dress'd her very gay,

And yet the sulky hussey, not a syllable would say,

Provok'd that to my questions kind, no answer I could get,

I shook the little hussy well, and whip'd her in a pet;

My mother cry'd, Oh fie upon't—pray let your doll alone,

If e'er you wish to have a pretty baby of your own

My head on this I bridled up, and threw the plaything by,

Altho' my sister snubb'd me for't—I knew the reason why—

I fancy she would wish to keep the sweethearts all her own,

But that she shan't depend upon't—when I'm a woman grown.

SONG XXXII. The All of Life is Love.

WHEN first this humble roof I knew,

With various cares I strove;

My grain was scarce, my sheep were few,

My all of life was love.

By mutual toil our board was drest,

The spring our drink bestow'd

[Page] But when her lip the brim had press'd,

The cup with nectar flow'd.

Content and peace our dwelling shar'd,

No other guest came nigh:

In them was giv'n (tho' gold was spar'd)

What gold can never buy.

No value has a splendid lot,

But has the means to prove,

That from the castle to the cot,

The all of life is love.

SONG XXXIII. The Girl of my Heart.

IN the world's crooked path, where I've been,

There to share in life s gloom my poor heart,

The sun-shine that soften'd the scene

Was—a smile from the girl of my heart.

Not a swain when the lark quits her nest,

But to labour with glee will depart,

If at eve he expects to be blest

With a smile from the girl of his heart.

Come then crosses and cares as they may,

Let my mind still this maxim impart,

The comfort of man's fleeting day

Is—a smile from the girl of his heart.

SONG XXXIV. Row Dow.

OH, fear not my courage, prov'd over and over,

Your soldier will rout each impertinent lover;

[Page] With a row dow I'll guard you, the foe shall your presence fly,

Who to fall in love here, must have tumbled, faith, pretty high.

With wide spreading charms, like the lake of Killarney,

Dear creature, O listen to none of their blarney.

With a row dow, &c.

Your true hearted lad is come galloping to you,

Oh! the salmon's leap's nought to his flight to pursue you,

With a row dow, &c.

Your short date of beauty—your glib tongue contrasting,

Like our own giant's causeway, will prove everlasting.

With a row dow, &c.

Hark Away. SONG XXXV.

THE sable-clad curtain's undrawn,

The lark sweetly carrols on high;

Quickly open's the eyes of the morn,

See the sun-beams are gilding the sky;

The huntsman he throws off the hounds,

The horn winds a tedious delay;

And the heart of each sportsman elated rebounds,

In expecting the summons for hark, hark away.

Hark! a bust gives the signal for chace,

Thro' woodlands we dashing pursue;

While the fox, fleet as wind, mends his pace,

'Till the huntsman proclaims him in view:

[Page] Now his strength and his cunning a mort,

See the dogs seize in triumph their prey,

While the death of the game gives fresh life to the sport,

The echo re-echo with hark, hark away.

Now for Liberty-Hall we repair,

To replenish the joys of the field;

Where good-humour combines with the fare,

And the wise smiles obedience to yield:

While the bottle and bowl both unite,

To vie with the sports of the day,

Let bumpers go round to the sportsman's delight,

And all join in the chorus of hark, hark away.

SONG XXXVI. The Tar.

MY heart from my bosom would fly,

And wander, oh wander afar,

Reflection bedews my sad eye,

For Henry is gone to the war:

Oh ye winds, to my Henry bear

One drop, let it fall on his breast,

The tear as a pearl he will wear,

And I in remembrance be blest.

In vain smiles the glittering scene,

In vain blooms the roseate flow'r;

The sun-shine in April's not seen,

I have only to do with the show'r.

Oh ye winds, &c.

[Page]

Ye winds that have borne him away,

Restore the dear youth to my arms:

Restore me to sun shine and day,

Tis night, till my Henry returns.

Oh ye winds, &c.

SONG XXXVII. The Captured Crew.

NIGHT scarce her mantle had withdrew,

And slowly usher'd in the morn,

When bearing down, we 'spied in view,

The savage foe not far astern;

The stoutest trembled—small our crew,

The victims of superior power;

Yet courage bid the drooping few

Wait calmly for the fatal hour.

Bold they approach'd—a council's held

Our men, with voice united, cry,

'Rather than basely deign to yield,

'They'd meet their fate and boldly die:'

The fight now rag d—from side to side

The thund ring cannon's dreadful sound;

With purple stain the deck was dy'd,

Which issu'd from each gaping wound.

Such havoc now stern death has made,

Vain our resistance—nought could shield,

Wounds and fatigue on valour prey'd,

And with reluctance did we yield:

But scarce our batter'd hull we quit,

Scarce from the sturdy wreck retire,

'Ere up she blew, sham'd to be beat,

Shrouding [...] form in sheets of fire.

[...]

[Page]

SONG XLI. One Bottle More.

ASSIST me ye lads who have he is void of guile,

To sing in the praise of Old Ireland's Isle;

Where true hospitality opens the door,

And friendship detains us for one bottle more.

One bottle more, arrah one bottle more.

And friendship detains us for one bottle more.

Old England your taunts on your country forbear;

With our bulls and our brogues we are true and sincere,

For if but one bottle remain'd in our store,

We have generous hearts to give that bottle more.

We have, &c.

In Canady's, in Church street I'l sing of a set,

Of six Irish blades who together had met;

Four bottles a piece made us call for our score,

And nothing remained but one bottle more.

And nothing, &c.

Our bill being paid, we were loth to depart,

For friendship had grappled each man by the heart;

Where the least touch you know makes an Irithman roar,

And the whack from shilella brought six bottles more.

And the whack, &c.

Slow Phoebus had shone thro our window so bright,

Quite happy to view his blest children of light;

So we parted with hearts neither sorry nor fore,

Resolving next night to think twelve bottles more.

Resolving [...]

[Page]

SONG XLII. Corporal Casey.

WHEN I was at home, I was merry and frisky,

My dad kept a pig, and my mother sold whisky:

My uncle was rich, but would never be easy,

Till I was enlisted by corporal Casey,

Och! rub a dub, row de dow, corporal Casey,

Rub a dub, row de dow, corporal Casey,

My dear tittle Sheelah, I thought would run crazy,

Oh! when I trudg'd away with my tough corporal Casey.

I march'd from Kilkenny, and as I was thinking

On Sheelah, my heart in my bosom was sinking;

But soon I was forc'd to look fresh as a daisy,

For fear of a drubbing from corporal Casey

Och! rub a dub, row de dow, corporal Casey;

The devii go with him, I ne'er could be lazy,

He stuck in my skarts so, auld corporal Casey,

We went into battle, I took the blows fairly,

That fell on my pate, but they bother'd me rarely;

And who should the first be that dropt?—why, a'nt please ye,

It was my good friend honest corporal Casey.

Och! ruba dub, row de dow, corporal Casey;

Thinks I you are quiet, and I shall be easy,

So eight years I fought without corporal Casey.

SONG XLIII. Hang me if I Marry.

DECLARE, my pretty maid,

Must my fond suit miscarry?

[Page] With you I'll toy, I'll kiss and play;

But hang me if I marry:

With you I'll toy, &c.

Then speak your mind at once,

Nor let me longer tarry;

With you I'll toy, I'll kiss and play;

But hang me if I marry.

With you I'll toy, &c.

Tho charms and wit assall,

The stroke I well can parry?

I love to kiss, to toy and play,

But do not choose to marry.

I love, &c.

Young Molly of the dale

Makes a mere slave of Harry;

Because, when they had toy'd and kiss'd,

The foolish swain would murray:

Because, &c.

These fix'd resolves, my dear,

I to the grave will carry;

With you I'll toy, and kiss and play;

But hang me if I marry:

With you I'll toy, &c.

SONG XLIV. Fye for Shame.

AS thro the groves I chanc'd to stray,

I met young Phillis on her way;

I slew like lightning to her arms,

And gaz'd in rapture on her charms;

Her looks reveal'd a modest flame,

Yet still she cry'd, O fye for shame.

[Page] With eager haste I stole a kiss,

Which blushing Phillis took amiss;

She push'd me from her with a frown,

And call'd me bold presuming clown;

While I confess'd myself to blame,

But still she cry'd, O fye for shame.

In tender sighs I told my love,

And pledg'd my faith on things above;

But she, like all her sex, was coy.

And tho I swore, would not comply:

Yet I perceiv'd she met my flame,

But still she cry'd, O fye for shame.

When this I saw, I quickly cry'd,

Will lovely Phillis be my bride?

For hark! I hear the tinkling bell;

To church let's go—It pleas'd her well,

And soon a kind compliance came,

But still she cry'd, O fye for shame.

Now Hymen's bands have made us one,

The joys we taste to few are known;

No jealous fears our bosoms move

For constant each, we truly love;

She now declares I'm not to blame,

No longer cries, O fye for shame.

SONG XLV. The Topsails shiver in the Wind.

THE topsails shiver in the wind,

Our ship she's casts to sea,

But yet my soul, my heart, my mind,

Are, Mary, moor'd with thee;

For tho thy sailor's bound afar,

Still love shall be my leading star.

[Page]

Should landsmen flatter when we're sailed,

O doubt their artful tales,

No gallant sailor ever fail'd

If love breath'd constant gales;

Thou art the comfort of my soul,

Which steers my heart from pole to pole.

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

We'll scorn the dashing main,

The rocks, the billows, and the wind,

Till we return again.

Now England's glory rest with you,

Our sails are full, sweet girls adieu.

SONG XLVI. The Ploughman.

I THAT once was a ploughman, a sailor am now,

No lark that aloft in the sky,

Ever slutter'd his wings to give speed to the plough,

Was so gay and so careless as I;

But my friend was a Carfindo aboard a king's ship.

And he ask'd me to go just to sea for a trip,

And he talk'd of such things

As if sailors were kings,

And so teazing did keep,

And so teazing did keep,

Till I left my poor plow to go ploughing the deep,

No longer the horn,

Call'd me up in the morn,

No longer the horn,

Call'd me up in the morn;

I trusted the Carfindo and the inconstant wind,

That made me for to go and leave my dear behind.

[Page]

I did not much like for to be aboard a ship,

[...] no door to creep out

I [...] bumbo and slip,

But I did not like rocking about;

Bye and bye came a hurricane, I did not like that,

Next a battle that many a sailor laid flat;

Ah! cried I who would roam?

That like me had a home,

When I'd sow and I'd reap.

When I'd sow and I'd reap,

E'er I left my poor plow to go ploughing the deep,

Where so sweely the horn,

Call'd me up in the morn;

Where so sweetly the horn

Call'd me up in the morn;

E'er I trusted the Carfindo and the inconstant wind,

That made me for to go and leave my dear behind.

At last safe I landed, and with a whole skin,

Nor did I make any long stay,

E'er I found my friend, who I ask for my kin;

Father dead, and my wife ran-away:

Ah! who but thyself, said I, hast thou to blame,

Wives losing their husbands, oft lose their good name.

Ah! why did I roam?

When so happy at home,

I could sow and could reap,

I could sow and could reap,

E'er I left my poor plow to go ploughing the deep,

When so sweetly the horn,

Call'd me up in the morn;

When so sweetly the horn,

Call'd me up in the morn;

Curse light upon the Carfindo and the inconstant wind,

That made me for to go and leave my dear behind.

[Page]

Why if that be the case, said this very same friend,

And you ben't no more minded to roam,

Giv's a shake by the fist; all your care's at an end,

Dad's alive, and your wife's safe at home.

Stark staring with joy, I leapt out of my skin,

Buss'd my wife, mother, sister, and all of my kin;

Now cried I, let them roam,

Who want a good home,

I am well so I'll keep,

I am well so I'll keep;

Nor again leave the plough to go plough in the deep.

Once more shall the horn,

Call me up in the morn;

Once more shall the horn,

Call me up in the morn.

Nor shall any damned Carfindo, nor the inconstant wind,

E'er tempt me for to go and leave my dear behind.

SONG XLVII. Jack in his Element.

BOLD Jack, the sailor, here I come,

Pray how do you like my nib,

My trowsers wide trampler on,

My nab and flowing jib,

I sail'd the seas from end to end.

And led 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.

[Page] The flowing sails we tars unbend,

To lead a roving life.

At every mess we find a friend,

At every port a wife.

I've a spanking wife at Portsmouth gates,

A pigmy at Goree,

An orange tawny up the Straits,

A black at St. Lucie.

Thus whatsoever course we bend,

We lead a jovial life,

At every mess we find a friend,

At every port a wife.

Will Gaff by death wasta'en aback,

I came to bring the news,

Poll whimper'd sore but what object,

I stood in William's shoes,

She got high chest and at the end,

She loves me as her life,

And she has an honest friend,

And I a loving wife.

Come all ye sailors that do go,

The unfortunate seas to rub,

You must work, love, and fight your foes,

And drink your generous bub,

Storms that our masts in splinters tears

Can take our joyous life,

In every want we find a friend,

And every port a wife.

SONG XLVIII. Friendship and Love.

THO' Bacchus may boast of hi care killing bowl,

And folly in thot drowning revels delight.

[Page] 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, his 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 be gone?

For the tear that bedews sensibility's shrine,

Is a drop of more worth than Bacchus's tune.

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 thro the gloom,

But love's the true sunshine that gladdens our life.

Come then, rosy Venus, and spread o'er my fight.

The magic illusions that ravish the soul,

Awake in my breast the soft 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 the banquet remove,

But each tube of my heart ever thirst for the wine,

That's mellow'd by friendship and sweeten'd by love.

[Page]

SONG XLIX. Tipple and Smoke.

WITH a pipe of Virginia, how happy am I,

And good liquor to moisten my clay standing by,

I puff up the smoke, and it curls round the room,

Like a Phoenix I seem in a nest of perfume.

Delighting,

Inviting,

Is a pipe, and a friend who is fond of a joke,

Then happy together we tipple and smoke.

How pleasant it is thus to puff time away,

And between ev'ry whi [...] [...]hat the news of the day;

Tobacco, great Raleigh, we owe to thy name,

And ev'ry true smoker will puff up thy fame.

Delighting, &c.

When business is over, we puss away care,

Let ev'ry man else say the same if he dare.

This plant so delightful, is a foe to the spleen,

As it glows in the pipe it enlivens the scene.

Delighting, &c.

While thus in the fumes we'er envelop'd around,

Our heads are like hills which with clouds still are crown'd;

Yet soon we emerge, and go cheerful away,

For a pipe of the best makes us bright as the day.

Delighting, &c.

SONG L. The Maid of Martindale.

IN Martindale a village gay,

A damsel deigns to dwell;

[Page] Whose looks are like a summer's day,

Whose charms no tongue can tell:

When'er I meet her on my way,

I tell my am rous tale,

Then heave a sigh and softly say,

Sweet maid of Martindale.

This nymph has numbers in her train,

From Hodge up to the Squire;

A conquest makes of ev'ry swain,

All gaze and all admire.

Then where's the hope, alas! for me,

That I should e'er prevail;

Yet, while I breathe I'll [...] of thee,

Sweet maid of Martindale.

Should fate propitious be my lot,

To call this charmer mine;

I'd live content in lowly cot

And pompous thoughts resign,

But if she scorns each heart felt sigh,

And leaves me to bewail;

For thee, my fair, for thee I'll die,

Sweet maid of Martindale.

SONG LI. The Disconsolate Sailor.

WHEN my money was all gone that I gained in the wars,

And the world 'gan to frown a my sate,

What matter'd my zeal or my honoured sears,

When indifference stood at each gate.

[Page]

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

Show'd a different aspect to me:

And when I could nought but ingratitude sind,

I hi'd once again to the sea.

I thought it unwise to repine at my lot,

Or to hear with cold looks on the shore:

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

And a trifle, alas! was my store.

A handkerchief held all the treasure I had,

Which over my shoulder I threw;

Away then I trudg'd, with a heart rather sad,

To join with some [...] 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 is unkind,

And fortune a slippery jade.

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

I'd let the ungrateful ones see,

That the turbulent winds and the billows could show,

More kindness than they did to me.

SONG LII. Ben Block.

I WAS press'd while a roving so happy—

No matter, twas childish to grieve;

So to drown care with grog I got happy,

Yet sigh'd my sweet Kitty to leave:

But what hurt me most were those ninnies,

On whom I had thought to depend,

For I wish'd to raise Kate a few guineas,

But found I had got ne'er a friend.

[Page]

When on board, why I troubled a ship-mate

A note to my sweet heart to write;

Which in doing he somehow a slip made,

His own tale of love did indite!

So when I at Battersea landed,

He'd pattered her so to his end)

I learnt he my frigate commanded,

And found I had got ne'er a friend.

When again on the salt seas in motion,

The ill-humour'd winds loudly roar;

And friendship I found on the ocean,

As scant as I left it on shore;

We were wreck'd—but [...] little matters,

While messmates to Da [...] [...]escend,

I escap'd but was poor, all in tatters,

And found I had got ne'er a friend.

Yet still to all sear I was stranger,

In battle, (where death tips the grin)

Was expos'd to the heat of each danger,

Till a musket-ball splintered my shin:

Well, away to the cock-pit I hobbled,

Where so many customers tend,

That the surgeon to save further trouble,

Lopp'd it off, damme, not like a friend.

But now ev'ry comfort's imparted,

I find, laid in Greenwich sung deck,

My messmates are true, honest-hearted,

And each wisher well to Ben Block:

The rear of my life glides on cheerly,

In a calm here my moments I'll end;

I have fought for my King late and early,

And, bless him, the King is my friend.

[Page]

SONG LIII. The Female Gamester.

AT cards last year, I with my dear,

Play'd ev'ry night and day;

I do not fib, she bilk'd my crib,

So crafty she did play;

Games at all fours, she's beat me scores,

So well the knows the pack;

When'er she deals, she cribs or steals,

And can always [...] Jack.

With her fal lal lal, [...] ral, fal lal lal, lal de ral,

When'er she deals, she cribs or steals,

And can always lug out Jack.

When'er at putt, I with the slut

Sit down tis, just the same;

Tho fair to play, I show my tray,

Her deuce will get the game:

Putt if you will, I'll meet your fair,

And play you for a crown:

As I'm alive, she'll so contrive,

That she always can lay down.

With her fal lal, &c.

At dear quadrille, I've had my fill,

She's beat me o'er and o'er;

Tho a good hand made me to stand,

She had always matadores;

When in the pool, I like a fool,

Put in my little fish,

She'd win them all, both great and small,

And have her warmest wish.

With her fal lal, &c.

[Page]

I never could at piquet,

Play with her but she won;

From first to last, she play'd so fast,

She'd beat sure as a gun:

If I look fierce, and shew my tierce,

A quart she always had;

If I had four, she show'd me more,

Her quint did make me mad.

With her fal lal, &c.

I always mist, if e'er at whist

We did together play;

She'd keep her seat, and always beat,

While I try'd ev'ry way,

Tho face to face, she'd win my ace,

And make me a mere pup;

My three times three, and honours, she

Takes from me and gets up.

With her fal lal, &c.

I am a Jew at hazard too,

And oft times have a nick,

Tho I throw well, I blush to tell,

That she has made me sick;

When with the box, she at me knocks,

My spirit sometimes flags;

For, by the gods, she wins the odds

And empties all my bags.

With her fal lal, &c.

SONG LIV. Prithe Fool be Quiet.

AS t'other day young Damon stray'd

Where Chloe say demure,

He doff'd his bat, and sigh'd, and gaz'd,

Twas love that struck him—sure:

[Page] With rev'rence he approach'd the fair,

Which she look'd very shy at:

And when he prais'd her shape and air,

Twas—prithe fool be quiet.

My dear, he cry'd, now be not coy,

Nor think my meaning rude;

Let love, like mine, thy mind employ,

True love can ne'er intrude;

Her hand he then assay'd to kiss,

Which, srowning, she cry difie at,

And when he struggled for the bliss,

Said—prithee fool be quiet.

Then kneeling at her feet he swore

Without her he should die;

That man ne'er loved woman more,

And heav'd a melting sigh:

Cupid unseen now touch'd her breast,

And there kick'd up a riot;

Much soften'd, yet she stil express'd

Nay—prithe sir be quiet.

The youth perceiv'd her alter'd tone,

And boldly ask'd her hand:

Soon [...] made them both as one,

United in his hand:

The case too soon is changed quite—

A scene you'll all cry fie at;

She prates away from morn all night,

While he cries—Zounds be quiet.

SONG LV. The Sea-Worn Tar.

THE sea-worn tar, who in the war,

No danger e'er could move;

[Page] True to his gun, all hazards run,

Yet thought upon his love:

But, home again, forgets his pain,

And seeks his faithful lass;

Lock'd in her arms, enjoys her charms,

And fills the sparkling glass.

The ship safe moor'd, with gold well stor'd,

All dangers now are o'er;

His timbers tight, his rigging light.

He souds along the shore,

To seek the place where ev'ry grace

Adorns his charming lass;

Then, in her arms, enjoys her charms,

And fills the sparking glass.

In war renown'd, with honor crown'd,

He laughs and sings away;

Oft fore and aft, aloft abaft,

He talks from night to day,

Of red hot balls, and batter'd walls,

To entertain his lass;

Lock'd in her arms, enjoys her charms,

And fills the sparkling glass.

The two followings Songs are sung in the Musical Entertainment of the "HIGHLAND REEL."

SONG LVI. When I've Money I am Merry.

WHEN I've money I am merry,

When I've none I'm very sad;

When I'm sober I am civil,

When I'm drunk I'm roaring mad,

[Page]

CHORUS.

With my titol teedle tum,

Likewise fol lol feedle fum,

Not forgatting diderum hi,

And also teedle tweedle dum.

When disputing with a puppy,

I convince him with a rap;

When I'm romping with a girl,

By accident I tear her cap,

Gadzooks, I'll never marry,

I'm a lad that's bold and free,

Yet I love a pretty girl,

A pretty girl is fond of me.

With my, &c.

There's a maiden in a corner,

Round and sound, and plump and fat,

She and I made love together

But no matter, Sir, for that.

If this maiden be wi' bairn,

As I do suppose she'll be,

Like good pappy I must learn

To dandle Jacky on my knee.

With my, &c.

SONG LVII. Tho I'm a very little Lad.

THO I'm a very little lad,

If fighting men cannot be had,

For want of better I may do,

To follow the boy with a rat-tat-too;

I may seem tender, yet I'm tough,

And tho not much o' me, right good stuff,

[Page] Of this I'll boast, say more who can,

I never was afraid to meet my man.

CHORUS.

I'm a chickabiddy, see take me now now now,

I'm a little merry he, for your row dow dow,

Brown Bess I'll knock about, oh, there's my joy,

At my back a knapsack like a roving boy.

In my tartan plaid a young soldier view,

My phillibeg and dirk, and my bonnet blue,

Give the word, and I'll march where you command,

Noble Serjeant with a shilling, strike my hand.

My Captain, as he takes his glass,

My wish to toy with a pretty lass,

For such a one I have a roguish eye,

He'll never want a lass when I am by.

I am a chickabiddy, &c.

Tho' a barber never yet has mow'd my chin,

With my great broad sword I long to begin,

Cut slash, ram-damn—oh glorious fun,

For a gun, pip, pop, change my little pop-gun.

My foes shall fly like geese in flocks,

E'on Turks I'll drive like turky-cocks,

And wherever quartered I shall be,

Oh, Zounds! how I'll kiss my landlady.

I'm a chickabiddy, &c,

SONG LVIII. The Heaving of the Lean.

FOR England, when with fav'ring gal,

Our gallant ship up channel steer'd,

And, scudding under easy sail,

The high blue western land appear'd

[Page] To heave the lead the seamen sprung,

And to the Pilot cheerly sung,

By the deep nine!

By the deep nine!

To heave the lead the seaman sprung,

And to the pilot cheerly sung,

By the deep nine!

And beating up to gain the port,

Some well-known object kept in view;

And abbey-tow'r an harbour-fort,

Or beacon, to the vessel true,

While oft the lead the seaman flung,

And to the pilot cheerly sung,

By the mark seven!

While oft the lead, &c.

And, as the much lov'd shore we near,

With transport we beheld the roof;

Where dwelt a friend or partner dear,

Of faith and love a matchless proof.

The lead once more the seaman slung,

And to the watchful pilot sung,

Quarter less sive!

The lead once more, &c.

SONG LIX. The Sailor's Consolation.

SPANKING Jack was so comely, so pleasant, so jolly,

[...] 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 as great as a king,

[Page] One night as we drove with two reefs in our mainsail,

And the scud came on louting upon a lee shore,

Jack went up aloft for to hand the top-gallant sail,

A spray wash'd him off, and we ne'er saw him more.

CHORUS.

We ne'er saw him more, but grieving's a folly, come let us be jolly,

If we have troubles at sea, boys, we have pleasure on shore.

Whistling Tom, still of mischief or fun, in the middle,

Thro' life, in all weathers, at random we jog,

He'd dance and he'd sing, and he'd play on the fiddle,

And swig, with an air, his allowance of grog:

Long fide of a Don, in the Terrible frigate,

As yard arm and yard arm we lay off the shore,

In and out whistling Tom did so caper and jig it,

That his head was shot off, and we ne'er saw him more.

Bonny Ben was to each jolly messmate a brother,

He was manly and honest, good natur'd and free;

If ever one tar was more free than another,

To his friend and his duty, that sailor was he,

One day with the david to heave the cadge anchor,

Ben went in a boat on a bold craggy shore,

He over board tipt when a shark and a Spanker

Soon nipt him in two, and we ne'er saw more.

[Page]

But what of it all, lads, shall we be down-hearted

Because that may hap we may take the last sup,

Life's cable must one day or other be parted,

And death in safe mooring will bring us all up,

But 'tis always the way on't one scarce finds a brother,

Found a pitch honest hearty, and true to the core,

But by battle or storm or some d—thing or other,

He's popp'd off the hooks, and we ne'er see him more.

SONG LX. The Faithful Soldier.

SHE.

COULD you to battle march away,

And leave me here complaining,

I'm sure it would break my heart to stay,

When you are gone campaigning:

Ah! non non non, pauvre Madelon

Ne'er will quit her rover.

Ah! non, &c.

HE.

Cheer, cheer my love, you shall not grieve,

A soldier true you'll find me;

I could not have the heart to leave,

My little girl behind me;

[...]! non non non, pauvre Madelon,

Shall never quit her rover;

Ah non non non, pauvre Madelon,

Shall go with me all the world over.

[Page]SHE.

And can you to the battle go

To women's fears a stranger,

No fears my breast shall ever know

But when my love's in danger.

Ah! non non non, pauvre Madelon

Will never quit her rover,

Ah! non non non, pauvre Madelon

Will go with you all the world over.

HE.

Then let the world jog as it will,

Let hollow friends forsake us,

Then let the world jog as it will,

Let hollow friends forsake us,

We both shall be as happy still,

As love and war can make us,

Ah! non non non, pauvre Madelon

Shall never quit her rover.

SONG LXI. 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 sens,

Ye sailors! I'm bound to my love.

Since Emma is true as she's fair,

My griefs I fling all to the wind.

[Page] 'Tis a pleasing return for my care:

My mistress is constant and kind.

My sails are all sill'd to my dear:

What tropic-bird swifter can move;

Who cruel shall hold his career,

That returns to the nest of his love.

Hoist every sail to the breeze,

Come, ship-mates, and join in my song;

Let's drink while the ship cuts the seas,

To the gale that may drive her along.

SONG LXII. Heaving the Anchor.

WHEN first we hear the boatswain's bray,

With a voice like thunder roaring,

All hands, my lads get under way;

Hark! the signal for unmooring,

To save the joyous breeze,

Our handspikes quick we seize,

In hopes to meet the foe—

Our capston here, the windless there,

We man to the tune of heo, hea heo, &c.

Cast loose your topsails next he cries,

Top-gallant sails and courses,

Clew lines and geer, let go my boys,

Haul home your sheets like horses,

The mizen too, be glib,

Fore stay-sail too, and jib,

Your downhauls, boys let go:

We straight comply and eager fly,

And obey to the tune of heo, hea, heo, &c.

[Page]

The anchor's up oh! next we call,

Avast boys, vast your heaving,

Out cat and fish we overhaul,

Our handspikes nimbly leaving;

Then if a prosperous gale,

We croud on every sail,

Our sheers they sweetly flow,

Along we swim, our braces trim,

And tis all to the tune of heo, hea, heo, &c.

Then lovely Moll and Sue, and Beck,

Their eyes with grief o'erflowing,

With heavy hearts come up on deck,

The rude winds on them blowing;

A short embrace we take,

Which makes our hearts to ake,

A while we're lost in woe:

Nor to our grief can find relief,

Till cheer'd by the tune of heo, hoa, heo, &c.

SONG LXIII. Freedom or the Grave.

FILL high the animating glass,

And let th' electric ruby pass

From hand to hand, from soul to soul;

Who shall the energy controul,

Exalted, pure, refin'd,

The Hearth of Human kind!

CHORUS.

Assert the hollow'd Rights which Nature gave,

And let your last best Vow, be FREEDOM or the

GRAVE.

[Page]

Not now a venal tribe shall raise

The song of prostituted praise,

To sov'reigns who have seiz'd their pow'r;

But at this gay, this lib'ral hour,

We bless what Heaven design'd,

The Health of Human kind.

Assert the hallow'd, &c.

We turn indignant from each cause

Of man's dismay; from partial laws,

From kings who vainly seek by flight,

To shun the blaze of Mortal light;

We bless what Heaven design'd,

The Health of Human kind.

Assert the hallow'd, &c.

SONG LXIV. From Night Till Morn, &c.

FROM night till more I take my glass,

In hopes to forget my Chloe,

From night, &c.

But as I take the pleasing draught,

She's ne'er the less before me,

Ah! no no no, wine cannot cure

The pain I endure for my Chloe.

To wine I slew to ease my pain,

Her beauteous charms created;

To wine, &c.

But wine more firmly bound the chain,

And love would not be cheated.

Ah! no no no, &c.

[...]

INDEX.

[Page]

A

A SOLDIER I am for a Lady page 9

All you that are wise and think life worth enjoying page 10

After breakfast, says Nancy, well what shall we do? page 26

Aslist me ye lads who have hearts void of guile page 42

As thro the groves I chanc'd to stray page 42

At cards last year, I with my dear page 54

As t'other day young Damon stray'd page 55

B

Bright Phoebus has mounted the chariot of day page 19

Bold Jack, the sailor, here I come page 47

C

Come, my fairest, learn of me page 39

Could you to the battle march away page 62

Come loose ev'ry sail to the breeze page 63

D

Declare, my pretty maid page 42

F

For England, when wich fav'ring gale page 59

Fill high the animating glass page 65

From night till morn I take my glass page 66

G

Go patter to lubbers and swabs do you see page 21

Gad a mercy, devil's in me page 27

H

[Page]How blest the life a sailor leads page 3

How stands the glass around page 20

Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling page 30

How pleasant a sailor's life passes page 31

I

In choice of a husband us widows are nice page 10

I sail'd in the good ship the Kitty page 13

In Jacky Bull, when bound for France page 16

I sail'd from the Downs in the Nancy page 28

In the world's crooked path, where I've been page 35

I that once was a ploughman, a sailor am now page 45

In Martindale, a village gay page 50

I was press'd while a roving so happy page 52

L

Lord! what care I for mam or dad page 18

M

Mountain Goddess! unconfin'd page 6

My fair Serena oft has seen page 8

My heart from my bosom would fly page 37

N

Night scarce her mantle had withdrew page 38

O

O think-on my fate—once I freedom enjoy'd page 31

Oh, fear not my courage, prov'd over and over page 35

S

Say, will you leave your lowland haunts page 7

Strephon with his Flora lying page 17

Sons of Bacchus let's be gay page 39

[Page] Spanking Jack was so comely, so pleasant, so jolly page 60

T

The meadows look cheerful, the birds sweetly sing page 29

The sable-clad curtain's undrawn page 36

The topsails shiver in the wind page 44

Tho Bacchus may boast of his care killing bowl page 48

The sea-worn tar, who in the war page 56

Tho I'm a very little lad page 58

W

While plots work revolutions page 7

What a charming thing's a battle page 12

When I took my departure from Dublin's sweet town page 14

When last honest Jack, of whose fate I now write page 23

When up the shrouds the sailor goes page 24

When I was a younker, and liv'd with my dad page 24

When whistling winds are heard to blow page 32

When first I slipp'd my leading strings— to please her little Poll page 33

When first this humble roof I knew page 34

Whilst on thy dear bosom lying page 40

When I was at home, I was merry and frisky page 42

With a pipe of Virginia, how happy am I page 50

When my money was all gone that I gain'd in the wars page 51

When I've money I am merry page 57

When first we hear the boatswain's bray page 64

Y

Ye Sons of France! awake to glory page 4

Ye lads and ye lasses so buxom and clever page 11

Information about this book

Title statement

The Buck's pocket companion; or Merry fellow: a choice collection of songs. Selected with care from the latest European and American publications: including the modern toasts and sentiments. : [Two lines]

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI :

Date

2011-05.

ID [DLPS]

N36949

ID [TCP]

N36949

ID [STC]

Shipton 48381

ID [NOTIS]

APV6027

ID [IMAGE-SET]

48381

ID [EVANS-CITATION]

99001475

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. 48381.

Notes

(Evans-TCP ; no. N36949)

Transcribed from: (Readex Archive of Americana ; Early American Imprints, series I ; image set 48381)

Images scanned from Readex microprint and microform: (Early American imprints. First series ; no. 48381)

Source

— The Buck's pocket companion; or Merry fellow: a choice collection of songs. Selected with care from the latest European and American publications: including the modern toasts and sentiments. : [Two lines],

Extent

71, [1] p.

Printed by George Bunce.,. New-Haven: :: M.DCC.XCVIII. [1798]. (Contains 54 songs, all indexed.) (The only known copy, held by Yale University, lacks p. 3-4, 39-40, and 67-68.)

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