/ LIBRARY OF THE N UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT URBANA-CHAMPAICN ’s*CKe -'<, 0 o Vs' " BOUGHT 0 R *■ o Sr B4 R CENTRAL CIRCULATION AND BOOKSTACKS The person borrowing this material is re- sponsible for its renewal or return before the Latest Date stamped below. You may be charged a minimum fee of $75.00 for each non-returned or lost item. Theft, mutilation, or defacement of library materials can be causes for student disciplinary action. All materials owned by the University of Illinois Library are the property of the State of Illinois and are protected by Article 16B of Illinois Criminal Law and Procedure. TO RENEW, CALL (217) 333-8400. University of Illinois Library at Urbana-Champaign DEC 081 When renewing by phone, write new due date below previous due date. L162 7 f u / /< •£ ff 4-kf^: : I // 'i i V , ? Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2016 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign https://archive.org/details/songsoflatecharlOOdibd Hitter tfrr |9atronage of tfje EnrW of ttje SJJmirattp. SONGS OF THE LATE CHARLES DIBDIN; WITH A MEMOIR. COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY T. DIBDIN, AUTHOR OP “THE ENGLISH FLEET,” “CABINET,” ETC., ETC. WITH CHARACTERISTIC SKETCHES BY G. CRUIKSHANK. LONDON: HENRY G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN 1864. LONDON : PRINTED BY HARRISON AND SONS, ST. MARTIN’S LANE. $ 2 | TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF MINTO, FIRST LORD OF THE ADMIRALTI, <&C. &C. t&C. My Lord, The patronage with which you have been pleased to honour the productions of a minstrel who appreciated Melody as the soul of Music, and whose metrical attempts to portray the rough-hewn natural characters, and stimu- late the gallant exertions, of a class to whom their Country is so infinitely indebted, entitles your Lordship, and the patriotic Board who have added their distinguished sanction of the following Selection, to the thanks of all lovers of Old English Ballads, who retain what Shakspeare calls a smack of predilection for home-brewed excellence ; and, above all, to the heartfelt, proud, and filial sense of obligation conferred on. ( My Lord, Your Lordship’s Most humble and Gratefully obedient servant, Thomas Dibdin. London, January 1 , 1841 , a 2 •Patron* AND SUBSCRIBERS TO THE FIRST EDITION. Copies HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN 50 HER MAJESTY QUEEN ADELAIDE 50 H. R. H. THE DUCHESS OF KENT 20 HIS MAJESTY THE KING OF HANOVER. HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN OF HANOVER. H. R. H. THE CROWN PRINCE OF HANOVER. H. R. H. THE DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER ... 20 H. R. H. THE PRINCESS SOPHIA 20 H. R. H. THE DUKE OF SUSSEX 20 HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF INVERNESS ... 20 H. R. H. THE DUKE OF CAMBRIDGE 20 H. R. H. THE DUCHESS OF CAMBRIDGE 20 H. R. H. PRINCE GEORGE OF CAMBRIDGE ... 10 THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF MINTO... } AND l 500 THE LORDS OF THE ADMIRALTY j JJatrona AUD SUBSCRIBERS TO THE SECOND EDITION H. R. H. the Duke of Cambridge The Right Hon. the Lord Chancellor ... His Grace the Duke of Buccleuch His Grace the Duke of Northumberland His Grace the Duke of Sutherland His Grace the Duke of Leinster The Most Noble the Marqtjis of Lansdo^jv*!, The Most Noble the Marquis of No rtf The Most Noble the Marquis of Titcmfiel© The Most Noble the Marchioness of 0OU&O The Most Noble the Marchioness o» CiOMDONDbrr? The Right Hon. the Earl of Aberdeen „ ^ The Right Hon. the Earl of Carlisle ... ^ The Right Hon. the Earl of Dartmouth The Right Hon. the Earl of Leicester The Right Hon. the Earl of Lincoln ... The Right Hon. the Earl of Pembroke ... The Right Hon. the Earl of Ripon The Right Hon. the Earl of Beverly ... The Right Hon. the Earl of Dalhousie The Right Hon. the Earl of St. Germains The Right Hon. the Earl of Wilton The Right Hon. the Earl of Malmsbury The Right Hon. the Earl Grey ... The Right Hon. the Dowager Countess of Charle- ville The Right Hon. Viscount Morpeth The Right Hon. Viscount Palmerston ... The Right Hon. Viscount Castlereagh ... The Rtght Hon. Lord Brougham and Vaux The Right Hon. Lord Francis L. Egerton The Right Hon. Lord John Russell The Right Hon. Lord Leigh The Right Hon. Admiral Sir R. Stopford The Right Hon. Admiral Sir G. Cockburn The Right Hon. Admiral Sir G. Seymour The Right Hon. H. Labouchere ... The Hon. Mrs. Martin Sir Felix Booth, Bart. ... ... ... Sir Charles Forbes, Bart Major General Sir H. Watson ... ... Copies* 1 VJ SUBSCRIBERS, Sir W. C. Ross, R.A The Lord Chancellor's Secretary Mr. Alderman Humphrey, M.P. ... Dr. Outram ... Thomas Thistlewaight, Esq W. C. Ross, Esq. James Fry, Esq. W. C. Macready, Esq. Elder Rrethren of Trinity House Miss Burdett Coutts Mrs. Nightingale Mrs. Oakley ... The Right Hon. the Lords Commissioners Admiralty Copter ... 1 ... 1 ... 1 ... 1 ... 3 ... 1 ... 1 .. 2 ... 50 1 1 ... 1 THE ... 500 SUBSCRIBERS TO THE FIRST EDITION. Abbot, J., Esq., 2 copies. Adams, John, Esq. Appleton, G. Esq. Arnold, J. W., Esq., 4 copies . Atlee, — , Esq. Baldwin, H., Esq. Balsh, W., Esq. Barnard, Sir Andrew, K.G.C.B. Barnfield, W., jun., Esq. Bates, R., Esq., 2 copies . Baxter, T. C., Esq., 12 copies. Beatty, Sir William, F.R.S. Berry, Lady. Binns, C., Esq. Blake, J., Esq. Bosberry, — , Esq. Boyd, Benjamin, Esq. Boyd, Mark, Esq. Bozon, F., Esq. Briggs, T., Esq. Burdett, Miss Coutts, 40 copies . Burford, B., Esq. Burford, Turner, Mr. Burton, A., Esq. Burton, W. S., Esq., 10 copies. Burton, Mrs. Bush, T., Esq. Byerley, Mrs. Byng, Hon. Edmund, 70 copies * Clarke, W., Esq. Clowes, W., Esq. Coates, — , Esq., Cobbett, R., Esq. Cochrane, — , Esq. Codrington, Admiral Sir E., 4 copies. Colburn, H., Esq., 4 copies. Cooper, E., Esq., 8 copies. Cooper, Sir Bransby. Cotton, Captain, R.N., 4 copies. Cribb, W., Esq. Dance, C., Esq. Daniels, — , Esq., 2 copies. Digby, Admiral Sir H., 4 copies. Dickens, C., Esq. Dike, — , Esq. Dixon, James, Esq. Donne, S. E., Esq., 2 copies. Downe, T. J., Esq., 2 copies. Ducie, Rt. Hon. Lord, 20 copies . Dundas, Hon. J., M.P., 4 copies. SUBSCRIBERS. VU Edrington, J. C., Esq. Elder Brethren of Trinity House, 100 copies. Ellis, Right Hon. H. Enderby, C., Esq., 20 copies. Evans, W. C. Esq. Evered, W., Esq. Fane, Admiral, 4 copies. Farley, C., Esq., 2 copies. Farquharson, Capt.,R.N,20 copies. Ferguson, Sir R., M.P., 4 copies. Field, — , Esq., Charing-cross. Firmin, R., Esq. Fish, W. C., Esq. Fisher, Alfred, Esq. Fitzgerald, T., Esq. Flockton, T. A., Esq., 4 copies. Forrester, C., Esq. Forrester, A., Esq. Forster, R. T , Esq. Fox, C., Esq. “ Friends in the New Zealand Board” (by J. Somes, Esq.) 100 copies. Gange, Mr., Poultry. Gear, Capt. F. Coding, James, Esq. Goodman, G., Esq,, Lee, Kent. Gordon, Right Hon. Lord Fred. 4 copies. Grenfell, R., Esq., 4 copies. Grice, Joseph, Esq. Grove, — , Esq., Henrietta. street. Cavendish-square, 4 copies. Grove, — , Esq. , New Bond- street, 4 copies. Haes, John, Esq., jun. Hale, — , Esq., M.P., 4 copies. Hall, Capt., Basil, R.N., 4 copies. Hall, W. Esq., 4 copies . Hall, C.. Esq., 2 copies . Hall, W., Esq. Hallett, C. W., Esq., 2 copies. Halsted, J., Esq. Handley, — , Esq., M.P .6 copies. Harrison, T., Esq., 10 copies. Harrison, W., Esq., 20 copies . Hartie, A. E , Esq., M.P. 4 copies Haselwood, E., Esq., 6 copies. Heath, T. R. Esq., 4 copies. Heaviside, J., Esq., 20 copies Helsdon, J., Esq. Hilliar, W., Esq., 2 copies. Hobhouse, Sir John Cair, M.F., 4 copies , Hofman, A., Esq. Houlding, — , Esq. Howard, Hon. Capt. Henry. Howell, T., Esq., jun. Hughes, J. Esq, Hutcheson, J. W., Esq., 6 copies . Jerdan, — , Esq. Jones, R., Esq., Chapel-street, Grosvernor-place. Keegan, Mr., Burlington -arcade, 3 copies. Kenneth, Mr. Kilpack, Mr., 2 copies. Kirkaldy, J., Esq. Lachlans, Miss, 20 copies. Leeson, J. E., Esq., Abingdon House. Lewis, — , Esq. Lilley, John, Esq., 2 copies. Liston, R., Esq., 4 copies. Lover, S., Esq. Luscombe, T., Esq., 20 copies. Marine Society, 20 copies. M‘Callan, A., Esq., 4 copies. Maule, Hon. Fox, M.P., 4 copies. Melodists' Club (by J. Parry, Esq.), 4 copies. Melton, Mr. H. Mitchell, Miss. Mordaunt, Capt. John. Murray, John, Esq., 1300 copies. Nash, W., Esq. Neeld, Joseph, M.P. 4 copies. Neild, — , Esq., 2 copies. Vlll SUBSCRIBERS. North, Mrs., East Acton. Novello, Mr., Dean-street. Ogle, Admiral Sir C., 10 copies . Oswald, John, Esq. Outram, Dr., F.R.S., &c., Hano- ver-square, 4 copies . Outram, Mrs., 2 copies. Ouvry, Miss, East Acton, Parry, John, Esq. Peake, R. B., Esq. Peake, C., Esq. Phillips, T., Esq., 2 copies . Planchti, R., Esq. Ponsonby, W. G., Esq., 4 copies. Prudhoe, Right Hon. Lord, R.N. Purday, Mr. Z. T., Holborn. Purday, Mr. C. E. Purday, Mr., St. Paul's Church- yard. Radstock, Right Hon. Lord, R.N. Richards, T., Esq. Ridgway, — , Esq. Ridley, — , Esq. Rippon, T., Esq. Roberts, J., Esq., 2 copies. Roberts, S., Esq. Robertson, A., Esq. Rogerson, — , Esq., Liverpool. Ross, W., Esq., sen. Ross, W. C., Esq., A.R.A. Rovedino, Signor Tomaso. Rounding, T., Esq. Salto un, Rt. Hon. Lord, 4 copies , Sauerbry, C.R., Esq., 2 copies. Sawyer, J. J., Esq., Park-street, Grosvenor-square. Scott, G.W., Esq. Scott, C. D., Esq. Sheriff, Capt., R.N., 50 copies. Seddon, H., Esq., 2 copies. Simpkin and Marshall, 50 copies. Simpson, Alexander, Esq. Smart, Sir George. Smith, G. T. Esq., Lynn, 4 copies. Smith, Wm., Esq. Somerset, His Grace the Duke of, 5 copies. Somerset, Her Grace the Duchess of, 5 copies. Somes, Joseph, Esq., 100 copies. Stephenson, J. H., Esq., 4 copies. Stewart, — , Esq., M.P., 4 copies. Stodart, W., Esq. Stone, — , Esq. Sykes, Admiral, 8 copies. Symons, Sir W., 6 copies. Taylor, Admiral, Greenwich. Taylor, W., Esq., Brompton. Thorn, T. Esq. Toby, H. C., Esq., R.N. Tozer, H., Esq., 8 copies. Tucker, R. Esq. Turnbull, — , Esq. Upjohn, J. T. Esq. Upton, — , Esq. Uzielli, M., Esq. Vere, Hope, Esq., 4 copies . Walter, G. H., Esq., Walton, Frederick, Esq. Watson, W., Esq. Watts, T., Esq., 4 copies. Weeks, H., Esq., 2 copies. West, — , Esq. Westerton, Mr., 4 copies. Whitbread, A., Esq., 4 copies. Wilkinson Rev. T. Wilkinson, I. I., Esq. 5 copies. Williams, Mr. T., Charing-cross. Wilson, Effingham, Esq. Willson, John, Esq. Woolmore, Mrs. Yarborough, Right Hon. Lord, 50 copies. Zyam, T. B., Esq., 2 copies. CONTENTS to iacilitate tlie finding of any Song wanted, the first line as well each subject is alphabetically given. as the title ol Page A plague of those musty old lubbers ... 7 And did you not hear of a jolly young waterman ... 13 At Sea ... 15 A sailor’s love is void of art 20 A Hero’s True Glory 21 A sailor and an honest heart 22 A sailor’s life ’s a life of woe ... 32 A Drop of the Creature .. 42 Adieu, adieu, my only life 44 Adieu, my gallant sailor ... 63 All Girls ... 93 A Dose for the Don ... 107 Again the willing trump of Fame ... 113 A Salt Eel for Mynheer ... 114 All’s one to Jack 117 Anna, Anne, Nan, Nance, or Nancy ... 133 A voyage at sea and all it’s strife ... 140 A Wapping I landed 142 A watchman I am, and I knows all the rounds ... 1 84 As pensive one night in my garret I sate 207 Another Cup, and then ... 210 A Little!... 211 X CONTENTS. Blow high, blow low Page 3 Brother soldiers, why cast down ? ... 18 Bonny Kate ... 35 Ben Backstay loved the gentle Anna ... 37 Bold Jack the sailor here I come ... 48 Buxom N an ... 50 Bill Bobstay ... 57 Bleak was the mom when William left his Nancy ... 65 Britons United ... ... 119 Brother Jack ... 136 Ben Block ... 157 Beauty's Banner ... 171 Bachelors’ Hall ... 186 Charity ... 58 Come, never seem to mind it .. 68 Come, all hands ahoy to the anchor ... 70 Constancy ... 72 Comely Ned ... 97 Change for a Guinea ... 121 Come on, jolly lads, to the drumhead repair ... 163 Captain Wattle and Miss Boe ... 197 Country Club .. 198 Come, all jolly topers ... 216 Come, all ye gemmen volunteers ... ... 217 Dick Dock, a tar at Greenwich moor’d ... 83 Delight of the Brave ... 85 Dearly as the stream ... 107 Duncan and Victory ... 113 Dick Hopeful ... 169 Did you ever hear of Captain Wattle? ... 197 Bach Bullet has its Commission ... 19 Every inch a Sailor ... 73 Escaped with life in tatters ... 105 Each his own Pilot ... ... ... 14(? CONTENTS. XI Page Every Man’s Friend ... ... 216 Farewell and Ketum 4 Foretop Morality 51 Father and Mother and Suke 188 Father and I 21?. Go patter to lubbers and swabs, do ye see 1 Grog and Girls ... ... ... ... ... .. ... 22 Grieving’s a Folly 64 Give ear to me, both high and low 97 Here a sheer hulk lies poor Tom Bowling 41 Happy Jerry 47 Honesty in Tatters 67 History of the War 155 Hark ! with what glee yon merry clown 173 Humanity’s Cot ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 183 If, my hearty, you’d not like a lubber appear ... I sail’d in the good ship the Kitty If tars of their money are lavish I was, d’ye see, a Waterman I sail’d from the Downs in the Nancy I be one of they sailors who think ’tis no lie ... I was the pride of all the Thames If bold and brave, thou canst not bear ... I’ve sail’d round the world If ever a sailor was fond of good sport If lubberly landsmen, to gratitude strangers ... I’ve heard, cried out one, that you tars tack and tack I’ve sail’d the salt seas pretty much I went to sea all so fearlessly I say, my heart, why here’s your works If the good old maxim’s true I was saying to Jack, as we talk’d t’other day ... In either eye a lingering tear ... 10 ... 12 ... 15 ... 23 ... 39 ... 45 ... 47 ... 52 ... 61 76 w. 91 ,. 95 ... 108 ... 115 ... 123 ... 135 .. 146 ... 149 Xll CONTENTS, PA6B I that once was a ploughman 161 I’m Jolly Dick the lamplighter 214 Jack Ratlin Jack in his Element Jack dances and sings, and is always content ... Jack’s Gratitude ... Jack at the Windlass ... Jack’s Fidelity Jack’s claim to Poll Jack Binnacle met with an old shipmate Jack at Greenwich Jack at the Opera ... ... Jack come home Jacky and the Cow Jervis for ever Joltering Giles John Bull for pastime took a prance 26 48 56 61 70 76 100 121 134 142 147 201 108 173 194 Kickaraboo ! 172 Life’s troubled Sea Lovely Polly Little Ben Lovely Nan Let’s live till we die Let swabs with their wows Letter N ... Love me evermore Like ^Etna’s dread volcano Lectured by pa’ and ma’ o’emight 18 20 38 82 86 131 145 149 221 203 My Poll and my Partner J oe Moorings ... Mayhap you have heard ... Meg of Wapping Magnanimity 23 95 101 103 126 CONTENTS. Xlll Page My love’s a vessel trim and gay 133 Mad Peg 165 Margate Hoy ... ... ... ... ... .. ... 191 Man, poor forked animal, why art thou vain ! 208 ary, marry John 205 at Mudge, the sexton of our town 210 other were dead, and sister were married 213 name, d’ye see, ’s Tom Tough, I’ve seen a little sarvice ... 219 Nothing like Grog No more of winds and waves the sport Nancy dear Nelson and Warren Nancy Nature and Nancy Now that war N. (Letter) ... Nongtongpaw Now we’re all met here together 7 93 98 123 127 131 144 145 194 198 Of all sensations pity brings Of us tars ’tis reported again and again Of all the lives I ever lived One! 0 the camp’s delightful rigs ! One neger say one ting, you no take offence Of horns and of echoes ... Of all Heaven gave to comfort man Old Mary, her poor husband dead One Negro, wi’ my banjer ... 28 ... 102 ... 128 ... 153 ... 166 ... 172 ... 183 ... 190 ... 205 ... 218 Poor Jack ! ... Poor Tom ! ... Poor Peggy lov’d a soldier lad ... Poor Shipwreck’d Tar 1 8 60 105 Resplendent gleam’d the ample snoon ... .. 38 XIV CONTENTS. Rational Vanity ... Page ... 203 Sounding the Bowl Smiling Grog is the sailor’s best hope ... Saturday Night Sweethearts and Wives Swizzy .. f Soldier Dick Spanking Jack was so comely Sweet is the ship that under sail Say, soldier, which of glory’s charms ... Sailor’s Journal See the course throng’d with gazers See the shore lined with gazers Since fate of sailors hourly varies Since love is the hero’s best duty Sure en’t I the drummer! Says my father, says he, one day to I ... Standing one summer’s day on the Tower Slip 10 11 29 34 52 53 64 82 85 89 96 130 137 171 175 188 191 Though hard the valiant soldier's life ... Then farewell my trim-built wherry The busy Crew The signal to engage shall be The Sailor’s Sheet Anchor The Good Ship the Kitty The Jolly Young Waterman The Heart of a Tar The Forecastle-man This life is like a troubled sea The Sailor The girl who fain would choose a mate The boatswain calls, the wind is fair ... The Soldier’s Grave ... *Tis said we vent’rous die-hards ... The Greenwich Pensioner *Twas in the good ship Rover ... 4 8 ... 10 ... 11 ... 12 ... 13 ... 16 ... 17 ... 18 ... 25 ... 25 ... 27 ... 28 ... 29 ... 31 ... 31 CONTENTS. XV The Flowing Can Page 32 *Twas Saturday night, the twinkling stars 34 The wind was hush’d, the fleecy wave ... 35 The Tar for All Weathers ... 39 Tom Bowling 41 To* ask would you come for to go 42 The Soldiers Adieu 44 The Anchor apeak ... 45 The wind was hush’d, the storm was over ... 50 Two real tars whom duty call’d 51 The Girl ashore ... ... 54 The tar ’s a jolly tar that can hand, reef, and steer ... 54 True English Sailor ... 56 Tight lads have I sail’d with 57 Tack and Tack ... ... 63 This here’s what I does 67 The blind Sailor ... 68 The surge hoarsely murm’ring ... 72 The wind blew hard, the sea ran high ... ... 73 The Token ... ... 74 The breeze was fresh, the ship in stays ... ... 74 The Soldier’s Funeral ... ... 77 The martial pomp ... ... 77 Tack and Half Tack ... ... 78 The Yarmouth roads are right ahead ... ... 78 Tom Tackle was poor ... 80 The Veterans 83 ’Twas one day at Wapping .. 86 Tom Truelove’s Knell ... 88 ’Twas post meridian half-past four ... ... 89 The High-Mettled Racer ... 96 The Lads of the Village ... 101 The Sailor’s Maxim 1V> ’Twas landlady Meg that made such rare flip ... 103 The Nancy ... 111 Though mountains high the billows roll ... 117 The French are all coming .. ... ... 119 XV CONTENTS. Pag* True Courage ••• ... 125 Tol de rol ... 128 The Pride of the Ocean ... ... ... 130 The Canary Bird ... ... ... ••• ... 137 The Trumpets Sound ... ... ... ... 13 Though forward stands the soldier’s name ... ... 139 The Manes of the Brave ... 144 Three Cheers ... ... 151 *Twas all how and about and concerning the war ... 155 The Standing Toast ... ... 159 The moon on the ocean ... ••• ... 159 The Loud Tattoo ... ... 160 This, this, my lad ... 160 True Glory ... 161 The Carfindo ... 161 The Drumhead ... ... 163 The gloomy night stalk'd slow away ... ... 165 The Camp ... 166 The Lover’s Probation ... 168 'Tis said that love, the more 'tis tried ... 168 The Irish Drummer ... 175 The Ladies ... 176 There was a lady, a lady, a pretty lady ... ... 176 The Waggoner ... 178 The Fair ... 180 The Watchman ... 184 To Bachelors’ Hall we good fellows invite ... 186 The Flowing Bowl ... ... 190 The Margate Hoy ... ... 191 The Labourer’s Welcome Home ... 196 The ploughman whistles o’er the furrow ... 196 The Country Club ... 198 There were Farmer Thrasher, and he had a cow ... 201 The Lady’s Diary ... ... 203 The Last Shilling ... 207 The Lamplighter ... 214 Vhe Negro and his Banja .. ... 218 CONTENTS. ts Tom Tough ... 219 The Anchorsmiths 221 Up from a loblolly boy none was so ’cute 145 Up the Mediterranin ... 153 Voyage of Life ... 140 While up the shrouds the sailor goes 6 When last from the Straits ... 14 What argufies pride and ambition ... 18 When last in the Dreadful ... 21 Why, don’t you know me by my scars ? ... 53 Why, good people all, at what do you pry] ... 58 Who cares] ... ... 91 Why should the sailor take a wife ] ... 98 Wouldst know, my lad, why every tar ... ... 100 While the lads of the village ... 101 Why, Jack, my fine fellow, here’s glorious news ... 114 Well it’s no worse 115 Why, what’s that to you, if my eyes I’m a wiping] 125 When once the din of war's begun ... 126 We tars are all for fun and glee ... 134 When to weigh the boatswain’s calling 151 Would you hear a sad story of woe ... 157 What is glory, what is fame ] ... 168 Would you see the world in little ... 180 Wid my Lor Anglois I come over un valet 211 When I comes to town with a load of hay 178 Ye free-born sons ! 5 Y et though I’ve no fortune to offer 16 Your finnikin sirs may in finery appear 17 Yo, heave, ho ! 27 You ask how it comes that I sing about Nancy 127 XVII, CONTENTS. CONTENTS OF ADDENDA. Songs, &c. By T. Dirdin. All’s Well British sailors have a knack Come, lads, here’s good luck to the purser Daddy Neptune one day to Freedom did say .Deserted by the waning moon Gentlefolks, in my time I’ve made many a rhyme Home and Victory In the midst of the sea, like a tough man-of-war King William’s Memorial Kate Love and Glory Near Kew one mom Naval Promotion... 0 life is an ocean On Charles Dibdin’s Monument One sigh for the Bard Peter Pullbaul’s Medley ... Poll of Wapping Stairs Pag* .. 238 ... 246 ... 239 ... 228 ... 238 ... 242 ... 226 ... 230 ... 253 ... 224 ... 241 ... 234 ... 243 ... 224 ... 232 ... 245 ... 234 ... 237 CONTENTS. x.:x Pag^s Say, gallant soldier, do I see * 226 Shades of Britannia’s sons, who sleep ... 227 Stop, shipmate, stop, he can’t be dead 232 Sir Sidney Smith .. 242 Sam Splicem ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 247 The Heart of a True British Sailor ... ... ... ... 2 2d The Death of Wolfe 227 The snug little Island 228 The Land in the Ocean .. ... ... ... ... ... 230 The Heart of a Sailor 231 ’Tisn’t the jacket or trousers blue 231 The Origin of Naval Artillery ... ... ... ... ... 234 The Death of Abercrombie ... ... ... ... ... 236 ’Twas on the spot in ancient lore oft named 236 The Cabin Boy ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 238 The sea was rough 238 The cabin boy’s over the sea ... ... ... ... ... 243 Tobacco, Grog, and Flip 244 The Wanderer always at Home ... ... ... ... ... 239 The Bard of Poor Jack ... ... ... ... ... ... 245 The Colour of the Ocean ... ... ... ... ... 250 The lass for a sailor is lively and free ... 251 The lofty hall with trophies proud 251 Yictoria 255 Would you know the ingredients that make up a tar ... ... 223 When Yulcan forged the bolts of Jove ... .. .. ... 234 Whate’er the pleasures known on shore 244 Who’ll serve the Queen? 248 When the world first began, and some folks say before ... 250 Waterloo ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 251 When pyramids, form’d by the fiat of pow'r 253 When Britons on the foaming main ... ... ... ... 255 Your London girls, with all their airs ... Young Henry was as brave a youth ... ... I ~ 237 241 XX CONTENTS, SEA SONGS, &c By C. Dibdin, Jun. Ail in his Glory ... ... Page ... 257 A Tar’s Duty ... ... 205 Ben Bowsprit of Wapping ... ... 258 Born at sea. and my cradle a frigate ... ... 265 Ben the Boatswain ... ... 265 Ben Backstay was our boatswain ... ... 265 Good Ship Britannia ... ... 263 I unshipp’d from aboard the Sky Eocket ... 261 I’m a true honest-hearted gay fellow ... 273 Jack Junk was a tar who could tether his tack ... 257 Jack Gunnel, an odd fish ... ... 271 Let ’em come ... 266 Lieutenant Yeo ... ... ... 274 Modes of Invasion ... 264 Nava] Worthies ... 269 Old England’s a ship of the line ... 263 Off Cape Finisterre ... 274 Poll of Horsleydown ... .. 270 Pro Aris et Focis . ... 273 CONTENTS. Ready for Action Sailor’s Log Ashore Sons of Albion, sound to arms The Albion is a noble ship The foe, on one string always strumming Tom Tack was the shipmate for duty The Obstinate Dog When a sailor goes to sea Were told that our foes to invade us intend Your grave politicians may kick up a rout Ye landsmen and ye seamen xx i Paojc ... 260 ... 261 ... 268 ... 259 ... 266 ... 268 ... 271 ... 260 ... 264 ... 269 ... 270 XX 11 CONTENTS. MISCELLANEOUS NATIONAL SONGS. Pagb All in the Downs 276 Aloft the sailor looks around 303 A ship ! a ship ! a gallant ship ! 325 Black-Eyed Susan 276 Blow, Boreas, Blow 297 Britain’s best Bulwarks ... ... .. ... ... ... 313 Bright moon, fair moon, the mariner’s friend 316 Blood ! what a time for a seaman to skulk 322 Cease, rude Boreas ... ... ... ... ... ... 278 Come, cheer up, my lads, ’tis to glory we steer 290 Come, all ye jolly sailors bold 291 Come, come, my jolly lads, the wind’s abaft 293 Come, bustle, bustle, drink about 305 Come, let’s drink a health to George our king ... ... 306 From Minden’s Plains of glory ... From aloft the sailor looks around 281 303 Hearts of Oak How little do the landsmen know Hark ! the Boatswain’s Whistle How happy are we now How bless’d are we seamen Hurrah for the Sea 290 300 302 307 308 318 In May fifteen hundred and eighty and eight 283 T sing the British Seaman’s praise 281 CONTENTS. XX111 PAGE Little do the Landsmen know ... ... 300 Life is chequer’d — toil and pleasure ... 302 Loose ev’ry Sail to the Breeze ... ... 304 Loud roar’d the dreadful thunder ... 321 Minden’s Plains of Glory .. 281 May our Navy for ever Old England protect ... 312 Neptune’s Resignation 288 Now away, my brave boys ... 301 Old England’s a Lion ... 275 Our country is our ship d’ye see ... 287 Old England’s Elag for ever ... 210 Our sea-borne chimes eight bells have toll’d ... 310 Our ship had struck soundings ... ... 320 Our Country ... 324 Russell’s Triumph ... 281 Rule Britannia ... 327 Since our foes to invade us have long been preparing ... .. 275 Sling the flowing Bowl ... 293 Stand to your Guns, my hearts of oak ... 318 The Land, Boys, we live in ! ... 275 The Storm ... 278 Thursday in the morn, the nineteenth of May ... 281 The Spanish Armada ... 283 Then, 0 1 protect the hardy Tar ... 284 The wat’ry god, great Neptune, lay ... 288 The Arethusa ... 291 The topsails shiver in the wind ... 294 The hardy sailor braves the ocean ... 295 The wand’ring sailor ploughs the main ... ... 296 The Mid-watch ... ... 296 The Bold Salamander .... 306 XXIV CONTENTS. The records of our fathers* deeds Page ... 310 The Launch ... ... 311 Though hurricanes rattle ... ... 312 The Sailor’s Bequest ... ... 315 The fight was o’er ... .. 316 The Mariner’s Invocation ... ... 315 The Heart knows only One ... ... 317 The landsmen tell you those who roam... ... ... 317 The Lighthouse . .. ... 319 The Sailor’s Funeral .. ... 320 The Bay of Biscay ... ... 321 The Old Commodore ... ... 322 What should Sailors do on Shore? ... 292 When ’tis night, and the mid-watch is come ... .. ... 299 When in war on the ocean ... ... 308 Wapping Old Stairs ... ... 309 When Britain on her sea-girt shore ... ... 313 When Britain first at Heaven’s command ... 327 With ardent pride Britannia’s sons attend •• ... 311 Ye Gentlemen of England - 298 Your Molly has never been false .. 309 Your poets may sing of the pleasures of home.. .. ... 318 MEMOIR OF CHARLES DIBDIN. Charles Dibdin was born at a village called Dibden, near Southampton, in the year 1745; and, having very early lost his father, was removed to Winchester; where, from his previous love for, and proficiency in, Music, when quite a boy, he was placed under the organist of the cathedral, and officiated in the choir till he was old enough to become a candidate for the situation of organist himself. His intuitive comprehension of the theory as regarding the “composition and accordance of sweet sounds” was so aided by a most excellent ear, that at the age of fifteen he would return from an opera or a concert, and, from memory, draw out and fill a correct score of any overture, song, cho- rus, or concerted piece that had happened to strike his fancy. Friends advised him to try the metro- polis as a more expanded field for his improving talent; and he went to London with the intention XXVI MEMOIR OF CHARLES DIRDIN. of teaching singing and the harpsichord* when cir- cumstances threw him in the way of Mr. Garrick* Mr. Bickerstaff, and the theatres. Mr. Bickerstaff was so pleased with his dawning genius as a musical artist* that* after employing him to compose the music of great part of the opera of the “ Maid of the Mill / 5 he prevailed on him to appear in it* and sing his own compositions in the character of Ralph* the Miller’s Son* in which he most com- pletely established himself as a burletta performer of the first rank. The amazing success of his Music* and his Mungo in the “ Padlock / 5 secured him a long engagement at Drury Lane ; and after having furnished music for “ Love in a Village / 5 “ Lionel and Clarissa / 5 “Love in the City / 5 and other pieces written by Mr. Bickerstaff* he commenced author as well as composer on his own account* and pro- duced the words and music of “The Waterman / 5 “The Quaker / 5 “The Deserter / 5 “The Wedding Ring / 5 and numerous other successful pieces at various theatres* as “The Shepherd 5 s Artifice / 5 “Da- mon and Phillida / 5 “Rose and Colin / 5 “Annette and Lubin / 5 “ The Recruiting Serjeant / 5 “ Poor Vulcan / 5 “ The Islanders / 5 “ The Touchstone/’ “The Mirror* or Harlequin Everywhere / 5 “The Mischance / 5 “The Ladle / 5 “The Cobbler / 5 “The Metamorphoses / 5 “ The Gipsies / 5 “ Wives Re - venged * 55 “ Chelsea Pensioner / 5 “ Shepherdess of MEMOIR OF CHARLES BlBDIN* XXV11 the Alps/* “ Jupiter and Alcmena/* “ None so Blind as those that will not See/* “ Liberty Hall/* “Harvest Home/* &c., &c., &c., and the much-ad- mired Songs, Dances, Serenades, and Processional A.irs in the “ Stratford Jubilee/* in honour of Shak- speare, the words of which were w T ritten by Mr. Garrick. His last dramatic efforts were “ A Diver- tissement** at Covent Garden, for the introduction of his own most popular songs, and a ballad farce at Drury Lane, called “ Broken Gold.** He also wrote two novels, “ The Younger Brother/* and “Hannah Hevvit, or the Female Crusoe/* his ow T n “Professional Life/* “Musical Tour/* “History of the Stage** (in 5 vols.), &c., &c. In the year 1788, tired of dramatic contingencies, and feeling (as Charles Mathews did after him) that he possessed resources in his own mind to entertain an audience in a theatre of his own, he singly and individually wrote, composed, recited, sang, and accompanied, a medley monodrame, at Fisher*s auction-rooms in King Street, Covent Gar- den, under the title of “The Whim of the Moment, or Nature in Little/* in which Entertainment the song of “Poor Jack** was alone sufficiently attractive to insure him a profitable season of some weeks : and this was the commencement of a series of similar fashionable and profitable exhibitions of unaided genius, which were the annual delight of XXV111 MEMOIR OF CHARLES DIBDIN. the town for many years, at the before-mentioned rooms, at the Lyceum, at Scott and Idle’s premises in the Strand, and at his own theatre, which he built and opened as the Sans Souci, in Leicester Place, Leicester Square; and he, latterly, gave some public Musical Soirees , assisted by his pupils, in Beaufort Buildings. His retirement on a pension of £200 a-year, awarded him rather late, for having, at the express desire of Mr. Pitt’s ministry, put himself to an expense of more than £600, by quitting highly lucrative engagements, and opening his theatre in a hot July to considerable nightly loss (in town), where he was instructed to write, sing, publish, and give away what were termed War Songs, is well- known, as he publicly stated the particulars, accom- panied by the melancholy fact that, before he had enjoyed the said pension long enough to repay his actual losses in earning it, it was withdrawn by a succeeding ministry. A part of it was restored a short period antecedent to his death, which took place in 1814, in his 69tli year, in Arlington Street, Camden Town. He was followed to the grave by his sons Charles and Thomas, his medical attendant, and the celebrated philanthropic oculist and eccen- tric writer, John Taylor, of the Sun newspaper. He was interred in the burial-ground of St. James, Cam- den Town, where, in the midst of a clump of flowering MEMOIR OF CHARLES DIBDIN. XXIX shrubs* his “ frail memorial” tells you* from his own beautiful song* that “ Though his body ’s under hatches, His soul is gone aloft!” — which lines he had written in memory of a brother, who was many years master of a vessel in the merchant-service* and from whom he imbibed that devotedness to members of the nautical profession which characterised his works and life. He had another brother (an auctioneer) and a sister long since dead. He had three sons : — the youngest died at sea quite a youth* in 1794; the eldest* Charles* many years a proprietor of Sadlers* Wells Theatre* and author of the Operas of the “Farmer’s Wife*” “My Spouse and I*” and innu- merable Burlettas* Songs* and Pantomimes* died in 1831. He also left a married daughter* and the son who* with perhaps too minute prolixity* has attempted this Memoir. Mr. Dibdin wrote above 1300 Songs* and his sons nearly double that number. Mr. Garrick* Mr. Sheridan* Mr. Harris (of Covent Garden)* and Dr. Arne (of whose music he was enthusiastically fond)* were* among many others* warm patrons and admirers of his talent. Charles Bannister, and his exemplary son John* were two of his most intimate friends. In 1824 a few gentlemen* who considered it a XXX MEMOIR OF CHARLES DIEDIN. disgrace that no testimonial had been erected to the memory of the Ocean Bard, whose Songs were so many irresistible appeals to the heart — inspiring the most illiterate with brave and generous sentiments, and exciting to acts of loyalty, bravery, and patriotism, which (in the most arduous of her struggles) assisted to maintain the honour and glory of the British Empire ; and therefore, as no public matter can be well or prosperously arranged without a dinner , a public Festival was held in Freemasons* Hall, under the special patronage of his late Majesty William IV., at that time Duke of Clarence. The lamented Ad- miral Sir Joseph Yorke, K.C.B., was in the Chair. The most eminent vocalists of the day, to their great credit, aided the attraction of the entertainment by singing an excellent selection of the Songs of the deceased. Mr. John Parry directed this depart- ment, and Mr. T. Cooke presided at the piano-forte. Upward of four hundred guests attended, and a sum was collected, which, though insufficient, induced the Committee to authorise Mr. R. W. Sievier to pre- pare the model of a monument; when, for want of additional funds, the matter lay dormant for five years. Finally in April, 1829, an appropriate Musical Performance was given at Co vent Garden Theatre, under the title of the “ Feast of Neptune,** which produced the gross receipt of £600 12s. : £200 being deducted for the hire of the theatre, MEMOIR OF CHARLES DIBDIN. XXXI and some other expenses paid, the remainder, in addition to the money subscribed at the dinner, was given to Mr. Sievier, who soon completed the monument now to be seen in the Veterans’ Library at Greenwich Hospital. But for the friendly perseverance of the deceased John Young, Esq., late Keeper of the British Gallery in Pall Mall, and the unwearied professional zeal and labour of John Parry, Esq., of Cambrian musical celebrity, the above desirable object would have never been accomplished. Mr. Parry says that out of these festivals sprang the present popular Melodists’ Club. So delighted was every one with the beautiful Melodies of Charles Dibdin, that several literary gentlemen, many of them connected with the public press, agreed to establish a Society for the promotion of British Ballad Com- position, ADVERTISEMENT. Correct Copies of the Music of Mr. Dibdin’s Songs may be had, either singly or in Pocket Numbers, of Novello and Co., in Dean Street, Soho; as also of Messrs. Purday and Co., 45, High Holborn, and in St. Paul’s Churchyard. Of whom may also be had the Music of all the old National Songs in the latter part of this volume, either singly or in volumes, as collected by the late Dr. Kifcchiner, POOR JACK SONGS, &c. POOR JACK. Go patter to luobers and swabs, do ye see, ’Bout danger, and fear and the like ; A tight water-boat and good sea-room give me, And it ent to a little I’ll strike ; Though the tempest top -gall ant masts smack smooth should smite, And shiver each splinter of w T ood, Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouse everything tight, And under reef’d foresail we’ll scud : Avast! nor don’t think me a milksop so soft To be taken for trifles aback; For they say there’s a Providence sits up aloft, To keep watch for the life of poor Jack! 1 heard our 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 : For he said how a sparrow can’t founder d’ye see, Without orders that come dowm below; And a many fine things that proved clearly to me That Providence takes us in tow : 2 For, says lie, do you mind me, let storms e’er so oft, Take the top-sails of sailors aback, There’s a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft, To keep watch for the life of poor Jack! f said to our Poll, for, d’ye 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 seaman and lubbers ashore? And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll, You never will hear of me more: What then ? all’s a hazard : come don’t be so soft ; Perhaps I may laughing come bick, 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 every inch All as one as a piece of the ship, And with her brave the world without offering to flinch. From the moment the anchor’s a-trip. As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends, Nought’s a trouble from duty that springs, For my heart is my Poll’s and my rhino’s my friend’s, And as for my life, ’tis the king’s : Even when my time comes, ne’er believe me so soft As for grief to be taken aback, For the same little cherub that sits up aloft Will look out a good berth for poor Jack ! * BLOW HIGH, BLOW LOW. Blow high, blow low, let tempests tear The main-mast by the board ; My heart with thoughts of thee, my dear, And love, well stored, Shall brave all danger, scorn all fear, The roaring winds, the raging sea, In hopes on shore To be once more Safe moor’d with thee ! Aloft while mountains high we go, The whistling winds that scud along, And surges roaring from below, Shall my signal be, To think on thee, And this shall be my song : Blow high, blow low, &c. And on that night when all the crew The mem’ry of their former lives O’er flowing cans of flip renew, And drink their sweethearts and their wives. I’ll heave a sigh, and think on thee ; And, as the ship rolls through the sea, The burthen of my song shall be — Blow high, blow low, &c. B 2 4 FAREWELL AND RETURN. Though hard the valiant soldier’s life, They some sweet moments know ; Joy ne’er was yet unmix’d with strife, Or happiness with woe. ’Tis hard, when friend, when children, wife. Reluctant from him part, And fancy paints the muffled drum, And plaintive fife, And the loud volley o’er the grave, That sounds sad requiems to the brave ; All this he hears, And calms their fears With smiles, though horror’s in his heart. But when the joyful hour shall come, To bring him home at last, How sweet his constant wife to greet, His children, friends, And in their circling arms to find amends For all his sufferings past. J Tis hard when, desolation spread, Death whirls the rapid car! And those invaded, hear, and dread, The thunder of the war. Ah! then, indeed, friend, children, wife, Have ye true cause to fear; Too soon alas! the muffled drum, The mournful fife, 5 And the loud volley o’er the grave, Shall sound sad requiems to the brave While those alive Faint joy revive, And blend hope’s smile with pity’s tear* But when the joyful hour shall come, To bring him home at last, How sweet his constant wife to greet, His children, friends, And in their circling arms to find amends For all his sufferings past. YE FREE-BORN SONS. Ye free-born sons, Britannia’s boast, Firm as your rock-surrounded coast; Ye sovereigns of the sea ; On ev’ry shore where salt tides roll, From east to west, from pole to pole, Fair conquest celebrates your name, Witness’d aloud by wond’ring Fame, The lads who dare be free. Mistake me not, my hearts of oak, I scorn with Liberty to joke, Ye sovereigns of the sea; Assist, uphold your Church and State, Your great men good, your good men great Awe all abroad, at home unite, And jolly join in faction’s spite, Then, then, my friends, you’re free! 6 WHILE UP THE SHROUDS. While up the shrouds the sailor goes, Or ventures on the yard, The landsman, who no better knows, Believes his lot is hard ; But Jack with smiles each danger meets, Casts anchor, heaves the log, Trims all the sails, belays the sheets, And drinks his can of grog. When mountains high the waves that swell The vessel rudely bear, Now sinking in a hollow dell, Now quiv’ring in the air. Bold Jack, &c. When waves ’gainst rocks and quicksands roar You ne’er hear him repine, Freezing on Greenland’s icy shore, Or burning near the Line. Bold Jack, &c. If to engage they give the word, To quarters all repair, While splinter’d masts go by the board, And shot sing through the air : Bold Jack, &c. 7 NOTHING LIKE GROG. A plague of those musty old lubbers Who teach us to fast and to think, And patient fall in with life’s rubbers, With nothing but water to drink! A can of good stuff, had they twigg’d it Would have set them for pleasure agog; And spite of the rules Of the schools, the old fools Would all of ’em have swigg’d it, And swore there was nothing like grog ! My father, when last I from Guinea Return’d with abundance of wealth, Cried, “ Jack, never be such a ninny To drink.” Says I, “Father, your health!” So I passed round the stuff — soon he twigg’d it, And it set the old codger agog ; And he swigg’d, and mother, And sister and brother, And I swigg’d, and all of us swigg’d it, And swore there was nothing like grog ! One day, when the chaplain was preaching, Behind him I curiously slunk ; And, while he our duty was teaching, As how we should never get drunk, I tipp’d him the stuff, and he twigg’d it, Which soon set his rev’rence ago g, And he swigg’d, and Nick swigg’d, And Ben swigg’d, and Dick swigg’d, And I swigg’d and all of us swigg’d it, And swore there was nothing like grog ! 8 Then trust me, there’s nothing as drinking So pleasant on this side the grave : It keeps the unhappy from thinking, And makes e’en the valiant more brave For me, from the moment I twigg’d it, The good stuff has so set me ago g, Sick or well, late or early, Wind foully or fairly, I’ve constantly swigg’d it, And, damme ! there’s nothing like grog. POOR TOM! Then farewell my trim-built wherry! Oars, and coat, and badge, farewell ! Never more at Chelsea ferry Shall your Thomas take a spell. But, to hope and peace a stranger, In the battle’s heat I’ll go, Where exposed to every danger, Some friendly ball may lay me low. Then mayhap, when homeward steering With the news my messmates come. Even you, the story hearing, With a sigh may cry — Poor Tom! 9 THE BUSY CREW. The busy crew their sails unbending, The ship in harbour safe arrived, Jack Oakum all his perils ending, Had made the port where Kitty lived. His rigging, no one dare attack it; Tight fore and aft, above, below ; Long-quarter’d shoes, check shirt, blue jacket, With trousers like the driven snow. His honest heart, with pleasure glowing, He flew like lightning to the side ; Scarce had he been a boat’s length rowing Before his Kitty he espied, A flowing pennant gaily flutter’d From her neat-made hat of straw ! Red were her cheeks when first she utter’d It was “her sailor” that she saw. And now the gazing crew surround her. While, secure from all alarms, Swift as a ball from a nine-pounder, They dart into each other’s arms. 10 THE SIGNAL TO ENGAGE. The signal to engage shall be A whistle and a hollow ; Be one and all but firm, like me, And conquest soon will follows You, Gunnel, keep the helm in hand— Thus, thus, boys! steady, steady ’Till right a-head you see the land, Then, soon as we are ready, The signal, &c. Keep, boys, a good look out, d’ye hear ! ’Tis for Old England’s honour; Just as you brought your lower tier Broadside to bear upon her, The signal, &c, All hands then, lads, the ship to clear ; Load all your guns and mortars ; Silent as death th’ attack prepare ; And, when you’re all at quarters, The signal, &c. SOUNDING THE BOWL. I f, my hearty, you’d not like a lubber appear, You must very well know how to hand, reef, and steer Yet a better manoeuvre ’mongst seaman is found, — ’Tis the tight little maxim to know how to sound ; Which a sailor can tell from a bay to a shoal, — But the best sort of sounding is sounding the bowl. 11 I’ve sounded at land, and I’ve sounded at sea* I’ve sounded a-weather, and sounded a-lee, I’ve sounded my quine at the randivoo-house, And I’ve sounded my purse without finding a souse : VVliat then? we’ve a brother in each honest soul, And sailors can ne’er want for sounding the bowl. All men try for soundings wherever they steer, — Your nabobs for soundings strive 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 : No fear, then, nor danger, our hearts shall control ; Though at sea we’re in soundings, while sounding the bowl. THE SAILOR’S SHEET ANCHOR. Smiling grog is the sailor’s best hope, his sheet anchor, His compass, his cable, his log, That gives him a heart which life’s care cannot canker; Though dangers around him Unite to confound him, He braves them, and tips off his grog. ’Tis grog, only grog, Is his rudder, his compass, his cable, his log, The sailor’s sheet anchor is grog. What though he to a friend in trust His prize-money convey, Who, to his bond of faith unjust, Cheats him, and runs away. 12 What’s to be done? He vents a curse ’Gainst all false hearts ashore ; Of the remainder clears his purse, And then to se for more. There smiling grog, &c. What though his girl, who often swore* To know no other charms, He finds when he returns ashore, Clasp’d in his rivals arms : What’s to be done ? He vents a curse ! And seeks a kinder she; Dances, gets, groggy, clears his purse, And goes again to sea. To crosses borne, still trusting there The waves less faithless than the fair ; There into toils to rush again, And stormy perils brave — what then? Smiling grog, &c., THE GOOD SHIP THE KITTY. 1 sail’d in the good ship the Kitty, With a smart blowing gale and rough sea* Left my Polly the lads call so pretty, Safe here at anchor — -Yo, Yea! She blubber’d salt tears when we parted* And cried, “Now be constant to me!'* I told her not to be down-hearted, So up went the anchor — Yo, Yea! And from that time, no worse nor no better, I’ve thought on just nothing but she; Nor could grog nor flip make me forget her, She’s my best bower-anchor — Yo, Yea! When the wind whistled larboard and starboard, And the storm came on weather and lee, The hope I with her should be harbour’d Was my cable and anchor — Yo, Yea! And yet, my boys, would you believe me? 1 return’d with no rhino from sea; Mistress Polly would never receive me, So again I heav’d anchor — Yo, Yea! THE JOLLY" YOUNG WATERMAN. And did not you hear of a jolly young waterman, Who at Blackfriars Bridge used for to ply? He feather’d his oars with such skill and dexterity, Winning each heart and delighting each eye. He look’d so neat and row’d so steadily, The maidens all flocked to his boat so readily; And he eyed the young rogues with so charming an air. That this waterman ne’er was in want of a fare. What sights of fine folks he row’d in his wherry, ’Twas clean’d out so nice and so painted withal : He was always first oars when the fine city ladies In a party to Banelagh went, or Vauxhall, 14 And oftentimes would they be giggling and leering, Hut ’twas all one to Tom their gibing and jeering; For loving or liking he little did care, For this waterman ne’er was in want of a fare. And yet but to see how strangely things happen, — As he row’d along thinking of nothing at all, He was plied by a damsel so lovely and charming, That she smiled and so straightway in love did he fall. And would this young damsel but banish his sorrow, He’d wed her to night, before to-morrow. And how should this waterman ever know care, When he’s married and never in want of a fare ? WHEN LAST FROM THE STRAITS. When last from the Straits we had fairly cast anchor, I went, Bonny Kitty to hail, With quintables stored, for our voyage was a spanker, And bran new was every sail : But I knew well enough how, with words sweet as honey, They trick us poor tars of our gold, And when the sly gipsies have finger’d the money, The bag they give poor Jack to hold. So I chased her, d’ye see, my lads, under false colours, Swore my riches were all at an end, That I’d sported a^av all my good looking dollars, And borrow’d my u »gs of a friend. MISS KITTY &.THE BAG. 15 O then, had you seen her, no longer “my honey,” *Twas varlet, audacious, and bold, Begone from my sight! now you’ve spent all your money, For Kitty the bag you may hold. With that I took out double handfuls of shiners, And scornfully bid her good bye ; T would have done your heart good, had you then seen her fine airs, How she’d leer, and she’d sob, and she’d sigh. But 1 stood well the broadside; while jewel and honey She call’d me, I put up the gold, And bearing away, as I sack’d all the money, Left the bag for Ma’am Kitty to hold. AT SEA. / F tars of their money are lavish, I say, brother, take this from me, ’Tis because we’re not muck-worms, nor slavish, Like lubbers who ne’er go to sea. What’s cunning, and such quivication, And them sly manoeuvres to we? To be roguish is no valuation To hearties who plough the salt sea. As for cheating, light-weights, and short-measures, And corruption and brib’ry, d’ye see, They never embitter the pleasures Of good fellows who plough the salt sea. You’ve ashore actions, writs, cesserarie*. And regiments of counsel to fee; Jack knows not of such-like vagaries — We never trust lawyers at sea, ’Tis said that, with grog and our lasses Because jolly sailors, are free, Our money we squander like asses Which like horses we earn’d when at sea But let them say this, that, or t’other, In one thing they’re forced to agree, — Honest hearts find a friend and a brother. In each worthy that ploughs the salt se;*= THE HEART OF A TAR. Yet though I’ve no fortune to offer, I’ve something to put on a par ; Come, then, and accept of my proffer, ’Tis the kind honest heart of a tar. Ne’er let such a trifle as this is, Girls, he to my pleasure a bar, You’ll be rich though ’tis only in kisses* With the kind honest heart of a tar. Besides, I am none of your ninnies; The next time I come from afar 111 give you a lapful of guineas, With the kind honest heart of a tar. 17 Your lords, with such fine baby facev., That strut in a garter and star, Have they, under their tambour and (aces. The kind honest heart of a tar ? I’ve this here to say, now, and mind it, If love, that no hazard can mar, You are seeking, you’ll certainly find it, In the kind honest heart of a tar. THE FORECASTLE MAN. Your finikin sirs may in finery appear, Disdaining such tars as can hand, reef, and steer, On the decks spruce as tailors may cautiously tread, And live at the stern not minding the head. Old tough experienced sailors know, Where’er th y take their trip, Whether rising on mountains, or sinking below. The forecastle man’s the ship. Your delicate fresh- water masters may treat With dainties, and like guttling aldermen eat. Turn cabins to drawing-rooms, sleep on a bed, And despise English biscuit, to nibble Frencn bread. Old tough, &c. v 18 LIFE'S TROUBLED SEA. This life is like a troubled sea, Where, helm a-weather or a-lee. The ship will neither stay nor wear, But drives, of every rock in fear. All seamanship in vain we try, We cannot keep her steadily; But just as fortune’s wind may blow, The vessel’s tosticated to and fro ; Yet, come but love on board, Our heart’s with pleasure stored, No storm can overwhelm; Still blows in vain The hurricane, While love is at the helm. BROTHER SOLDIERS, WHY CAST DOWN Brother soldiers, why cast down? Never boys be melancholy: You say our lives are not our own, But therefore should we not be jolly? This poor tenement, at best, Depends on fickle chance : meanwhile, Drink, laugh, and sing; and for the rest We’ll boldly brave each rude campaign; Secure, if we return again, Our pretty landlady shall smile. !9 Fortune his life and yours commands* And this moment, should it please her To require it at your hands, You can but die, and so did Caesar. Our span, though long, were little worth Did we not time with joy beguile : Laugh, then, the while you stay on earth, And boldly brave, &c. Life’s a debt we all must pay, ’Tis so much pleasure, which we borrow, Nor heed, if on a distant day It is demanded, or to-morrow. The bottle says we’re tardy grown ; Do not the time and liquor spoil, Laugh out the little life you own, And boldly brave, &c. EACH BULLET HAS ITS COMMISSION. W hat argufies pride and ambition ? Soon or late death will take us in tow : Each bullet has got its commission, And when our time’s come we muflt go. Then drink and sing — hang pain and sorrow. The halter was made for the neck ; He that’s now ’live and lusty, to-morrow Perhaps may be stretch’d on the deck. c 2 20 There was little Tom Linstock of Dover Got kill’d and left Polly in pain : Poll cried, but her grief was soon over, And then she got married again. Then drink, &c. Jack Junk was ill-used by Bet Crocker, And so took to guzzling the stuff, Till he tumbled in old Davy’s locker, And there he got liquor enough. Then drink, &c. For our prize-money then to the proctor, Take of joy, while ’tis going, our freak For what argufies calling the doctor When the anchor of life is a-peak? Then drink, &c. LOVELY POLLY. A sailor’s love is void of art Plain-sailing to his port, the heart, He knows no jealous folly: ’Tis hard enough at sea to war With boisterous elements that jar — All’s peace with lovely Polly. Enough that, far from sight of shore, Clouds frown, and angry billows roar, Still is he brisk and jolly : And while carousing with his mates, Her health he drinks — anticipates The smiles of lovely Polly. 21 Should thunder on the horizon pres3, Mocking our signals of distress, E’en then dull melancholy Dares not intrude : — he braves the din, In hopes to find a calm within The snowy arms of Polly. A HERO’S TRUE GLORY. When last, in the Dreadful, your honour set sail, On Newfoundland banks there came on a hard gale, There was thunder, red lightning, and cold whistling hail* Enough the old gemman to scare ; One who threaten’d your life, dash’d below by a wave, Your own hand I saw snatch from a watery grave ; And all said ’twas well done, for that still with the brave The noblest of glory’s to spare. When yard-arm and yard-arm ’long side of a foe, When the blood from the scuppers rain’d on us below, When crippled enough to be taken in tow, To strike we saw Mounseer prepare, — If a broadside below, or a volley above, The men were all ready to give her for love, How oft has your honour cried, Not a hand move: A hero’s true glory’s to spare! 22 GROG AND GIRLS. 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 for more Than 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, Though winds and water round him jar y Consults his heart, and scorns to fear ; The risk 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 him than any other spot, — To face the cannon is his lot; He must of danger have his share. But honest tar, Though fire, and winds, 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. Qfru.iksha.nk POLL Sc MY PARTNER JOE 23 MY POLL AND PARTNER JOE. I was, d’ye see, a waterman, As tight and spruce as any, ’Twixt Richmond town And Horsleydown I earn’d an honest penny ; None could Fortune’s favours brag More than could lucky I ; My cot was snug, well fill’d my cag, My grunter in the sty. With wherry tight And bosom light l cheerfully did row ; And, to complete this princely life, Sure never man had friend and wife Like my Poll and my Partner Joe. I roll’d in joys like these awhile, Folks far and near caress’d me, ’Till, woe is me! So lubberly, The press-gang came and press’d me. How could I all these pleasures leave ? How with my wherry part? I never so took on to grieve— It wrung my very heart. But when on board They gave the word To foreign parts to go, I rued the moment I was born That ever I should thus be torn From my Poll and my Partner Joe. 24 l did my duty manfully While on the billows rolling; And, night or day, Could find my way, Blindfold, to the main-top bowling Thus all the dangers of the main. Quicksands, and gales of wind I braved, in hopes to taste again The joys I left behind. In climes afar, The hottest war, Pour’d broadsides on the foe, In hopes these perils to relate, As by my side attentive sate My Poll and my Partner Joe. At last it pleased his Majesty To give peace unto the nation, And honest hearts From foreign parts Came home for consolation. Like lightning (for I felt new life, Now safe from all alarms) I rush’d, and found my friend and wifi Lock’d in each other’s arms ! Yet fancy not I bore my lot Tame, like a lubber — no ; For, seeing I was foully trick’d Plump to the devil I fairly kick’d My Poll and my Partner Joe. 25 THE SAILOR. That girl who fain would choose a mate Should ne’er in fondness fail her, May thank her lucky stars if fate Should splice her to a sailor. He braves the storm, the battle’s heat, The yellow boys to nail her ; Diamond, if diamonds she could eat, Would seek her honest sailor. If she’d be constant, still his heart She’s sure will never fail her, For, though a thousand leagues apart, Still faithful is her sailor. If she be false, still he is kind, And, absent, does bewail her; Her trusting as he trusts the wind, Still faithless to the sailor. A butcher can provide her prog, Three threads to drink, a tailor ; What’s that to biscuit and to grog, Procured her by her sailor? She who would such a mate refuse, The devil sure must ail her; Search round, and, if you’re wise, you’ll choose To wed an honest sailor. 26 JACK RATLIN. Jack Ratlin was the ablest seaman, None like him could hand, reef, and steer ° 7 No dangerous toil but he’d encounter With skill, and in contempt of fear. In fight a lion ; the battle ended, Meek as the bleating lamb he’d prove : Thus Jack had manners, courage, merit; Yet did he sigh — and all for love. The song, the jest, the flowing liquor, For none of these had Jack regard: He, while his messmates were carousing, High sitting on the pendant-yard, Would think upon his fair one’s beauties, Swear never from such charms to rove ; That truly he’d adore them living, And, dying, sigh — to end his love. The same express the crew commanded Once more to view their native land, Among the rest, brought Jack some tidings,— Would it had been his love’s fair hand! Oh, fate ! her death defaced the letter ; Instant his pulse forgot to move ; With quiv’ring lips, and eyes uplifted, He heaved a sigh — and died for love! 27 YEO, HEAVE, HO! The boatswain calls, the wind is fair. The anchor heaving, Our sweethearts leaving, We to duty must repair, Where our stations well we know , Cast off halliards from the cleets, Stand by well, clear all the sheets ; Come, my boys, Your handspikes poise, And give one general huzza: Yet sighing, as you pull away, For the tears ashore that flow ; To the windlass let us go, With yo, heave, ho! The anchor coming now apeak, Lest the ship, striving, Be on it driving, That we the tap’ring yards must seek, And back the foretop-sail well we know. A pleasing duty ! From aloft We faintly see those charms, where oft, When returning, With passion burning, We fondly gaze; those eyes that seem, In parting, with big tears to stream. But come ! lest ours as fast should flow. To the windlass once more go, With yo, heave, ho! 23 Now the ship is under weigh, The breeze so willing The canvass filling, The press’d triangle cracks the stay, So taught to haul the sheet we know. And now in trim we gaily sail, The massy beam receives the gale • While freed from duty, To his beauty (Left on the less’ning shore afar) A fervent sigh heaves every tar; To thank those tears for him that flow, That from his true love he should go, With yo, heave, ho! THE SOLDIER’S GRAVE. Of all the sensations pity brings To proudly swell the ample heart, From which the willing sorrow springs, In others’ woes that bears a part ; Of all sad sympathy’s delights, The manly dignity of grief, A joy in mourning that excites, And gives the anxious mind relief : Of these would you the feeling know, Most gen’rous, noble, greatly brave, That ever taught a heart to glow, ’Tis the tear that bedews a soldier’s grave. 21 ) For hard and painful is his lot, Let dangers come he braves them all ; Valiant perhaps to be forgot, Or undistinguish’d doom’d to fall : Yet wrapt in conscious worth secure, The world that now forgets his toil Me views from a retreat obscure, And quits it with a willing smile. Then, trav’ller, one kind drop bestow,— ’Twere graceful pity, nobly brave; Nought ever taught the heart to glow Like the tear that bedews a solther’s grave. SATURDAY NIGHT. Tis said we vent’rous die-hards, when we leave the shore, Our friends should mourn, Lest we return To bless their sight no more ; But this is all a notion Bold Jack can’t understand, Some die upon the ocean, And some upon the land. Then since ’tis clear, Howe’er we steer, No man’s life’s under his command; Let tempests howl, And billows roll And dangers press ; Of those in spite, there are some joys Us jolly tars to bless, For Saturday night still comes, my boys, To drink to Poll and Bess. 30 One seaman hands the sails, another heaves the log, The purser swops Our pay for slops, The landlord sells us grog : Then each man to his station To keep life’s ship in trim: What argufies noration ? The rest is all a whim. Cheerly, my hearts ! Then play your parts, Boldly resolved to sink or swim ; The mighty surge May ruin urge, And danger press ; Of these in spite, &c. Tor all the world just like the ropes aboard .a «hip Each man’s rigg’d out, A vessel stout, To take for life a trip. The shrouds, the stays, the braceSv Are joys, and hopes, and fears; The haliards, sheets, and traces, Still as each passion veers, And whim prevails, Direct the sails, As on the sea of life he steers. Then let the storm Heaven’s face deform, And danger press : Of these in spite, &c. 3 < THE GREENWICH PENSIONER. 'Twas in the good ship Rover I sail’d the world around, Vnd for three years and over I ne’er touch’d British ground ; At length in England landed, I left the roaring main, Found all relations stranded, And went to sea again. That time bound straight to Portugal, Right fore and aft we bore ; But, when we’d made Cape Ortugal, A gale blew off the shore . She lay, so did it shock her, A log upon the main, Till, saved from Davy’s locker, We went to sea again. Next in a frigate sailing, Upon a squally night, Thunder and lightning hailing The horrors of the fight, My precious limb was lopp’d off; I, when they’d eas’d my pain, Thank’d God I was not popp’d off, But went to sea again. 82 Yet still am I enabled To bring up in life’s rear. Although I am disabled And lie in Greenwich tier i The king, God bless his royalty. Who saved me from the main, HI praise with love and loyalty, But ne’er to sea again. THE FLOWING CAN. A sailor’s life’s a life of woe. tie works now late, now early. Now up and down, now to and frj. What then? he takes it che°rly : Bless’d with a smiling can of grog. If duty call Stand, rise, or fall, To fate’s last verge he’ll jog * The cadge to weigh, The sheets belay, He does it with a wish ! To heave the lead, Or to cat-heaw pass’d me with a sneei^ And call’d me Dismal Jerry. At sea, as with a dangerous wound, I lay under the surgeons, Two friends each help 1 wanted found In every emergence : 48 Soon after my sweet friend and wife Into this mess had brought me, These two kind friends who sav’d my life In my misfortune sought me : We’re come, cried they, that once again In coat and badge so merry, Your kind old friends the watermen, May hail you Happy Jerry. I’m Peggy, once your soul’s desire, To whom you proved a rover, Who since that time, in man’s attire, Have sought you the world over ; And I, cried t’other, am that Jack, When boys, you used so badly, Though now the best friend to your back,—® Then pr’ythee look not sadly. Few words are best: I seiz’d their hands ; My grateful heart grew merry, And now in love and friendship’s bands I’m once more Happy Jerry. JACK IN HIS ELEMENT. Bold Jack the sailor here I come, Pray how d’ye like my nib, My trousers wide, my trampers rum. My nab and flowing jib? I sails the seas from end to end, And leads a joyous life, In every mess I find a friend, In every port a wife. 49 I’ve heard them talk of constancy* Of grief, and such-like fun ; I’ve constant been to ten, cried I, But never grieved for one : The flowing sails we tars unbend. To lead a jovial life, In every mess to find a friend. In every port a wife. I’ve a spanking wife at Portsmouth Gates ; A pigmy at Goree, An orange-tawny up the Straits, A black at St. Lucie : Thus, whatsomedever course I bends, I leads a jovial life, In every mess I find a friend, In every port a wife. Will Gaft by death was ta’en aback, I came to bring the news, Poll whimper’d sore, but what did Jack? Why stood William’s shoes : She cut, I chased, but in the end She lov’d me as her life, And so she got an honest friend, And I a loving wife. Thus be we sailors all the go, On fortune’s sea we rub, We works and loves, and fights the foe, And drinks the generous bub. Storms that the masts to splinters rend, Can’t shake our jovial life, In every mess we find a friend, In every port a wife. b 50 BUXOM NAN. The wind was hush’d, the storm was over* Unfurl’d was every flowing sail, From toil released, when Dick of Dover Went with his messmates to regale : All dangers o’er, cried he, my neat hearts, Drown care then in the smiling can, Come bear a hand, let’s toast our sweethearts* And first I’ll give you buxom Nan. She’s none of those that’s always gigging, And stem and stern made up of art ; One knows a vessel by her rigging, Such ever slight a constant heart : With straw hat and pink streamers flowing, How oft to meet me has she ran ! While for dear life would I be rowing. To meet with smiles my buxom Nan. Jack Jollyboat went to the Indies, To see him stare when he came back, The girls were all off of the hinges, His Poll was quite unknown to Jack : Tant masted all, to see who’s tallest, Breastworks, top-ga’ant sails, and a fan ; Messmate, cried I, more sail than ballast: Ah still give me my buxom Nan. None in life’s sea can sail more quicker , To show her love or serve a friend : But hold, I’m preaching o’er my liquor; This one word then and there’s an end : Of all the wenches whatsomedever, I say then, find me out who can, One half so tight, so kind, so clever, Sweet, trim, and neat, as buxom Nan. FORETOP MORALITY. Two real tars, whom duty call’d To watch in the foretop, Thus one another overhaul’d, And took a cheering drop : I say, Will Hatchway, cried Tom Tow, Of conduct what’s your sort, As through the voyage of life you go, To bring you safe to port? Cried Will, You lubber, don’t you know ? Our passions close to reef, To steer where honour points the prow, To hand a friend relief: These anchors get but in your power, My life for’t that’s your sort ; The bower, the sheet, and the best bower. Shall bring you up in port. *2 Why then you’re out, and there’s an end* Tom cried out blunt and rough, Be good, be honest, serve a friend, Be maxims well enough • Who swabs his bows at other’s woe, That tar’s for me your sort ; His vessel right a-head shall go To find a joyful port. Let storms of life upon me press, Misfortunes make me reel, Why, dam’me, what’s my own distress? For others let me feel. Ay, ay, if bound with a fresh gale To heaven, this is your sort, A handkerchief is the best wet sail To bring you safe to port. SWIZZY. If, bold and brave, thou canst not bear Thyself from all thou lovest to tear, — - If, while winds war and billows roll, A spark of fear invade thy soul, — If thou’rt appall’d when cannons roar, I pr’ythee, messmate, stay ashore : There, like a lubber, Whine and blubber, 53 Still for thy ease and safety busy, Nor dare to come Where honest Tom, And Ned, and Nick, And Ben, and Phil, And Jack, and Dick, And Bob, and Bill, A.11 weathers sing, and drink the swizzy. If, should’st thou lose a limb in fight, She who made up thy heart’s delight (Poor recompence that thou art kind) Shall prove inconstant as the wind, — If such hard fortune thou’dst deplore I pr’ythee, messmate, stay ashore; There, like a lubber, &c. If, pris’ner in a foreign land, No friend, no money at command, That man, thou trusted hadst, alone All knowledge of thee should disown — If this should vex thee to the core, I pr’ythee, messmate, stay ashore. There, like a lubber, &c. SOLDIER DICK. W hy, don’t you know me by my scars ? I’m soldier Dick come from the wars^ Where many a head without a hat Crowds honour’s bed — but what of that ? Beat drums, play fifes, His glory calls, What argufies who stands or falls ? Lord, what should one be sorry for? Life’s but the fortune of the war : Then rich and poor, or well or sick, Still laugh and sing shall soldier Dick. I used to look two ways at once, A bullet hit me on the sconce, And dows’d my glim ; d’ye think I’d wince ? Why, Lord, I’ve never squinted since. Beat drums, &c. Some distant keep from war’s alarms. For fear of wooden legs and arms, While others die safe in their beds Who all their lives had wooden heads. Beat drums, &c. Thus gout or fever, sword or shot, Or something, send us all to pot ; That we’re to die, then, do not grieve, But let’s be merry while we live. Beat drums, &c. THE GIRL ASHORE. The tar’s a jolly tar that can hand, reef, and steer. That can nimbly cast off and belay, Who in darkest of nights finds each halliard and gear And dead reck’ning knows well and lee-way : But the tar to please me More jolly must be, He must laugh at the waves as they roar; He must rattle, And in battle, Brave danger and dying, Though bullets are flying, And fifty things more : Singing, quaffing, Dancing, laughing, Take it cheerily and merrily, And all for the sake of his girl ashore. T he tar’s a jolly tar who his rhino will spend, Who up for a messmate will spring, For we sailors all think he that’s true to his friend Will never be false to his king. But the tar to please me More jolly must be, He must venture for money galore : Acting duly Kind and truly, And nobly inherit A generous spirit, A prudent one more ; Singing, laughing, Dancing, quaffing. Take it cheerily and merrily, And save up his cash for his girl ashore. The tar’s a jolly tar who loves a beauty bright, And at sea often thinks of her charms, Who toasts her with glee on a Saturday night, And wishes her moor’d in his arms. But the tar to please me More jolly must be : Though teased at each port by a score*, He must, sneering At their leering, Never study to delight ’em, But scorn ’em and slight ’em, Still true to the core : Singing, laughing, Dancing, quaffing, Take it cheerily and merrily, And constant return to his girl ashore* TRUE ENGLISH SAILOR. Jack dances and sings, and is always content, In his vows to his lass he’ll ne’er fail her, His anchor’s a-trip when his money’s all spent — And this is the life of a sailor. Alert in his duty he readily flies, Where the winds the tired vessel are flinging, Though sunk to the sea-gods, or toss’d to the skies g Still Jack is found working and singing. ’Longside of an enemy, boldly and brave, He’ll with broadside on broadside regale her, Yet he’ll sigh to the soul o’er that enemy’s grave, So noble's the mind of a sailor. Let cannons roar loud, burst their sides let the bombs, Let the winds a dread hurricane rattle, The rough and the smooth he takes as it comes, And laughs at the storm and the battle. 57 [n a fostering Power while Jack puts his trust, As Fortune comes, smiling he’ll hail her, Resign’d, still, and manly, since what must be must,— And this is the mind of a sailor. Though careless and headlong if danger should press, And rank’d ’mongst the free list of rovers, Yet he’ll melt into tears at a tale of distress, And prove the most constant of lovers. To rancour unknown, to no passion a slave, Nor unmanly, nor mean, nor a railer, He’s gentle as mercy, as fortitude brave, — And this is a true English sailor. BILL BOBSTAY. Tight lads have I sail’d with, but none e’er so sightly As honest Bill Bobstay, so kind and so true, He’d sing like a mermaid, and foot it so lightly, The forecastle’s pride, and delight of the crew ! But poor as a beggar, and often in tatters, He went, though his fortunes were kind without end : For money, cried Bill, and them there sort of matters, What’s the good on’t, d’ye see, but to succour a friend? There’s Nipcheese, the purser, by grinding and squeezing, First plund’ring, then leaving the ship, like a rat, The eddy of fortune stands on a stiff breeze in, And mounts, fierce as fire, a dog-vane in his hat. 58 My bark, though hard storms on life’s ocean should rock her, Though she roll in misfortune and pitch end for end, No, never shall Bill keep a shot in the locker, When by handing it out he can succour a friend. Let them throw out their wipes, and cry, “Spite of their crosses, And forgetful of toil that so hardly they bore, That sailors, at sea, earn their money like horses, To squander it idly like asses ashore.” Such lubbers their jaw would coil up, could they measure, By their feelings, the gen’rous delight without end That gives birth in us tars to that truest of pleasure, The handing our rhino to succour a friend. Why what’s all this nonsense they talks of, and pother, About rights of man? What a plague are they at? If they mean that each man to his messmate’s a brother, Why, the lubberly swabs ! every fool can tell that. The rights of us Britons we know’s to be loyal, In our country’s defence our last moments to spend, To fight up to the ears to protect the blood royal, To be true to our wives, and to succour a friend. CHARITY. Why, good people all, at what do you pry? — Is’t the stump of my arm or my leg ? Or the place where I lost my good-looking eye ? Or is it to see me beg ? 59 Lord love you, hard fortune is nothing at all, And he’s but a fool and a dunce Who expects, when he’s running full butt ’gainst a wall, Not to get a good rap on the sconce. If beg, borrow, or steal, be the choice of mankind, Surely I choose the best of the three ; Besides, as times go, what a comfort to find That in this bad world there’s some charity ! For a soldier I listed, to grow great in fame, And be shot at for sixpence a-day ; Lord help the poor poultry wherever I came, For how could I live on my pay ? I went to the wars to fight the king’s foes, Where the bullets came whistling by, Till they swiv’led three ribs, broke the bridge of my nose, Queer’d my napper, and knocked out my eye. Well, what of all this? I’d my legs and my arms, And at Chelsea to lay up was free, Where my pipe I could smoke, talk of battles and storms, And bless his good majesty’s charity. But thinking it shameful to live at my ease, Aw^ay while the frolic was warm, In search of good fortune I sails the salt seas, And so loses my leg and my arm. With two strings to my bow, I now thought myself sure; But such is the fortune of war, As a lobster at Greenwich they show’d me the door, At Chelsea they call’d me a tar : So falling to nothing betwixt those two stools, I, the whole world before me, was free To ask comfort from misers, and pity from fools, And live on that air, men’s charity. RO And what now of all this here patter at last ? How many to hold their heads high, And in fashion’s fine whirligig fly round so fast, Are but beggars as well as I ! The courtier he begs for a snug sinecure, For a smile beg your amorous elves, Churchwardens hand the plate, and beg round for the poor, Just to pamper and fatten themselves. Thus we’re beggars throughout the whole race of mankind, As by daily experience we see ; And, as times go, what a comfort to find That in this bad world there is some charity ! POOR PEGGY. Poor Peggy loved a soldier lad More, far more, than tongue can tell ye, Yet was her tender bosom sad Whene’er she heard the loud reveillez. The fifes were screech-owls to her ears, The drums like thunder seem’d to rattle, Ah ! too prophetic were her fears, They call’d him from her arms to battle ! The wonders he against the foe Perform’d, and was with laurels crown’d, Vain pomp ! for soon death laid him low, On the cold ground. Her heart all love, her soul all truth, That none her fears or flight discover, Poor Peg in guise a comely youth, Followed to the field her lover. 61 Directed by the fife and drum To where the work of death was doing. Where of brave hearts the time was come, Who, seeking honour, grasp at ruin ; Her very soul was chill’d with woe, New horror came in every sound, And whisper’d death had laid him low On the cold ground. With mute affection as she stood Did her weak woman’s fears confound her; While terror all her soul subdued, A mourning train came thronging round her The plaintive fife and muffled drum The martial obsequies discover, His name she heard, and cried I come, Faithful, to meet my murder’d lover! Then heart-rent by a sigh of woe, Fell, to the grief of all around, Where death had laid her lover low On the cold ground. JACK’S GRATITUDE. I’ve sail’d round the world without fear or dismay, I’ve seen the wind foul, and I’ve seen the wind fair, I’ve been wounded, and shipwreck’d, and trick’d of my P a Y> But a brave British sailor should never despair. 62 When in a French prison I chanced for to lie, With no light from the heavens, and scarce any air In a dungeon, instead of in battle, to die, Was dismal, I own, but I did not despair. But Lord, this is nothing — my poor upper works Got shatter’d, and I was obliged to repair ; I’ve been shot by the French, and a slave ’mong the Turks, But a brave British soldier should never despair. But for all these misfortunes, I’d yet cut a dash. Laid snug up my timbers, and never know care, If the agent had not run away with the cash, And so many brave fellows plunged into despair. So coming ’longside of our bold royal tar, I told him the rights on’t — for why should I care? Of my wrongs and my hardships, and wounds in the war, And if how he would right me, I should not despair. Says his highness, says he, such ill treatment as thine Is a shame, and henceforward thy fortune’s my care ; So now, blessings on him, sing out me and mine, And thus British seamen should never despair. So straightway he got it made into a law That each tar of his rhino should have his full share. And so agents, d ye see, may coil up their slack jaw, For the Duke is our friend, and we need not despair. Then push round the grog, though we face the whole world, Let our royal tar’s pennant but fly in the air, And the sails of our navy again be unfurl’d, — We’ll strike wond’ring nations with awe and despair TACK AND TACK. Adieu, my gallant sailor, obey thy duty’s call, Though false the 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 1 Jack kiss’d her, hitch’d his trousers, and hied him to begone, Weigh’d anchor and lost sight of shore ; Next day a brisk south-wester a heavy gale brought on,*— Adieu, cried 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, cried 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 you, cried she, that false I swore ? Pm constant still as ever, ’tis nature’s chang’d, that’s all; And thus we part for ever For nevei, sailor, never Shall I behold you more ! 64 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 spliced myself, so never Shall I, false Poll, behold you more. GRIEVING' S A FOLLY. Spanking Jack was so comely, so pleasant, so jolly, Though winds blew great guns, still he’d whistle and sing, For Jack loved his friend, and was true to his Molly, And, if honour gives greatness, was great as a king : One night as we drove with two reefs in the main-sail, 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 on sea, boys, we’ve pleasures on shore. 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, And swig with an air his allowance of grog : 65 'Longside of 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 messmate 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: One day with the davit to weigh the kedge anchor Ben went in the boat on a bold craggy shore, He overboard tipp’d, when a shark and a spanker Soon nipped 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 downhearted Because that mayhap we now take our last sup? Life’s cable must one day or other be parted, And Death, in safe moorings, 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 popp’d off the hooks, and we ne’er see him more! But grieving’s a folly, &c, BLEAK WAS THE MORN. Bleak was the morn when William left his Nancy, The fleecy snow frown’d on the whiten’d shore, i^old as the fears that chill’d her dreary fancy, While she her sailor from her bosom tore : 66 To his fill’d heart a little Nancy pressing, While a young tar the ample trousers ey’d, In need of firmness in this state distressing, Will check’d the rising sigh, and fondly cried, Ne’er fear the perils of the fickle ocean. Sorrow’s a notion, Grief all in vain ; Sweet love, take heart, For we but part In joy to meet again. Loud blew the wind, when, leaning on that willow Where the dear name of honest William stood, Poor Nancy saw, toss’d by a faithless billow, A ship dash’d ’gainst a rock that topp’d the flood Her tender heart with frantic thrilling, Wild as the storm that howl’d along the shore, No longer could resist a stroke so killing, ’Tis he, she cried, nor shall I see him more. Why did he ever trust the fickle ocean? Sorrow’s my portion, Misery and pain ! Break, my poor heart, For now we part Never to meet again. Mild was the eve, all nature was smiling, Four tedious years had Nancy pass’d in grief, When, with her children the sad hours beguiling, She saw her William fly to her relief! Sunk in his arms with bliss he quickly found her, But soon return to life, to love, and joy, While her grown young ones anxiously surround he’ And now Will clasps his girl, and now his bo^ 67 Did I not say, though ’tis a fickle ocean , Sorrow’s all a notion, Grief all in vain ? My joy how sweet, For now we meet Never to part again! HONESTY IN TATTERS. This here s what I does, — I, d’ye see, forms a notion That our troubles, our sorrows, and strife, Are the winds and the billows that foment the ocean, As we work through the passage of life. And for fear on life’s sea lest the vessel should founder, To lament, and to weep, and to wail, Is a pop-gun that tries to out-roar a nine-pounder, All the same as a whiff in a gale. Why now I, though hard fortune has pretty near starv’d me, And my togs are all ragged and queer, Ne er yet gave the bag to the friend who had serv’d me, Or caus’d ruin’d beauty a tear. Now there t’other day, when my messmate deceived me, Stole my rhino, my chest, and our Poll? Do you think in revenge, while their treachery griev’d me, I a court-martial call’d?— Not at all. F 2 This here on the matter was my way of arg’ing, — Tis true they hadn’t left me a cross ; A vile wife and false friend though are gone by the bargain, So the gain d’ye see’s more than the loss. For though fortune’s a jilt, and has, &c. The heart’s all — when that’s built as it should, sound and clever, We go ’fore the wind like a fly, But if rotten and crank, you may luff up for ever, You’ll always sail in the wind’s eye : With palaver and nonsense I’m not to be paid off, I’m adrift, let it blow then great guns, A gale, a fresh breeze, or the old gemman’s head off, I takes life rough and smooth as it runs : Content, though hard fortune, &c. THE BLIND SAILOR. Come, never seem to mind it, Nor count your fate a curse, However sad you find it, Yet somebody is worse. In danger some must come off short, Yet why should we despair. For if bold tars are Fortune’s sport, Still are they Fortune’s care. Why, when our vessel blew up, A fighting that there Don, Like squibs and crackers flew up The crew, each mother’s son. 69 They sunk, — some rigging stopp’d me short t While twirling in the air : And thus, if tars are Fortune’s sport, Still are they Fortune’s care. Young Peg of Portsmouth-common Had like to have been my wife, ’Longside of such a woman I’d led a pretty life : A landsman, one Jem Davenport, She convoy’d to Horn-fair ; And thus, though tars are Fortune’s sporty They still are Fortune’s care. A splinter knocked my nose off, My bowsprit’s gone, I cries, Yet well it kept their blow r s off, Thank God ’twas not my eyes. Chance if again their fun’s that sort, Let’s hope I’ve had my share. Thus if bold tars are Fortune’s sport, They still are Fortune’s care. Scarce with these w 7 ords I’d outed, Glad for my eyes and limbs, When a cartridge burst, and douted Both my two precious glims. Why, then, they’re gone, cried I, in short. Yet Fate my life did spare; And thus, though tars are Fortune’s sporty They still are Fortune’s care. I’m blind, and I’m a cripple, Yet cheerful would I sins o Were my misfortunes triple, ’Cause why — ’tw r as for my King. 70 Besides, each Christian I exhort, Pleased, will some pittance spare ; And thus, though tars are Fortune’s spoil They still are Fortune’s care. 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! She’ll soon take another in tow. T his breeze, like the old man, 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 ; W e’re in for’t, then dam’me, what folly, boys t For to be down-hearted, yo ho ! Our Boatswain takes care of the rigging, More ’specially when he gets drunk ; The bobstays supply him with swigging, He the cable cuts up for old junk. The studding-sail serves for his hammock, With the clew-lines he bought him his cail 4 While ensigns and jacks in a mammock He sold to buy trinkets for Poll. w iih a will-ho, &c. 71 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 goes snacks? Oh, he’d find it another guess story, That would bring his bare back to the cat, If his Majesty’s honour and glory Was only just told about that. With a will-ho, &c. Our Chaplain’s both holy and godly, And sets us for heaven agog ; Yet to my mind he looks rather oddly When he’s swearing and drinking of grog : When he took on his knee Betty Bowser, And talk’d of her beauty and charms, Cried 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 as’t ; The Lieutenants conceit are all wrapp’d in, The Mates scarcely 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 abused them. Just but for my fancy and gig, Could I find any one that ill-used them. Damn me, but I’d tickle his wig. 72 Jack never was known for a railer, ’Twas fun every 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. CONSTANCY. The surge hoarsely murm’ring, young Fanny's grief mocking, The spray rudely dashing as salt as her tears ; The ships in the offing, perpetually rocking, Too faithful a type of her hopes and her fears. ’Twas here, she cried out, that Jack’s vows were so many, Here I bitterly wept, and I bitterly weep : Her heart-whole he swore to return to his Fanny, Near the trembling pine that nods over the deep. Ah! mock not my troubles, ye pitiless breakers; Ye winds, do not thus melt my heart with alarms; He is your pride and mine, in my grief then partakers, My sailor in safety waft back to my arms. They are deaf and ungrateful ; these woes are too many ; Here, here will I die, where I bitterly weep : Some true lover shall write the sad fate of poor Fanny On the trembling pine that hangs over the deep. Thus, her heart sadly torn with its wild perturbation. No friend but her sorrow, no hope but her grave; Led on by her grief to the last desperation, She ran to the cliff, and plung’d into the wave. 73 A tar saved her life — the fond tale shall please many, Who before wept her fate, now no longer shall weep : r Twas her Jack, who, returning, had sought out his Fanny, Near the trembling pine that hangs over the deep. EV’RY INCH A SAILOR. The wind blew hard, the sea ran high, The dingy scud drove ’cross the sky, All was safe lash’d, the bowl was slung, When careless thus Ned Haulyard sung: A sailor’s life’s a life for me, He takes his duty merrily ; If winds can whistle, he can sing, Still faithful to his friend and king ; He gets beloved by all the ship, And toasts his girl and drinks his flip. Down topsails, boys, the gale comes on, To strike top-gallant yards they run, And now to hand the sail prepared, Ned cheerful sings upon the yard: A sailor’s life, &c. A leak, a leak ! — come, lads, be bold, There’s five foot water in the hold ; Eager on deck see Haulyard jump, And hark, while working at the pump ; A sailor’s life, &c. 74 And see ! the vessel nought can save $ She strikes and finds a wat’ry grave ! Yet Ned preserved, with a few more, Sings as he treads a foreign shore : A sailor’s life, &c. And now unnumber’d perils past, On land, as well as sea — at last In tatters to his Poll and home See honest Haulyard singing come : A sailor’s life, &c. Yet for poor Haulyard what disgrace !— Poll swears she never saw his face ; He damns her for a faithless she, And singing goes again to sea : A sailor’s life, &c. THE TOKEN. The breeze was fresh, the ship in stays* Each breaker hush’d, the shore a haze, When Jack, no more on duty call’d, His true-love’s tokens overhaul’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 loves I as I loves you, No pair so happy as we two.” 75 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 ceased : When Jack, as with his messmates dear He shared the grog, their hearts to cheer* Took from his ’bacco-box a quid, And spelt, for comfort, on the lid, “ If you loves I as I loves you, No pair so happy as we two.” The battle — that with horror grim, Had madly ravaged life and limb, Had scuppers drenched 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, Restored his comfort, as he spell’d, “ If you loves I as I loves 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 the ’bacco-box display’d, And cried, and seized the willing maid, “ If you loves I as I loves you, No pair so happy as we two.” 7 « JACK’S FIDELITY. If ever a sailor was fond of good sport ’Mongst the girls, why that sailor was I. Of all sizes and sorts, I’d a wife at each port, But, when that I saw’d Polly Ply, I hail’d her my lovely, and gov’d her a kiss, And swore to bring up once for all, And from that time black Barnaby spliced us to this, I’ve been constant and true to my Poll, And yet now all sorts of temptations I’ve stood, For I afterwards sail’d round the world, And a queer set we saw of the devil’s own brood, Wherever our sails were unfurl’d : Some with faces like charcoal, and others like chalk, All ready one’s hearts to o’erhaul, “ Don’t you go to love me, my good girl,” said I — “ walk I’ve sworn to be constant to Poll.” I met with a squaw out at India, beyond, All in glass and tobacco-pipes dress’d, What a dear pretty monster ! so kind and so fond, That I ne’er was a moment at rest. With her bobs at her nose, and her quaw, quaw, quaw. All the world like a Bartlemy doll ; Says I, “You Miss Copperskin, just hold your jaw, — I’ve sworn to be constant to Poll.” jack's fidelity. 77 Then one near Sumatra, just under the Line, As fond as a witch in a play ; “I loves you,” says she, “and just only be mine, Or by poison I’ll take you away,” “Curse your kindness,” says I, “but you can’t frighter me ; You don’t catch a gudgeon this haul ; If I do take your ratsbane, why then, do you see, I shall die true and constant to Poll.” But I ’scaped from them all, tawny, lily, and black, And merrily weather’d each storm, And, my neighbours to please, full of wonders came back, But, what’s better, I’m grown pretty warm. And so now to sea I shall venture no more. For you know, being rich, I’ve no call ; So I’ll bring up young tars, do my duty ashore, And live and die constant to Poll. THE SOLDIER'S FUNERAL. The martial pomp, the mournful train, Bespeak some honour’d hero slain ! The obsequies denote him brave ; Hark the volley o’er his grave : The awful knell sounds low and lorn, Yet cease, ye kindred brave, to mourn. 78 The plaintive fife and muffled drum The man may summon to his silent home * The soldier lives : — his deeds to trace, Behold the Seraph Glory place An ever-living laurel round his sacred tomb* Nor deem it hard, ye thoughtless gay, Short’s man’s longest earthly stay ; Our little hour of life we try, And then depart : we’re born to die. Then lose no moment dear to fame, — They longest live who live in name. The plaintive fife, &c. TACK AND HALF-TACK. The Yarmouth roads are right ahead, The crew with ardour burning, Jack sings out as he heaves the lead, On tack and half-tack turning ; By the dip eleven ! Lash’d in the chains, 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 bump ashore, He heaves the lead, and sings once more, Quarter less four ! About ship, lads, tumble up there, can’t you see? Stand by, well ; hark, hark ; helm’s a-lee ! Here she comes, up tacks and sheets, haul, mainsail hauS Haul of all ! HEAVING THE LEAD. lad as the long-lost shore they vie**. Exulting shout the happy crew ; Each singing as the sails he furU, Hey for the fiddles and the girls. rhe next tack we run out to sea, Old England scarce appearing: Again we tack, and Jack with glee Sings out as land we’re nearing, By the dip eleven ! And as they name some beauty dear To tars of bliss the summit, Jack joins the jest, the jibe, the jeer, And heaves the ponderous plummet; By the mark seven ! And now, while dangerous breakers roar, Jack cries, lest we run bump ashore. Quarter less four ! About ship, lads, tumble up there, can’t you seet Stand by, well; hark, hark; helm’s a-leel Here she comes, up tacks and sheets, haul mainsail ha Haul of all ! And as he long-lost shore they view, Exulting shout the happy crew ; Each singing as the sails he furls, Hey for the fiddles and the girls. Thus tars at sea, like swabs at home? By tack and tack are biass’d, The furthest way about we roam* To bring us home the nighest % By the dip eleven! 80 For one tack moic, 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 lad, once more, Soon shall we gaily tread the shore, And a half four ! About ship, lads, tumble up there, can’t you see? Stand by, well; hark, hark; helm’s a-lee! Here she comes, up tacks and sheets, haul, mainsail haul, Overhaul all! And as the long-lost shore they view, Exulting shout the happy crew ; Each singing, as the sails he furls, Hey for the fiddles and the girls. TOM TACKLE WAS POOR. Tom Tackle was noble, was true to his word; If merit bought titles, Tom might be my lord; How gaily his bark through Life’s ocean would sail! Truth furnish’d the rigging, and Honour the gale: Yet Tom had a failing, if ever man had, That, good as he was, made him all that was bad ; He was paltry and pitiful, scurvy and mean, And the sniv’lingest scoundrel that ever was seen: For so said the girls and the landlords ’longshore, Would you know what his fault was? — Tom Tackle was poor! TOM TACKLE 81 ’Twas once on a time when we took a galloon, And the crew touch’d the agent for cash to some tune, Tom a trip took to jail, an old messmate to free, And four thankful prattlers soon sat on his knee. Then Tom was an angel, downright from heaven sent' While they’d hands he his goodness should never repent: Return’d from next voyage he bemoan’d his sad case, To find his dear friend shut the door in his face! Why d’ye wonder? cried one, you’re served right, to be sure ; Once Tom Tackle was rich — now Tom Tackle is poor ! I ben’t, you see, versed in high maxims and sitch ; But don’t this same honour concern poor and rich ? If it don’t come from good hearts, I can’t see where from. And dam’me, if e’er tar had a good heart ’twas Tom. Yet somehow or ’nother, Tom never did right: None knew better the time when to spare or to fight: He, by finding a leak, once preserved crew and ship, Saved the commodore’s life — then he made such rare flip And yet for all this, no one Tom could endure; I fancies as how ’twas — because he was poor. At last an old shipmate, that Tom might hail land, Who saw that his heart sail’d too fast for his hand, In the riding of comfort a mooring to find, Reef’d the sails of Tom’s fortune, that shook in the wind: He gave him enough through Life’s ocean to steer, Be the breeze what it might, steady, thus, or no near ; His pittance is daily, and yet Tom imparts What he can to his friends — and may all honest hearts, Like Tom Tackle, have what keeps the wolf from the door, J ust enough to be generous — too much to be poor. G 82 LOVELY NAN, Sweet is the ship that, under sail. Spreads her white bosom to the gale : Sweet, oh ! sweet the flowing can ; Sweet to poise the labouring oar, That tugs us to our native shore When the boatswain pipes the barge to man Sweet sailing with a fav’ring breeze ; But oh! much sweeter than all these, Is Jack’s delight — his lovely Nan! The needle, faithful to the north, To show of constancy the worth, A curious lesson teaches man : The needle time may rust, the squall Capsize the binnacle and all, Let seamanship do all it can : My love in worth shall higher rise, Nor time shall rust, nor squalls capsize, My faith and truth to lovely Nan, When in the bilboes I was penn’d, For serving of a worthless friend, And every creature from me ran ; No ship performing quarantine Was ever so deserted seen, None hail’d me, woman, child, nor man; But though false friendship’s sails were furl’d, Though cut adrift by all the world, I’d all the world in lovely Nan. •THE VETERANS 1 love my duty, love my friend, Love truth and merit to defend, To moan their loss who hazard ra& $ I love to take an honest part, Love beauty, with a spotless heart, By manners love to show the man ; To sail through life by honour’s breeze--* ’Twas all along of loving these First made me dote on lovely Nan. THE VETERANS. Dick Dock, a tar at Greenwich moor’d, One day had got his beer on board, When he a poor maim’d pensioner from Chelsea saw ; And all to have his jeer and flout, For the grog once in, the wit’s soon out, Cried, How, good master Lobster, did you lose your claw! Was’t that time in a drunken fray ? Or t’other, when you ran away? But hold you, Dick, the poor soul has one foot in the graven ’Fore slander’s wind too fast you fly ; D’ye think it fun ? — you swab, you lie ; Misfortune ever claim’d the pity of the brave. Old Hannibal, in words as gross, — For he, like Dick, had got his dose, — To try a bout at wrangling quickly took a spell; If I’m a Lobster, master Crab, By the information on your nab, In some scrimmage or other, why they crack’d your shell ; g 2 84 And then, why, how you hobbling go On that jury-mast, your timber toe, A nice one to find fault, with one foot in the grave ! But halt, old Hannibal, halt, halt! Distress was never yet a fault, Misfortune ever claim’d the pity of the brave. If Hannibal’s your name, d’ye see, As sure as they Dick Dock call me, As once it did fall out, I ow’d my life to you : Spilt from my horse, once when ’twas dark, And nearly swallow’d by a shark, You boldly plunged in, saved me, and pleased all the crew. If that’s the case, then cease our jeers : When boarded by the same Mounseers, You, a true English lion, snatch’d me from the grave, Cried, “ Cowards, do the man no harm, Dam’me, don’t you see he’s lost his arm ?” Misfortune ever claim’d the pity of the brave. Then broach a can before we part, A friendly one, with all our heart, And as we put the grog about, we’ll cheerly sing, At land and sea may Britons fight, The world’s example and delight, And conquer every enemy of George our King . ’Tis he that proves the hero’s friend, His bounty waits us to our end, Though crippled, and laid up, with one foot in the grave ; Then, Tars and Soldiers, never fear, You shall not want compassion’s tear; Misfortune ever claim’d the pity of the brave. 85 DELIGHT OF THE BRAVE. Say, soldier, which of glory’s charms, That heroes’ souls inflame, Gives brightest lustre to their arms, Or best insures their fame? Is it her lion-mettled rage, Let loose from ardour’s den, Legion with legion to engage, And make men slaughter men ? Is it to a defenceless foe, Mild mercy to forbear, And glut the call of vengeance ? No ! The brave delight to spare : ’Tis clemency, pale misery’s friend, Foremost in glory’s van, To dry the starting tear, and blend The hero with the man. Then on the wretch fall double shame Who, in foul slander lored, Knows war alone by murder’s name, The soldier by the sword; As blessings out of evils come, Let once the conflict cease, The eagle brings the halcyon home, War courts the smiles of peace: 86 Yet he to higher merit vaults Who glory’s track hath trod* Great generous merit that exalts A mortal to a God. ’Tis clemency, pale misery’s friend* Ever in glory’s van. To dry the starting tear, and blend, The hero with the man. LET'S LIVE TILL WE DIE. Twas one day at Wapping, his dangers o’erhauling, Jack Junk cock’d his jemmy and broach’d a full can. While a posse of neighbours of each different calling, Cried, Only but hear what a marvellous man. Avast, cried out Jack, what’s there marvellous in it? When our time’s come the stoutest of hearts must comply Why now, you master tallow-chandler, by way oi throwing a little light upon the subject, don’t you thinl ’tis better to be extinguished when one’s fighting in defence of one’s king and country, than to stay at home lingering and go out like the snuff of a candle ? Then like men do your duty we have all our minute, And at sea or ashore we shall live till we die. Hurraw, hurraw, hurraw, boys, let’s live till we die. Why now, you master plumber, that marvels at billows, I shall founder at sea, and you'll die in your bed ; What of that? some have sods and some waves for tfecsr* pillows, And ’tis likely enough we may both die of lead : And as for the odds, all the difference that’s in it ? I shall pop off at once, and you’ll lingering li£. 87 Why, smite my crooked timbers who knows, but mas- ter Snip, there, may slip his cable and break his back with taking the ninth part of a fall off the shopboard into his own hell ? Then like men, &c. As for you, master bricklayer, to make out your calling A little like mine e’n’t a matter that’s hard ; Pray mayn’t you from a ladder or scaffold be falling, As easy as I from a rattling or yard? Then, for you, its commission a tile may bring in it, As soon as a shot or splinter for I. As for master doctor, the undertaker, and sexton — they don’t want no wipe from me ; they sends too many folks contented to their long home, not to know how r to go there contentedly themselves. Then like men, &c. And when Captain Death comes the reck’ning to settle, You may clear ship for action as much as you like, And behave like a man, but he’s such weight of metal, At the very first broadside the bravest must strike. And when you have said all you can, what’s there in it? Who to scud ’gainst the storm but a lubber would try? For as to qualms of conscience, cheating customers, betraying friends, and such like, being a set of honest tradesmen, I dare say you are perfectly easy about they sort of things. Then like men, &c. 88 TOM TRUELOVE’S KNELL. Tom Truelove woo’d the sweetest fair That e’er to tar was kind, Her face was of a beauty rare, More beautiful her mind. His messmates heard : while with delight He named her for his bride, A sail appear’d, ah, fatal sight! For grief his love had died. Must I, cried he, those charms resign, I loved so dear, so well ? Would they had toll’d, instead of thine, Tom Truelove’s knell. Break heart at once, and there’s an end, Thou all that heaven could give ! But hold ! I have a noble friend — Yet, yet for him I’ll live Fortune, who all her baleful spite Not yet on Tom had tried, Sent news, one rough, tempestuous night* That his dear friend had died. And thou too ! must I thee resign, Who honour loved so well ? Would they had toll’d, instead of thine, Tom Truelove’s knell. Enough, enough, a salt-sea wave A healing balm shall bring; A sailor you, cried one, and brave ? Live still to serve your king! 89 The moment comes, behold the foe — Thanks, generous friend, he cried: The second broadside laid him low ; He nam’d his love, and died. The tale, in mournful accents sung, His friends still sorrowing tell, How, sad and solemn, three times rung Tom Truelove’s knell. 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 and broken-hearted. At seven, while tautening the forestay, I saw her faint, or else ’twas fancy ; At eight we all got under weigh, And bid a long adieu to Nancy ! Night came, and now eight bells had rung, While careless sailors, ever cheery, On the mid watch so jovial sung, With tempers labour cannot weary. I, little to their mirth inclined, While tender thoughts rushed on my fancy, And my warm sighs increased the wind, Look’d on the moon, and thought of Nancy And now arrived that jovial night When every true-bred tar carouses ; When, o’er the grog, all hands delight To toast their sweethearts and their spouses. 90 Round went the can, the jest, the glee, While tender wishes fill’d each fancy { And when, in turn, it came to me, I heaved a sigh, and toasted Nancy! Next morn a storm came on at four. At six the elements in motion Plunged 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 i Scarce the foul hurricane had clear’d, Scarce w r inds and waves had ceased to rattle*. When a bold enemy appear’d, And, dauntless, we prepared for battle. And now, while some loved friend or wife Like lightning rush’d on every fancy, To Providence I trusted life, Put up a prayer, and thought of 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 press’d Nancy! 91 WHO CARES? If lubberly landsmen, to gratitude strangers, Still curse their unfortunate stars, Why, what would they say, did they try but the dangers Encounter’d by true-hearted tars ? If life’s vessel they put ’fore the wind, or they tack her, Or whether bound here or there, Give ’em sea-room, good fellowship, grog, and tobacker, Well then, damme if Jack cares where. Then your stupid Old Quidnuncs, to hear them all clatter The devil can’t tell you what for, Though they don’t know a gun from a marlinspike, chatter About and concerning of war. While for king, wife, and friend, he’s through everything rubbing, With duty still proud to comply, So he gives but the foes of Old England a drubbing, Why then, damme if Jack cares why. And then, when good fortune has crown’d his endeavours, And he comes home with shiners galore, Well, what if so be he should lavish his favours On every poor object ’long shore? Since money’s the needle that points to good nature, Friend, enemy, false, or true, So it goes to relieve a distress’d fei low-creature* Well then, damme if Jack cares who. 92 Don’t you see how some difF’rent thing ev’ry one’s twigging, To take the command of a rib, Some are all for the breast-work, and some for the rigging, And some for the cut of her jib. Though poor, some will take her in tow, to defend her, And, again some are all for the rich ; As to I, so she’s young, her heart honest and tender, Why then, damme if Jack cares which. Why now if they go for to talk about living, My eyes — why a little will serve : Let each a small part of his pittance be giving, And who in this nation can starve ? Content’s all the thing — rough or calm be the weather, The wind on the beam or the bow ; So honestly he can splice both ends together, Why then, damme if Jack cares how. And then for a bring-up, d’ye see, about dying, On which such a racket they keep, What argufies if in a church-yard you’re lying, Or find out your grave in the deep ? Of one thing we’re certain, whatever our calling, Death will bring us all up — and what then ? So his conscience’s tackle will bear overhauling, Why then, damme if Jack cares when. 93 ALL GIRLS. No more of waves and winds the sportj Our vessel is arrived in port; At anchor see she safely rides, And gay red ropes adorn her sides ; The sails are furl’d, the sheets belay’d, The crimson petticoat’s display’d, Deserted are the useless shrouds, And wenches come aboard in crowds. Then come, my lads, the flip put round, While safely moor’d on English ground, With a jorum of diddle, A lass and a fiddle, Ne’er shall care in the heart of a tar be found And while upon the hollow deck, To the sprightly jig our feet shall bound, Take each his charmer round the neck, And kiss in time to the merry sound. Bess hears the death of honest Jack, Who swore he’d safe and sound come back ; She calls him scurvy, lying swab, And then she kindly takes to Bob. Ben asks the news of bonny Kate, Who said she’d prove a constant mate ; But winds and girls are false, for she Took Ned the morn Ben went to sea. Well, come, says Ben, the flip put round, While safely moor’d on English ground, With a jorum of diddle, A lass and a fiddle, Ne’er shall care in the heart of a tar be found 94 And while upon the hollow deck, To the sprightly jig our feet shall bound* Take each his charmer round the neck. And kiss in time to the merry sound. By will and power, when lost ashore, His rhino Tom to Poll made o’er; Poll touch’d the prize-money and pay, And with the agent ran away : And Jenny, just as ’cute a trick, His back once turn’d, play’d Whistling Dick ?l Dick left her clothes to cut a flash, She sold ’em all and spent the cash. But come, says Dick, the flip put round, While safely moor’d on English ground. With a jorum of diddle, A lass and a fiddle, Ne’er shall care in the heart of a tar be found : And while upon the hollow deck, &c. While feet and tongue like lightning go, With— What cheer, Suke? and How do, Joe? Dick Laniard chooses Peg so spruce, And buxom Nell takes Kit Caboose. Thus ’mongst the girls they left behind, A lot of true and false they find ; While they bewail the shot or drown’d, And welcome home the safe and sound; Still thankful, while the flip goes round, They’re safely moor’d on English ground, With a jorum of diddle, A lass and a fiddle, Ne’er shall care in the heart of a tar be fou!?"* And while upon the hollow deck, &c. 95 MOORINGS. I’ve heard, cried out one, that you tars tack and tack, And at sea what strange hardships befel you ; But I don’t know what’s moorings. What, don’t you ? said Jack : Man your ear-tackle then, and I tell you : — Suppose you’d a daughter quite beautiful grown, And, in spite of her prayers and implorings, Some scoundrel abused her, and you knock’d him down, Why, d’ye see, he’d be safe at his moorings. In life’s voyage should you trust a false friend with the helm, The top-lifts of his heart all akimbo, A tempest of treachery your bark will o’erwhelm, And your moorings will soon be in limbo ; But if his heart’s timbers bear up against pelf, And he’s just in his reckoning and scorings, He’ll for you keep a look-out the same as himself* And you’ll find in his friendship safe moorings. If wedlock’s your port, and your mate, true and kind, In all weathers will stick to her duty, A calm of contentment shall beam in your mind, Safe moor’d in the haven of beauty : But if some frisky skiff, crank at every joint, That listens to vows and adorings, Shape your course how you will, still you’ll make Cue! * old’s Point, To ?.$p a beacon at moorings. A glutton’s safe moor’d, head and stern, by the gout, A drunkard’s moor a under the table, In straws drowning men, will Hope’s anchor find out, While a hair’s a philosopher’s cable : Thus mankind are a ship, life a boisterous main, Of Fate’s billows where all hear the roarings, Where for one calm of pleasure we’ve ten storms of pain, Till death brings us all to our moorings. THE HIGH-METTLED RACER. See, the course throng’d with gazers, the sports are begun The confusion but hear ! — I’ll bet you, sir ! — Done, done ! Ten thousand strange murmurs resound far and near, Lords, hawkers, and jockeys assail the tired ear. While with neck like a rainbow, erecting his crest, Pamper’d, prancing, and pleas’d, his head touching his breast, Scarcely snuffing the air, he’s so proud and elate, The high-mettled racer first starts for the plate. Now Reynard’s turn’d out, and o’er hedge and ditch rush Hounds, horses, and huntsmen, all hard at his brush : They run him at length, and they have him at bay, And by scent and by view cheat a long tedious way ; While, alike born for sports of the field and the course, Always sure to come thorough a stanch and fleet horse, When fairly run down the fox yields up his breath. The high-mettled racer is in at the death. 97 Grown aged, used up, and turn’d out of the stud, Lame, spavin’d, and windgall’d, but yet with some blood While knowing postilions his pedigree trace, Tell his dam won that sweepstakes, his sire gain’d that race ; And what matches he won to the ostlers count o’er, As they loiter their time at some hedge ale-house door, While the harness sore galls, and the spurs his sides goad, The high-mettled racer’s a hack on the road. Till at last having labour’d, drudg’d early and late, Bow’d down by degrees, he bends on to his fate ! Blind, old, lean, and feeble, he tugs round a mill, Or draws sand till the sand of his hour-glass stands still. And now cold and lifeless exposed to the view Tn the very same cart which he yesterday drew ; While a pitying crowd his sad relics surrounds, The high-mettled racer is sold for the hounds ! COMELY NED. Give ear to me, both high and low, And, while you mourn hard fate’s decree, Lament a tale right full of woe Of comely Ned that died at sea. His father was a commodore, His king and country serv’d had he ; But now r his tears in torrents pour For comely Ned that died at sea. M 98 His sister Peg her brother loved, For a right tender heart had she, And often to strong grief was moved For comely Ned that died at sea. His sweetheart Grace, once blithe and ga\. That led the dance upon the lea, Now wastes in tears the lingering day. For comely Ned that died at sea. His friends, who loved his manly worth (For none more friends could boast than he). To mourn now lay aside their mirth For comely Ned that died at sea. Come then and join with friendly tear, The song, that midst of all our glee, We from our hearts chant once a-ye&r For comely Ned that died at sea. NANCY DEAR. Why should the sailor take a wife. Since he was born to roam. And lead at sea a wand’ring life. Far from his friends and home? When fate comes riding in the gale And dreadful hurricanes assail The tar’s astonish’d ear, How could he resolution form, How, whistling, mock the roaring storm, But for his Nancy dear? 99 or battle should the ship be clear’d, As death when all is still, Save from some tar a murmuring’ s heard. Who sighs and makes his will : “My watch, my ’bacco-pouch, I give To Tom for her, should I not live, To my fond heart so near.” Nor could he smile, the fight grown hot, And, whistling, mock the flying shot, But for his Nancy dear. When hissing flames now reach the sky, Now in the ocean dip, And, as to climb the shrouds they fly, Grasp the devoted ship ; How, while a yawning watery grave, Sole chance from fire the crew to save. Threats, could he calm appear ? How, quit the vessel, scarce afloat — How, whistling, board the crowded boat. But for his Nancy dear? When shipwreck’d many leagues from home, The remnant of the crew Bewail some Dick, or Jack, or Tom. Wbom well they lov’d and knew : And, while by strangers kindly fed, W 7 ho, as they hear the story, spread Their hospitable cheer, — How could he on such misery think, Yet, whistling, put about the drink, But for his Nancy dear? h % 100 At last, when hungry, faint, and sore Through danger and delay, Forced, hard extreme ! from door to do®r, To beg his vagrant way, But see his toils are all forgot ; Hark, hark ! within her humble cot, In accents sweet and clear, She sings the subject of her pain, He, whistling, echoes back the strain He taught his Nancy dear. JACK'S CLAIM TO POLL. Would’st know, my lad, why every tar Finds with his lass such cheer? ’Tis all because he nobly goes And braves each boist’rous gale that blows, To fetch from climates near and far Her messes and her gear : For this around the world sails Jack, While love his bosom warms ; For this, when safe and sound come back, Poll takes him to her arms. Ere Poll can make the kettle boil For breakfast, out at sea Two voyages long her Jack must sail, Encountering many a boisterous gale, For the sugar to some western isle, To China for the tea. To please her taste thus faithful Jack Braves dangers and alarms ! While, grateful, safe and sound come bach* Poll takes him to her arms. 101 Morocco shoes her Jack provides To see her lightly tread ; Her petticoat of orient hue And snow-white gown in India grew ; Her bosom Barcelona hides, Leghorn adorns her head. Thus round the world sails faithful Jack To deck his fair one’s charms ; Thus grateful, safe and sound come back, Poll takes him to her arms. THE LADS OF THE VILLAGE. While the lads of the village shall merrily ah, Sound their tabors, I’ll hand thee along; And I say unto thee, that, verily ah, Thou and I will be first in the throng. Just then, when the youth who last year won the dow’r And his mate shall the sports have begun, When the gay voice of gladness resounds from each bow’r, And thou long’st in thy heart to make one. While the lads, &c. Those joys that are harmless what mortal can blame? ’Tis my maxim that youth should be free; And to prove that my words and my deeds are the same, Believe thou shall presently see ; While the lads, &c. 102 THE SAILOR’S MAXIM. Of us tars ’tis reported again and again, That we sail round the world, yet know nothing of men ; And, if this assertion is made with the view To prove sailors know nought of men’s follies, ’tis true. How should Jack practise treachery, disguise, or foul art* In whose honest face you may read his fair heart ? Of that maxim still ready example to give, Better death earn’d with honour than ignobly to live. How can he wholesome truth’s admonitions defy, On whose manly brow never sat a foul lie ? Of the fair born protector, how virtue offend ? To foe how be cruel? how ruin a friend? If danger he risk in professional strife, There his honour is safe, though he venture his life ; Of that maxim still ready example to give, Better death earn’d with honour than ignobly to live. But to put it at worst, from fair truth could he swerve, And betray the kind friend he pretended to serve, While snares laid with craft his fair honour trepan, Man betray him to error, himself but a man : Should repentance and shame to his aid come too late, Wonder not if in battle he rush on his fate ; Of that maxim still ready example to give, Better death earn’d with honour than ignobly to live. MEG OF WAPPING 103 MEG OF WAPPING. s Twas landlady Meg that made such rare flip; Pull away, pull away, hearties ! At Wapping she lived, at the sign of the Ship, Where tars meet in such jolly parties. She’d shine at the play, and she’d jig at the ball, All rigg’d out so gay and so topping ; For she married six husbands, and buried them all Pull away, pull away, pull away ! I say ; What d’ye think of my Meg of Wapping? The first was Old Bluff, with a swingeing purse ; Pull away, pull away, jolly boys ! He was cast away. Said Meg, Who cares a curse As for grieving, why, Lord, that’s a folly, boys ! The second in command was blear-eyed Ned : While the surgeon his limb was a lopping, A nine-pounder came, and smack went his head,— Pull away, pull away, pull away! I say; Rare news for my Meg of Wapping ! Then she married to Sam, and Sam loved a sup ; Pull away, pull away, brother ! So groggy Sam got, and the ship he blew up. And Meg had to look for another. 104 The fourth was bold Ben, w r ho at danger would smile, ’Till his courage a crocodile stopping, Made his breakfast on Ben on the banks of the Nile Pull away, pull away, pull away! I say; What a fortunate Meg of Wapping! Stay, who was the fifth ? Oh, ’twas Dick so neat; Pull away, pull away, so merry ! And the savages Dick both kill’d and eat, And poor Meg she was forced to take Jerry. Death again stood her friend, for, kill’d in a fray. He also the grave chanc’d to pop in ; So now with my song I shall soon belay ; — Pull away, pull away, pull away ! Belay The six husbands of Meg of Wapping. But I didn’t tell you how that she married seven ; Pull away, pull away, so neatly ! ’Twas honest Tom Trip, and he sent her to heaven, And her strong box he rummaged so sweetly ; For Meg growing old a fond dotard prov’d, And must after a boy needs be hopping ; So she popp’d off, and Tom, with the girl that he lov’d Pull away, pull away, pull away ! I say ! Spent the shiners of Meg of W apping. 105 POOR SHIPWRECK'D TAR. Escaped with life, in tatters, Behold me safe ashore ; Such trifles little matters, I’ll soon get togs galore : lor Poll swore when we parted No chance her faith should jar, And Poll’s too tender-hearted To slight a Shipwreck’d Tar. To Poll his course straight steering. He hastens on apace; Poor Jack can’t get a hearing, — She never saw his face. From Meg, Doll, Sue, and Kitty, Relief is just as far, Not one has the least pity For a poor Shipwreck’d Tar. This, whom he thought love’s needle 5 Now his sad mis’ry mocks, That wants to call the beadle To set him in the stocks. Cried Jack, This is hard dealing ; The elements at war Than this had kinder feeling — They spared a Shipwreck’d Tar. 106 But all their taunts and fetches A judgment are on me ; I, for these harden’d wretches, Dear Nancy, slighted thee. But see, poor Tray assails me, His mistress is not far, He wags his tail and hails me, Though a poor Shipwreck’d Tar. ’Twas faithful love that brought hinv««? Oh,, lesson for mankind ! ’Tis one, cried she, I taught him ; For on my constant mind Thine image, dear, was graven ; And now removed each bar, My arms shall be the haven For my poor Shipwreck’d Tar. Heaven and my love reward thee ! I’m shipwreck’d, but I’m rich ; All shall with pride regard thee,-— Thy love shall so bewitch With wonder each fond fancy, That children near and far Shall lisp the name of Nancy, Who saved her Shipwreck’d Taf* 107 A DOSE FOR THE DON. Dearly as the stream that guides its vital motion, Be cherish’d by each grateful British heart The great event that gave the lordly ocean To English tars fresh laurels to impart. Valentine’s-day in smiles came on, Love filled the seaman’s anxious mind, Delighted with past scenes so sweet, While ardent hope kept every pulse alive, Sweet hope some glorious moment might arrive, To serve the wife and king and friend he left behind, When Jervis with his gallant fleet, Discover’d the proud Don. Strange signal-guns all night distinctly hearing When day’s faint dawn presented first the shore, We, anxious, on the starboard tack were steering, While east by north eight leagues Cape Vincent bore. Near ten propitious hope came on; Our signal for a large fleet flew ; When instant with a press of sail, Form’d in two lines onward we gaily stood ; Till boldly dashing through the yielding flood, While honour fired each ship’s determined crew, We proudly bore up within hail Of the astonish’d Don. 108 Ships twenty-seven new bid a bold defiance; Fifteen our number, and of smaller size. So tow’ring elephants look down on lions, Till of their courage they become the prize. For now the trying hour came on, That each must act a gallant part ; Fate on one grand manoeuvre hinged, — One mighty stroke, prompt, dangerous, and bold, But what of English tars the courage can withold ? We broke their straggling line, scared every heart, And Jack the tawny whiskers sing’d Of the astonish’d Don. Here might I dwell on this unequali’d action That soars beyond example out of sight, — That gain’d four ships — that broke a dangerous faction But English seaman never brag, — they fight. Then let perfidious France come on, Aided by Holland and by Spain, In the deep a watery grave to meet. Fair England proudly with one voice shall sing The worth and virtues of a patriot king ; While some such heroes lead the glorious strain As Jervis and his gallant fleet, That humbled the proud Don. JERVIS FOR EVER. I’ve sail’d the salt seas pretty much, And rough’d it in all weathers, The French, the Spanish, and the Dutch, To buckle to their tethers. 109 And in each voyage I must need You see, have known some service; But all I’ve know’d and all I’ve seed Is now outdone by Jervis ! You’ve heard, I s’pose, the people talk Of Benbow and Boscawen, Of Anson, Pocock, Vernon, Hawke, And many more then going; All pretty lads, and brave, and rum, That seed much noble service ; But, Lord, their merit’s all a hum, Compared to Admiral Jervis! Now there’s the famous ninety-two, That made so great a bustle, When the Rising Sun and her whole crew Were all sent down by Russell: A glorious sight I’ve heard them say. And pretty was the service, But not like that on Voluntun’s-day, Led on by valiant Jervis ! Bold Rodney did the kingdom thank For that brush in the West Indies, And Parker, on the Dogger Bank, The Dutch beat off the hinges. Van Tromp said how he’d sweep the sea f Till Blake showed him some service; Fine fellows all, but don’t tell me That they’re the likes of Jervis! 110 Howe made the Frenchmen dance a tune. An admiral great and glorious — Witness for that the first of June, Lord, how he was victorious ! A noble sight as e’er was seen, And did the country service ; But twenty-seven beat with fifteen None ever did but Jervis ! As for that same equality, That this battle well was fighted* In England high and low degree Are equally delighted. *Tis in the mouth of all one meets, All praise this noble service; And ballad-singers in the streets Roars — Admirable Jervis * They say that he’s become a lord, At his Majesty’s desire ; He always was a king aboard, — How can they lift him higher ? ’Tis noble, that must be confessed, And suits such worthy service; But the title he’ll be known by best Will be — Gallant Admiral Jervis! To Thompson let the bumbo pass, Grey, Parker, Walgrave, Caulder,-™« Nelson that took St. Nicholas, — My timbers, how he maul’d her ! Ill But we a freight of grog might start. To drink all on that service ;• — 1 Here’s blessing on each noble heart That fought with valiant Jervis ! And bless the king, and bless the queen, And bless the fam’ly royal ; Let Frenchmen come, ’twill soon be seen That British hearts are loyal. Let Dutch and Spaniards join their hosts, They’ll see some pretty service ; Zounds ! who’s afraid, while England boasts Such admirals as J ervis ? THE NANCY. Mayhap you have heard that as dear as their lives All true-hearted tars love their ships and their wives ; To their duty like pitch sticking close till they die, And whoe’er wants to know it I’ll tell ’em for why One through dangers and storms brings me safely ashore, T’other welcomes me home when my danger is o’er ; Both smoothing the ups and the downs of this life, For my ship’s call’d the Nancy, and Nancy’s my wife. When Nancy my wife o’er the lawn scuds so neat And so light the proud grass scarcely yields to her feet, So rigg’d out and so lovely, t’ent easy to trace Which is reddest — her topknot, her shoes, or her face : 112 While the neighbours to see her forget all their cares, And are pleas’d that she’s mine, though they wish she was theirs. Marvel not, then, to think of this joy of my life — I my ship calls the Nancy, for Nancy’s my wife. As for Nancy my vessel, but see her in trim, She seems through the ocean to fly, and not swim ; ’Fore the wind, like a dolphin, she merrily plays, She goes anyhow well, but she looks best in stays. Scudding, trying, or tacking, ’tis all one to she, Mountain high, or sunk low in the trough of the sea; She has saved me from many hard squeaks for my life, So I call’d her the Nancy, ’cause Nancy’s my wife. When so sweet in the dance careless glides my heart’s queen, She sets out, and sets in, far the best on the green ; So of all the grand fleet, my gay vessel’s the flower, She outsails the whole tote by a knot in an hour. Then they both sail so cheerful through life’s varying breeze, All hearts with such pilots must be at their ease ; Thus I’ve two good protectors to watch me through life, My good ship the Nancy, and Nancy my wife. Then these hands from protecting them who shall debar ? Ne’er ingratitude lurk’d in the heart of a tar; Why, everything female from peril to save Is the noblest distinction that honours the brave. While a rag, or a timber, or compass I boast, I’ll protect the dear creatures against a whole host; Still grateful to both to the end of my life, — My good ship the Nancy, and Nancy my wife. 113 DUNCAN AND VICTORY. Again the willing trump of fame Receives from bounteous heaven a claim, Around glad nature’s sons to call, And wake with wonder the terrestrial ball : Strike shuddering France and harrow’d Spain With Duncan’s thunder, and Britannia’s reign. Confirm’d anew her empire o’er the main. Sing, Britons, sing, prizing what fate has given, Union, content, and gratitude to heav’n ! October the eleventh, at nine, Neptune beheld the British line ; And, lest his honours, so long worn, Should from our ever- conquering flag be torn, Dismay to France, horror to Spain, Bade Duncan’s thunder great Britannia’s reign Proclaim anew — the sovereign of the main ! Sing, Britons, sing, &c. Fate warr’d on that momentous day, — Three hours nine ships saw captured lay ; Vain Holland's dream of power’s no more ! Her conquer’d fleet shall grace the British shore. Droop, fearful France! sink, trembling Spain! Duncan, in thunder, great Britannia’s reign Proclaims anew — the sovereign of the main ! Sing, Britons, sing, &c. L 114 A SALT EEL FOR MYNHEER. Why, Jack, my fine fellow, here’s glorious news, — Lord, I could have told ’em as much, That the devil himself durst not stand in their shoes, If Duncan fell in with the Dutch ! What heart in the kingdom can now feel dismay ? Nine sail of the line ! not amiss : While they shrug up their shoulders and snuff it away, How the Mounseers will jabber at this! No ! while English bosoms boast English hearts, We’ll tip ’em all a round touch, While with ardour each starts that nothing can quench, We’ll bang the Spaniards, Belabour the Dutch, And block up and laugh at the French. Now the French, while in harbour so snug and so sly, ’Bout their courage they make a fine rout; If they’d have the whole world not believe it a lie, Then, damme, why don’t they come out ? Because, though they brag that so boldly they feel, They are all of them trembling for fear, Lest from Bridport they get such another salt eel As brave Duncan prepared for Mynheer. For while, &c. Let Frenfch, Spanish, and Dutch, lay together their heads. And of beating the English brag, That they’ll sail up the Thames, take us all in our beds, And hoist on the Tower their flag. 115 “Oui, oui,” cries Mounseer, ‘‘Si, Signor,” says the Don, Mynheer smokes his pipe and cries “Yaw;” But when Jervis, or Duncan, or Bridport come on, They are damnably sick in the craw. No, while, &c. Your true honest maxim I’ve heard ’em commend Is the nation you live in to sing; Where your property, children, your wife, and your friend, Are the care of their father the king. The man, then, so blest, who disseminates strife, Deserves, while he sinks in disgrace, Neither king to protect him, to love him a wife, Nor children to smile in his face. No, while, &c. WELL IT’S NO WORSE. I went to sea all so fearlessly, Broach’d my grog all so carelessly, By and by, in a brush, I lost my arm, Tol de rol, de rol de ri ! So, says I, *Twas well ’twas no worse harm : Man’s but man, and there’s an end ; And since ’tis so, E’en let it go : I ne’er shall lift it ’gainst a friend. 116 Next, a squall a tempest led off, Enough to blow the devil’s head off ; I got spilt, and that way lost my leg: Tol de rol, de rol de ri! So, says I, I must now be forced to beg. Well, man’s but man, that’s all I say; So in this plight, If I can’t fight, For certain I can’t run away. So, as if Old Nick was in it, Something happened every minute, Till, at last, poor I! they doused my glims: Tol de rol, de rol de ri ! So, says I, Why, I’ve lost my eyes and limbs. Well, the sails of life by time are furl’d! ’Twas fate’s decree, That I mayn’t see The treachery of this wicked world. Things grew worser still and worser ; Fortune, I had cause to curse her; Coming home, I found I’d lost my wife ! Tol de rol, de rol de ri! So, says I, I’d rather lost my life : But we’re all mortal — she was old ; Then why take on? If so be she’s gone, I ne’er again shall hear her scold. 117 Now laid up in Greenwich quarter, Chatham chest my right by charter. Being old, I’ve lost all but my tongue Tol de rol, de rol de ri ! So, says I, ’Twas not so w r hen I was young ; But, then, says I again, you dunce ! Be fear afar From every tar; Damme, a man can die but once ! ALL’S ONE TO JACK. Though mountains high the billows roll, And angry ocean’s in a foam, The sailor gaily slings the bowl, And thinks on her he left at home : Kind love his guardian spirit still, His mind’s made up, come what come will Tempest may masts to splinters tear, Sails and rigging go to rack, So she loves him he loves so dear, ’Tis all one to Jack. His friend in limbo should he find, His wife and children brought to shame, To everything but kindness blind, Jack signs his ruin with his name. 118 Friendship the worthy motive still, His mind’s made up, come what come will; The time comes round, by hell-hounds press’d* Goods, clothes, and person go to rack; But, since he succour’d the distress’d, *Tis all one to Jack. Once more at sea prepared to fight, A friendly pledge round goes the can ; And though large odds appear in sight, He meets the danger like a man : Honour his guardian spirit still, His mind’s made up, come what come will ; Like some fierce lion, see him go Where horror grim marks the attack ! So he can save a drowning foe, ’Tis all one to Jack. And when at last (for tars and kings Must find in death a peaceful home) The shot its sure commission brings, And of poor Jack the time is come, — Cheerful his duty to fulfil, His mind’s made up, come what come will; The cannon’s poised, from its fell jaws A fatal shot takes him aback ; But since he died in honour’s cause, ’Twas all one to Jack. 119 BRITONS UNITED. The French are all coming, for so they declare, Of their floats and balloons all the papers advise us ; They’re to swim through the ocean and ride on the air, In some foggy evening, to land and surprise us : Their army’s to come and plant liberty’s tree, Call’d the army of England, what matchless presumption! Let them come ; those who meet not with agues at sea, Will on shore first get fevers and then a consumption : Poor fools ! by the finger of fate they’re invited, For our f eedom and laws Come on in this cause, They no longer are Britons who are not united. The old women and children report such strange things Of their grand preparations, their routs, and their rackets, One army they tell us is furnish’d with wings, And another’s accoutred, they say, in cork jackets ! Well, so much the better : their luck let ’em try; Come here how they will, we shall damnably nim ’em : Tent the first time, my lads, vre have made the French fly ; And as for their jackets, we’ll curiously trim ’em. Poor fools, &c. Then they’ll fasten a rope from the Land’s-End to France, On which when their wonderful project’s grown riper, They’ll all to the tune of the Carmagnol dance, Determined to make Jack RosbifF pay the piper. 120 But let them take care we don’t come athawt hause. If we should, they’ll just fancy the devil has got ’em; For they’ll get from their horses so decent a toss, That capsized will soon send them a dance to the bottom. Poor fools, &c. Yet who knows how far their mad liberty scheme May succeed? of man’s wrongs the supposed panacea; They have often come here, killed us all in a dream, And afterwards eat us all up — in idea. And let ’em dream on that they’re cutting our throats, Till, devoted to danger they’re little aware on, They wake from their sleep, change their flat-bottom’d boats For a voyage o’er the Styx, in the boat of old Charon. Poor fools, &c. But jesting apart, we their pride must chastise, Though we’d no other hold on our hearts and our duty Than their insolent boast that they’ll seize as their prize, In their purse English gold, in their arms English beauty. English beauty for them ! The infernals scaled heaven, That soon hurled to fate their audacious malignity ; So shall they, to their fate, by a virtuous frown driven, Own that females of Britain possess British dignity. Poor fools, &c. Then rouse, Britons, rouse ! while this vapouring crew Are deluding their own and belying our nation, Let us noble, unanimous, loyal, and true, To their folly give pity, their threats indignation. 121 Our freedom’s not riot, nor uproar run wild, To honour, to virtue, to dignity, treason; A rational blessing just, temperate, and mild ; The freedom of England’s the freedom of reason: Poor fools, &c. CHANGE FOR A GUINEA. Jack Binnacle met with an old shipmate That sail’d with him board of the Thunder, And they talk’d of their pranks at a pretty round rate, And made all the hearkeners wonder : For though brave at sea, when you get him ashore, A tar often turns out a ninny, For now he must jog, His leave’s out with his grog; Here, house, what’s to pay? come sport us the score, Hand us over the change for a guinea : For a sailor’s life is a roaring life, He laughs while the winds and the waves are at strife, So safe on shore He can pay his score, And sport the splendid guinea. The landlord’s sweet daughter now comes in his view, Up to tars when they get into harbour ; Her shoes are morocco, her petticoat’s blue, Her wig’s just come home from the barber: 122 Jack stares in her face with a whimsical phiz, Reviews her and looks like a ninny. For each chalk on his score She counts two or more, He fix’d on her eyes, while she penetrates his, And cheats him while changing his guinea : For a sailor’s life is a careless life, He sings while the waves and the winds are at strife, To be cheated on shore, While to pay his score He sports the splendid guinea. Here’s two eighteen-pen’orths, that’s five and a kick, — Three pen’orths of ’bacco, a shilling, For a sixpenny ’bacco-box, quite span and spick, Half a crown, and a tizzy the filling; Jack hears not a word, chucks her under the chin, — Lord, how can you be such a ninny ? Let me reckon your score, — For two sixpen’orths more, Two hogs and three simons for what’s to come in, So there’s three shillings out of a guinea ; For a sailor’s life is a roaring life, He whistles while billows and winds are at strife, From the landlords ’long shore, For a five-shilling score, To get three shillings out of a guinea. Well, well, cries out Jack, you know figures and such, I daresay you’re right, Mistress Moggy; All my wonderment is that we should tip off so much In the time, and yet never get groggy. 123 But no sailor at toss-pot e’er yet play’d amiss, Then he’s cunning and never a ninny ; Come put round the grog, For away we must jog, So now, my dear girl, if you’ll give me a kiss. You may pocket your change for a guinea. For a sailor’s life is a careless life, He minds neither billows nor winds at strife, But pays his score With spirit on shore, And that’s all the use of a guinea. NELSON AND WARREN. I say, my heart, why here’s your works ! The French have it now with the gravy ; Why, what between the English and Turks, They’ll lose both their army and navy. Bold Nelson went out with determinate view To keep up our national glory; So of thirteen large ships he left Mounseer but two Just to tell the Directory the story. Then of England and England’s brave tars let us sing, As true as the keel to the kelson ! Let’s be loyal to honour, to truth, and the king, And drink to the Navy and Nelson. To destroy, burn, and sink, his orders were, And by heart he so perfectly got ’em, That some he took, some blow’d up in the air, And some he sent to the bottom. 124 So you see the despatches was easily stow’d, ’Twas no use with a history to charge ’em ; He’d occasion for only the old-fashion mode, Taken, burnt and destroy’d as per marjum. Then of England, &c. So, ship to ship was next the word ; Master Brueys, how -sweet they did sarve him ; For when a bold Briton sits down to his bird, He pretty well knows how to carve him : Thus with one of his precious limbs shot away, Bold Nelson know’d well how to nick ’em ; So as for the French, ’tis as much as to say We can tie up one hand and lick ’em. Then of England, &c. But with France ’tis all up, they are meeting their fate They’ve thrown down their basket of crockery, And vengeance like this will o’ertake soon or late All who make of religion a mockery. Then of England, that wonderful country, sing, Where we’ve thousands of joy if we need ’em ; Mild laws that protect us, a Protestant King, Lovely women, grog, biscuit, and freedom. Then of England, &c. But while we’re about it, let’s loudly blend The names of bold Nelson and Warren, And be thankful to heav’n there must soon be an end To wars both domestic and foreign. While fame shall sing out the glad news with a smile, Let the thundering roar of our cannon Speak our valorous acts, from the mouth of the Nile, All the way to the banks of the Shannon. 125 TRUE COURAGE. Why, what’s that to you, if my eyes I’m a wiping? A tear is a pleasure, d’ye see, in its way ; ’Tis nonsense for trifles, I own, to be piping; But they that han’t pity, why I pities they. Says the captain, says he (I shall never forget it), “ If of courage you’d know, lads, the true from the shami ’Tis a furious lion in battle, so let it, But, duty appeased, ’tis in mercy a lamb.” There was bustling Bob Bounce, for the old one not caring, Helter skelter, to work, pelt away, cut and drive ; Swearing he, for his part, had no notion of sparing, And as for a foe, while he’d eat him alive. But when that he found an old prisoner he’d wounded, That once saved his life as near drowning he swam, The lion was tamed, and, with pity confounded, He cried over him just all as one as a lamb. That my friend Jack or Tom I should rescue from danger, Or lay my life down for each lad in the mess, Is nothing at all, — ’tis the poor wounded stranger, And the poorer the more I shall succour distress : For however their duty bold tars may delight in. And oeril defy, as a bugbear, a flam, Though the lion may feel surly pleasure in fighting, He’ll feel more by compassion when turned to a lamb. 126 The heart and the eyes, you see, feel the same motion, And if both shed their drops, ’tis all to the same end; And thus ’tis that every tight lad of the ocean Sheds his blood for his country, his tears for his friend. If my maxim’s disease, ’tis disease I shall die on, — You may snigger and titter, I don’t care a damn! In me let the foe feel the paw of lion, But, the battle once ended, the heart of a lamb. MAGNANIMITY. When once the din of war’s begun That heroes so delight in, Armies are conquer’d, cities won, By bloodshed and brave fighting. The trumpet sounds ! the columns march, Friends from dear friends are sunder’d; Prepared is the triumphal arch, And the fallen foe are plunder’d. All this, I own, deserves the name, And truly in the rolls of fame Portrays a marking feature : Yet give me bravery from the heart, From self divested and apart, Exceeding mortal nahire, That rushes through devouring waves. And like a guardian angel, saves A sinking fellow-creature. 127 In equal balance to maintain The barriers of each nation, Thus ever did stern Fate ordain Slaughter should thin creation. The trumpet sounds ! his native land Each tries to save from slavery ! While in the contest, hand in hand, Walk clemency and bravery. All this I own deserves a name, And stands in the records of fame A truly marking feature : Yet give me bravery from the heart, From self divested, and apart, Type of celestial nature, That rushes, &c. NANCY. You ask how it comes that I sing about Nancy For ever, yet find something new ; As well may you ask why delight fills the fancy When land first appears to the crew. When, safe from the toils of the perilous ocean, In each heart thanks of gratitude spring : Feel this, and you’ll have of my joy a faint notion When with rapture of Nancy I sing. You and I nature’s beauties have seen the world over, Yet never knew which to prefer; Then why should you wonder that I am no rover, Since I see all those beauties in her ? 128 Why, you’ll find about ships all you’ve known and t hearing, On their different bearings to bring ; Though they all make their ports, they all vary in steering So do I when of Nancy I sing. Could a ship round the world, wind and weather permitting, A thousand times go and come back, The ocean’s so spacious ’t would never be hitting, For leagues upon leagues the same tack : So her charms are so numerous, so various, so clever, They produce in my mind such a string, That, my tongue once let loose, I could sing on for ever, And vary the oftener I sing. Shall I tell you the secret? you’ve hut to love truly, Own a heart that in the right place is hung; And just as the prow to the helm answers duly, That heart will lend w r ords to the tongue. No art do I boast of, no skill I inherit, Then do not of my praises ring ; But to love and to nature allow all the merit That taught me of Nancy to sing. TOL DE ROL. Of all the lives I ever liv’d, A sailor’s life for I ; Hap w T hat hap may, he’s never griev’d, But works and bungs his eye 129 To do his duty never loth, In danger’s face he’ll fly, Though certain sure to get popp’d off, Tol de liddle liddle tol tol lol tol diddle fiddle liddle li. Why, when to hand that sail we’d got All shiver’d by the foe, Scarce up aloft, a second shot Mast, yards, and all laid low. At the risk of every precious neck, By the run we corned, but I Only broke my arm against the deck, Tol di riddle, &c. Now there when I left Poll ashore, Well stored with togs and gold, And went to sea to fight for more, A jolly tar and bold, A wounded prisoner soon I lay, In a dismal plight was I ; Corned home, I found Poll flow’d away, Tol di riddle, &c. Then, when my precious leg they lopp’d, Just for a bit of fun, I took it up, on t’other hopp’d, And ramm’d it in a gun. What’s that for ? cries my messmate Dick ; What for, you fool ! said I ; Why, to give Mounseer another kick ! Tol di riddle, &c. x I owns this crazy hull of mine At sea has had its share ; Shipwreck’d three times, and wounded nine, And blow’d up in the air ! But somebody must pay the cost,- — I’ve yet my leg and eye : The rest I for my country lost, Tol de riddle, &c. THE PRIDE OF THE OCEAN. See the shore lined with gazers, the tide comes in fast The confusion but hear ! bear a hand there, avast ! The blocks and the wedges the mallets obey, And the shores and the stanchions are all cut away; While with head like a lion, built tight fore and aft, Broad amidships, lean bows, and taper abaft, In contempt of all danger from quicksands and rocks, The pride of the ocean is launch’d from the stocks. Now the signal is flying, and, fleet in her course, She chases a sail, far superior her force ; And now the brisk broadside is merrily pour’d, And splinters, cut ropes, and masts go by the board : Next yard-arm and yard-arm entangled they lie, The tars loudly swearing to conquer or die ; Till hull’d and cut up, getting more than she likes, To the pride of the ocean the enemy strikes* 131 The prize is sent home, and, alert in a trice, They make gaskets and points, and they knot and they splice ; While knowing Jack tars of their gallantry talk, Tell who served well, Boscawen, and Anson, and Hawke ; Till, all of a sudden, a calm, then a scud, A tempest brings on, that the face of the flood The thunder and lightning and wind so deform, The pride of the ocean scarce lives out the storm. And now having nobly defended the cause Of the nation, of freedom, religion, and laws, Her timbers all crazy, all open her seams, Torn and wounded her planks, and quite rotten her beams, To the last humbly fated her country to aid, Near the very same slip where her keel was first laid, No trace of her rate but her ports and her bulk, The pride of the ocean’s cut down a sheer hulk. NATURE AND NANCY. Let swabs with their wows, their palaver, and lies, Sly flattery’s silk sails still be trimming, Swear their Polls be all angels dropp’d down from the skies, — I your angels don’t like, — I loves women. I loves a warm heart and a sweet honest mind, Good as truth, and as lively as fancy ; As constant as honour, as tenderness kind ; In short I loves Nature and Nancy. 132 \ read in a song about Wenus, I thinks. All rigg’d out with her Cupids and Graces; And how roses and lilies, carnations and pinks, Was made paint to daub over their faces. They that loves it may take all such art for their pains,— For mine ’tis another guess fancy; Give me the rich health, flesh and blood, and blue veins That pays the sweet face of my Nancy. Why, I went to the play, where they talk’d well at least, As to act all their parts they were trying ; They were playing at soldiers, and playing at feast, And some they was playing at dying. Let ’em hang, drown, or starve, or take poison d’ye see, All just for their gig and their fancy; What to them was but jest is right earnest to me, For I live and I’d die for my Nancy. Let the girls then, like so many Algerine Turks, Dash away, a fine gay-painted galley, With their Jacks and their pennants and gingerbre. works, All for show and just nothing for value, — False colours throw out, deck’d by labour and art, To take of pert coxcombs the fancy ; They are all for the person, I’m all for the heart, — In short, I’m for Nature and Nancy: 133 ANNA, ANNE, NAN, NANCE, OR NANCY. My love’s a vessel trim and gay, Rigg’d out with truth and stored by honour ; As through life’s sea she cuts her way, All eyes with rapture gaze upon her : Built every wondering heart to please, — The lucky shipwrights Love and Fancy; From stem to stern she moves with ease, And at her launch they call’d her Nancy. When bearing up against life’s gales, So well she stems the dangerous trouble, I call her Anna, — as she sails, Her form’s so grand, her air’s so noble. When o’er the trembling wave she flies, That plays and sports as she advances, Well said, my Nan! I fondly cries, As my full heart in concert dances. In studding sails before life’s breeze So sweetly gentle is her motion, She’s Anne, — for as she moves with ease, She seems the queen of all the ocean. But when on Sundays rigg’d in stays, Like beauty gay and light as fancy, She wins my heart a thousand ways ; I then delight to call her Nancy. 134 When laying on a tack so neat, The breeze her milk-white bosom filling, She skims the yielding waves so fleet, I call her Nance, my bosom thrilling. Thus is she precious to my heart, By whate’er name comes o’er my fancy : Graceful or gay, grand, neat, or smart, Or Anna, Anne, Nan, Nance, or Nancy. JACK AT GREENWICH. We tars are all for fun and glee, — A hornpipe was my notion ; Time was I’d dance with any he That sails the salt sea ocean ; I’d tip the roll, the slide, the reel, Back, forward, in the midlde ; And roast the pig, and toe and heel, All going with the fiddle ; But one day told a shot to ram, To chase the foe advancing, A splinter queer’d my larboard gam 3 And, damme, spoilt my dancing. Well, I’m, says I, no churlish elf; We messmates be all brothers : Though I can’t have no fun myself, I may make fun for others. A fiddle soon I made my own, That girls and tars might caper, — Learnt Rule Britannia, Bobbing Joan* And grow’d a decent scraper 135 But just as I’d the knack on’t got. And did it pretty middling, I lost my elbow by a shot, And, damme, spoilt my fiddling. So sometimes, as I turn’d my quid, I got a knack of thinking As I should be an inwalid, And then I took to drinking. One day called down my gun to ma^ To tip it with the gravy, I gave three cheers, and took the can To drink the British Navy: Before a single drop I’d sipp’d, Or got it to my muzzle, A langridge off my daddle whipp’d, And, damme, spilt the guzzle. So then I took to taking snuff, ’Cause how my sorrows doubled ; And pretty pastime ’twas enough, D’ye see, when I was troubled: But Fortune, that mischievous elf, Still at some fun or other, — Not that I minds it for myself, But just for Poll and mother, — One day, while lying on a tack, To keep two spanking foes off, A broadside comes, capsizes Jack, And, damme, knocks my nose off. So in misfortune’s school grown tough, — In this same sort of knowledge, Thinking, mayhap, I’d not enough, They sent me here to college. 136 And here we tell old tales and smoke, And laugh while we are drinking; Sailors, you know, will have their joke, E’en though the ship were sinking. For I, while I get grog to drink My wife, my friend, or king in, ’Twill he no easy thing, I think, Damme, to spoil my singing. BROTHER JACK. If the good old maxim’s true, That sons of Eve should all be brothers, Tars have it to their hearts in view, For their first good’s the good of others Nay, Jack such narrow love derides, ’Midst every danger still contented, He the whole family provides With every good that Heaven invented; And leaving caution to the wind, Risks every chance to serve mankind. Away to India, cries the fair ; To Beauty’s voice obedient listen - The vessel cuts the yielding air, And muslins wave, and diamonds glisten Should winter, in its bleak array, With chilling frosts and winds alarm her, Jack points the prow to Hudson’s Bay, And comely furs both deck and warm her And gaily leaving care behind, Ransacks the world to serve mankind. 137 Would cits the rich, voluptuous treat, — • Amidst the bustle and the hurry, To make the bill of fare complete, Jack brings the turtle and the curry : He fetches tea for maiden aunts, Finery and fashions for our spouses. Feeds, clothes us, and supplies our wants, And even furnishes our houses : What thanks for those, then, shall we find, Who thus adventure for mankind ? Then be the friendly toast we pass, As honest hearts and Nature’s freemen,—® Excluding daylight from the glass, — Prosperity to English seamen ! On danger’s brink who careless found, For others make their lives a slavery; The very wine that now goes round We owe to their adventurous bravery. Then drink to those, with grateful mind, Who risk their lives to serve mankind. THE CANARY-BIRD. Since fate of sailors hourly varies, Lest doubts should wound my anxious breast, This pretty bird from the Canaries Jack brought, to set my heart at rest: 138 His life is charm’d, and when with sadness, Cried he, his notes he mournful gives, Then cherish care, Indulge despair ; But sweetly, if they thrill with gladness, Rejoice and know your lover lives: Attentive mark ! Hark ! hark ! Rejoice, and know your lover lives. Each hour, while my poor bosom flutters, Relying on my lover’s word, Anxious to hear the song he utters, I listen to my pretty bird : But thanks to Heaven, never with sadness Has he yet mourn’d ; even now he gives (To silence care, and chase despair) His sprightly notes with joy and gladness; And thus I know my lover lives : Attentive mark ! Hark ! hark ! ’Tis thus I know my lover lives. But see, he’s here ! my heart’s contented ; Sweet warbler, truly didst thou speak. Dear love, cried Jack, ’twas all invented, Lest thy poor heart my fate might break. Love taught the cheat to cheer thy sadness, And cheats of love true love forgives ; This anxious care Heal’d thy despair ; Birds always sing with joy and gladness ; 139 Thy love to thee and honour lives z Attentive mark ! Hark ! hark ! Thy love to thee and honour lives. THE TRUMPET'S SOUND. Though forward stands the soldier’s names, ’Midst prospects rude and steril, To where high towers the fane of fame, The steps are toil and peril. How keen the pang when friends must part, Fierce glory’s fire suspending! An angel wife pours out that heart Which killing fears are rending. But vain are sympathetic sighs, Uplifted hands, and streaming eyes. Beckon’d by fate, behold the bands, The drums at distance rattle. Hark! the charge: ’tis honour commands,-^ The trumpets sound to battle. Death’s work’s begun ; in honour’s bed Promiscuous heaps are lying; Appall’d the living, and the dead Lamented by the dying ; While memory added torture gives, 1 hat tenderest thoughts awaken, See groups of mothers, children, wives, By feeble hope forsaken. 140 But vain are sympathetic sighs, Imploring hands, and streaming eyes : Again appear the martial bands, The drums at distance rattle, &c. Avaunt, grim war ! sweet peace is ours,— The hero’s noblest capture ; Joy gaily leads the dancing hours, And misery’s lost in rapture. Beneath her horn gay Plenty bends, Proud bards record the quarrel, And in her temple Fame attends To place the well-earn’d laurel. Yet but in trust he holds this meed ; For should his aid his country need, Then shall he cry, Draw out the bands, When drums at distance rattle, &c. THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. A voyage at sea and all its strife, Its pleasure and its pain, At every point resembles life, — Hard work for little gain. The anchor’s weigh’d, smooth is the flood, Serene seems every form, But soon, alas ! comes on the scud That speaks the threatening storm. The towering masts in splinters shivering! The useless sails in tatters quivering! Thunder rolling, lightning flashing, Waves in horrid tumult dashing 141 Foam along the dreary shore: Still, while tars sit round so jolly, The sprightly flute calls care a folly, Aloft, alow, afloat, aground, Let but the smiling grog go round, And storms are heard no more. The voyage through life is various found, The wind is seldom fair; Though to the straits of pleasure bound, Too oft we touch at care. Impervious danger we explore; False friends, some faithless she: Pirates and sharks are found ashore As often as at sea. A low’ring storm from envy brewing, Shall at a distance menace ruin ; While slander, malice, and detraction, A host of fiends shall bring in action, And plant care’s thorns at every pore. Yet, roused to sw r eet domestic duty, Some manly imp, or infant beauty, Clings round his neck or climbs his knees, — Each thorn’s pluck’d out, pain’s turned to ease, And storms are heard no more. The ship towers gaily on the main, To fight its country’s cause, And bid the obedient world maintain *ts honours and its laws. Nor from surrounding danger shrinks Till, sacrifice to fame, Death dealing round, she nobly sinks Only to live in name. 142 And so the man, — his ample measure, Fill’d with alternate pain and pleasure, Till, long in age and honour living, Life’s strength worn out, a lesson giving To those he leaves his well-got store. Mild hope and resignation greeting, The playful soul, in circles fleeting, Makes onward to its native skies, While gasping nature pants and dies, And storms are heard no more. JACK AT THE OPERA. At Wapping I landed, and call’d to hail Mog; She had just shaped her course to the play: Of two rums and one water I order’d my grog, And to speak her soon stood under way. But the Haymarket I for Old Drury mistook, Like a lubber so raw and so soft, Half a George handed out, at the change did not look, Mann’d the ratlins, and went up aloft. As I mounted to one of the uppermost tiers, With many a coxcomb and flirt, Such a damnable squalling saluted my ears, I thought there’d been somebody hurt ; But the devil a bit — ’twas your outlandish rips Singing out with their lanterns of jaws; You’d a swor’d you’d been taking of one of they trips Mongst the Caffres or wild Catabaws. 143 What’s the play, Ma’am ? says I, to a good-natured tit. The play ! ’tis the uproar you quiz. My timbers, cried 1, the right name on’t you’ve hit, For the devil an uproar it is. For they pipe and they squeal, now alow, now aloft; If it wa’nt for the petticoat gear, With their squeaking so molly ish, tender, and soft, One should scarcely know ma’am from mounseer. Next at kicking and dancing they took a long spell, All springing and bounding so neat, And spessiously one curious Madamaselle, — Oh, she daintily handled her feet. But she hopp’d, and she sprawl’d, and she spun round so queer, Twas, you see, rather oddish to me; And so I sung out, Pray be decent, my dear; Consider I’m just come from sea. ’Tain’t an Englishman’s taste to have none of these goes, So away to the playhouse I’ll jog, Leaving all your fine Bantums and Ma’am Parisoes, For old Billy Shakspeare and Mog. So I made for the theatre, and hail’d my dear spouse ; She smiled as she saw’d me approach ; And, when I’d shook hands and saluted her bows. We to Wapping set sail in a coach. 144 THE MANES OF THE BRAVE. Now that war has, in human distress, done its best; Now that glutted with mischief, fell slaughter's at rest ; Now that smiling content crowns the peasant’s clean board, And the industrious ploughshare takes place of the sword ; In this season what care o’er the fancy shall brood ? What sigh press for vent, or what tear sk'dl intrude? Ah ! indulge and reflect on each glorious grave — A sigh and a tear to the manes of the brave. Now that loud acclamations expand through the air, And the brows of the brave are adorn’d by the fair ; Now that bands of musicians so gaily advance. In the concert to join or enliven the dance; At one grateful idea the tumult shall end, The soft flute the sad cadence alone shall suspend; And, while fancy leads on to the cold hallow’d grave, Shall echo a sigh to the manes of the brave. Proud award of those heroes for glory who burn, Alike nobly honour’d the arch and the urn ; Surviving, or dying, such fame who achieve, 'Tis joy to regret, and ’tis pleasure to grieve. Then our rapturous bosoms let gratitude swell, While those sons of renown, who so gloriously fell, Shall from heav’n cheer those mourners who throng near each grave, And dry up their tears for the manes of the brave. )4fi LETTER N. Op firom a loblolly-boy none was so ’cute, Of knowing things most sort I follard ; Ben Binnacle learn’d me to read and dispute, For Ben was a bit of a schollard. Of the whole criss-cross row I in time know’d the worth \ But the dear letter N for my fancy ; For N stands for nature, and noble, and north, Neat, nimble, nine, nineteen, and Nancy. She soon was my wife, and I sail’d round the world, To get prize-money where I could forage; And for love, wheresoever our Jack was unfurl’d, I daunted them all with my courage : For I now read in books about heroes and fame, And for all sorts of rows got a fancy ; Sticking still to dear N, for N stands for name, Note, novel, neck, nothing, and Nancy. In the midst of this bustle I lost my poor friend, And each object around me grew hateful; For I know’d not false heart with a fair face to blend, Nor had laming yet made me ungrateful. I liked my friend well, and deplored him; — what then? My wife was the first in my fancy ; For, though B stands for buck, brother, bottom, and Ben, Yet N stands for needle and Nancy. L 146 Well, I’ve weather’d life’s storms, and till laid a sheer hulk Will my absence again never shock her; Thanks to Fortune, at sea I’ve no need to break bulk, For I’ve plenty of shot in the locker. Our kids play around us, and still to pursue The letter so dear to my fancy, Though nineteen twice told, noons and nights but renew The nice natty notion of Nancy. EACH HIS OWN PILOT. I was saying to Jack, as we talk’d t’other day About lubbers and snivelling elves, That if people in life did not steer the right way, They had nothing to thank but themselves. Now, when a man’s caught by those mermaids the girls, With their flattering palaver and smiles, He runs, while he’s listening to their fal de rals, Bump ashore on the Scilly Isles Thus in steering in life, as in steering with us, To one course in your conduct resort, — In foul winds, leaving luff and no near, keep her thus In honour’s line ready, When fair, keep her steady, And neither to starboard incline nor to port. If he’s true in his dealings, life’s wind to defy, And the helm has a trim and right scope, Not luffing, but keeping the ship full and by, He may weather the Cape of Good Hope 147 But if he steers wide in temptation’s high sea, And to pleasure gives too much head-way, Hard a-port goes the helm, the ship’s brought by the lee, And she founders in Botany Bay, Thus in, &c, In wedlock so many wrong courses are made, They part convoy so oft and so fast, Till so fond they are grown of that same Guinea-trade, Cape Farewell is their anchorage at last. Some men, I must own, to be dubb’d may be born; But this, for the wives, I will say, They seldom or ever bear down for Cape Horn, ’Till the husbands have show’d them the way. Thus in, &c. As to mutinous spirits that through the world roll, If we had ’em aboard, Jack, with we, They should make No Man’s Land, and skulk through Lubber’s Hole, And at last be laid in the Red Sea ; But fine honest fellows, to honour so dear, Shall, in this world by nothing perplex’d, Of False Bay get to windward, bring up in Cape Clear, And bespeak a snug berth in the next. Thus in, &c. JACK COME HOME. Jack come home, his pockets lined, In search of Poll, his only pleasure, To Pickle Stairs his course inclined, In her fair lap to pour his treasure : l % i*±b But scarce arriv’d at fam’d Rag-fair. Where the keen Jew the clodpole fleeces, His whistle turn’d into a stare At “ Come, who’ll buy my water-cresses V* He starts and trembles at the sound, Which now is heard, and now obstructed; And now his hopes are all aground, And now ’tis to his ear conducted, “ Zounds !” cried out Jack, “ I know that phiz, — But then, such togs — they’re all to pieces ! Why, it can’t be ! damme it is — ’Tis Poll a-bawling water-cresses!” And now she’s in his arms, while he Bids her relate fortune’s reverses ; The world finds faithless as the sea, And loads false friends, in troops, with curses, “They took,” cried she, “my very bed; The sticks they seiz’d and sold in pieces ; So, to get a bit of honest bread, I cries, Who’ll buy my water-cresses ?” “ Still art thou rich, my girl,” cried Jack, “ And still shalt taste each earthly pleasure ; Thou’rt true, though rags are on thy back, And honour, Poll, ’s a noble treasure. In this gay tog-shop rigg’d so neat, 111 fortune from this moment ceases :” This said, he scatter’d in the street Basket and rags, and watercresses. 149 LOVE ME EVERMORE. either eye a lingering tear, His love and duty well to prove, ack left his wife and children dear, Impell’d by honour and by love ; And as he loiter’d, wrapp’d in care, A sapling in his hand he bore, Curiously carv’d, in letters fair — “Love me; ah, love me ever more!’ 8 At leisure to behold his worth, Tokens, and rings, and broken gold, He plung’d the sapling firm in earth, And o’er and o’er his treasure told; The letters spelt, the kindness traced, And all affection’s precious store, Each with the favourite motto graced — “ Love me ; ah, love me, evermore !*' While on this anxious task employ’d, Tender remembrance all his care, His ears are suddenly annoy’d, The boatswain’s whistle cleaves the air ; ’Tis duty calls, his nerves are braced, He rushes to the crowded shore, Leaving the sapling in his haste, That bids him love for evermore. The magic branch thus unreclaim’d, Far off at sea, no comfort near, His thoughtless haste he loudly blamed With many a sigh and manv a tear; 150 Yet why act this unmanly part? The words the precious relic bore, Are they not mark’d upon my heart? — “Love me; ah, love me, evermore !” Escap’d from treacherous waves and winds, That three years he had felt at sea, A wondrous miracle he finds, — The sapling is become a tree! A goodly head that graceful rears, Enlarged the trunk, enlarged the core, And on the rind, enlarged, appears “ Love me ; ah, love me, evermore !” While gazing on the spell-like charms Of this most wonderful of trees, His Nancy rushes to his arms, His children cling about his knees. Increased in love, increased in size, Taught from the mother’s tender store, Each little urchin, lisping, cries, “Love me; ah, love me, evermore !” Amazement seized the admiring crowd; “ My children,” cried a village seer, “These signs, though mute, declare aloud The hand of Providence is here — Whose hidden, yet whose sure decrees For those its succour who implore, Can still the tempest, level seas, And crown true love for evermore,” 151 THREE CHEERS. When to weigh the boatswain’s calling, The tops all mann’d, The fadirlg land, Throng’d with hearty friends appears ; Then the sailor, though on duty, Seeks fondly for some distant beauty, Whose token on his heart he wears ; Nor can his moisten’d eye withdraw : But rous’d, his courage overhauling, The grog goes round, He hails the sound, The toast — a prosperous voyage — three cheers ! And jolly tars sing out Houraw ! When light’ning, winds, and waves are jarring, And madly rove, Enough to move Aught but a British seaman’s fears ; Then the tar, on duty flying, The yards, the shrouds, the pump is plying— Belay, cast off tacks, halliards, gears, Watches each cranny and each flaw: But ceas’d this elemental warring, The grog goes round, He hails the sound ; The toast' — Great Britain’s fleets — three cheer**! And jolly tars sing out Houraw! 152 When the wild tumultuous battle, With horrid roar Laves decks with gore — When ranks the raking broadside clears— The tar, his country’s cause espousing, Feels in his veins the lion rousing; And as he Freedom’s standard rears, He gorges Death’s insatiate maw : But, quell’d the foe, ceas’d the loud rattle, The grog goes round, He hails the sound; The toast — humanity — three cheers ! And jolly tars sing out Houraw ! But when, his various perils ended, He views the shore., All hands to moor With more than mortal bliss he hears, A heaven on earth the sailor fancies, Hails little Toms, and little Nancies, And realized he feels and hears Her truth he in his dreams foresaw. To fate thus grateful, thus befriended, The grog goes round, All hail the sound; The toast — Jack’s welcome home - three cheers f And jolly tars sing out Houraw ! 153 ONE, Up the Mediterranin, One day was explaining The chaplain and I about poets and bards ; For I’m pretty discarning And loves about laming To know, and all notions that such things regards: Then to hear him sing out ’bout the islands around, Tell their outlandish names, call them all classic grounds Where the old ancient poets all formerly mess’d, And wrote about love and the girls they caress’d ; Swore they thought ’em all goddesses, creatures divine ~ I thinks that he said each old gemman had nine. Cried I, Well said, old ones ! These poets were bold ones ; But everything’s vanity under the sun : Love’s as good sport as any; But nine’s eight too many ; — I have one worth all nine, and my Nancy’s that one. Then we read for their wishes, They turn’d to queer fishes, To cocks and to bulls, in some verses they call, Ovid Metaramorphus, And one Mr. Orphus Went to hell for his wife — but that’s nothing at all. Some figary each hour set these codgers agog; Old Nackron swigg’d off his allowance of grog; Master Jove had his fancies and fine falderals, — What a devil that god was for following the girls! 154 But what makes the curisest part of their lives, They were always a-chasing of other men’s wives. What nonsense and folly ! ’Tis quite melancholy That a man can’t be bless’d till his neighbour’s undone ; Why, ’tis wicked to ax um, Take the whole world, that’s my maxum, So one be left me, and my Nancy that one. Then we’d hot work between us ’Bout Graces and Wenus, With their fine red and white, and their eyes full of darts To be sure pretty faces Be well in their places, But, your reverence, in love there be such things as heart ’Tis unmanly to chatter behind people’s back, But ’tis pretty well known that the lady’s a crack ; Besides, if these things ’bout beauty be true, That there is but one Wenus, why, I says there’s two. Say there is but one Nancy, you’ll then not mistake, For she’s mine and I’d sail the world round for her sake Then no further norations, Or chatterifications, ’Bout Wenus, and Graces, and such pretty fun, That so runs in your fancy Just see but my Nancy, You’ll find all their charms spliced together in one 135 HISTORY OF THE WAR. ’Twas all how and about and concerning the war, And the glory of Britain’s bold navy, And the different brushes, and what ’twas all for, That the whistle of Fame has sung out sea and shore: For when British bull-dogs begin for to roar, French, and Spaniards, and Dutch, cry peccavi. For the war how it happen’d, and what ’twas about, That’s nothing to we — tars must do what they’re bid ; So all I can tell you, the war once broke out, They told us to lick ’em, and lick ’em we did t As to order and such, you don’t get that from me ; 1 shall just as they come, speak of actions that’s past; So they did us but honour, as lords of the sea, It don’t matter a damn which came first or which last. Why, now, there was Howe and the glorious first of June; then there was Jarvis when he beat the Spaniards fifteen to twenty-seven; Dnncan with his hard blows with the Dutch; Nelson and the Nile; but lud ’tis nonsense to tell you about the grand affairs. Our great grand- children and their great grandchildren will read about it, you know, in almanacs and things, just as people read of the hard frost and the fire of London. It is the neat little brushes that I intends to talk to you about. There was Pellew and the Hamphin; don’t you remember pegging away at that seventy-four, just for all the world like two schoolboys licking a great hulking fellow? Then there was Fawkener — who would not have died like Fawkener? i 156 — and then there was Cooke, in the East Indies; he fell nobly, too ; damme if I would not as soon be Cooke as Fawkener ! But avast, avast! there was another brave fellow, — indeed, there was plenty of brave fellows if that was all, — but I mean Hood in the Mars; just saw the Hercules strike, and died. Hollo! zounds! I shall be swabbing my bows if I go on at this rate! Stay j what was there else? Oh, there was the brush with the La Pomone ; and then, you know, Sir Sidney, he did some neat things; and then there was Trollope in the Glatton, arid there was, you know, there was, — damme if I know what there was, but ’Twas all how, &c. As to me I ain’t learn’d, for I can’t read or write : But what’s writing or reading, or any such arts ? To find their due praise for their country that fight We must read from our memories what’s writ on our hearts. Not that heroes e’er brag, or for flattery sue, — True bravery was never yet known to be vain; And the thanks and the honours so nobly their due, By deeds, not by words, gallant Britons obtain. Why, what could be so glorious, you know, as Pellew, when he took the Cleopatra, boarded her, and struck heT colours? Then there was Saumarez, off Cherbourg, took the Reunion, killed and wounded a hundred and twenty } without the loss of a single British seaman. Both knighted and barrow-knighted; that’s right; some sense to fight for a country like this. In short, we worked them ; we took Neptune, and Fortune, and Victory: but, for the 157 matter of that, we had all this on our side before. Then we took Liberty — that was just bringing coals to New- castle, you know ; Glory, ditto, repeated ; after that, we took Immortality, but they did not care much about that; And then, at last, we took their Constitution. That was )onsense — we had a good constitution of our own. Then &e took Resistance, and Freedom, and Fame, and Con- cord, — damme, we took almost everything from them, but the perlarver, and that they are welcome to : well then, we took all the saints from the Spaniards, and then, we took from the Dutch — I don’t know what the devil we took from the Dutch, with their cursed hard names, but ’Twas all how and about and concerning the war, And the glory of Britain’s bold navy ; And the different brushes, and what ’twas all for, That the whistle of Fame has sung out sea and shore; For, when British bull-dogs begin for to roar, The prettiest shall soon cry peccavi. BEN BLOCK. Would you hear a sad story of woe, That tears from a stone misbt provoke ? ’Tis concerning a tar you must know, As honest as e’er biscuit broke: His name was Ben Block, of all men The most true, the most kind, the most brave 4 But harsh-treated by fortune, — for Ben In his prime found a watery grave. J 58 His place no one ever knew more; His heart was all kindness and love; Though on duty an eagle he’d soar, His nature had most of the dove. He loved a fair maiden named Kate ; His father, to interest a slave, , Sent him far from his love, where hard fate Plunged him deep in a watery grave. A curse on all slanderous tongues ! — A false friend his mild nature abused, And sweet Kate, of the vilest of wrongs, To poison Ben’s pleasure, accused : — That she never had truly been kind ; That false were the tokens she gave ; That she scorn’d him, and wish’d he might find In the ocean a watery grave. Too sure from this cankerous elf The venom accomplish’d its end : Ben, all truth and honour himself, Suspected no fraud of his friend. On the yard while suspended in air, A loose to his sorrows he gave,— ** Take thy wish,” he cried, “ false, cruel fair!* And plunged in a watery grave. THE STANDING TOAST. [The last Song written by Mr. Dibdin.] The moon on the ocean, was dimm’d by a ripple, Affording a chequer’d delight, The gay jolly tars pass’d the word for the tipple, And the toast, for ’twas Saturday night: Some sweetheart or wife that he loved as his life Each drank while he wish’d he could hail her ; But the standing toast that pleased the most Was — The wind that blows, the ship that goes, And the lass that loves a sailor ! Some drank the king and his brave ships, And some the constitution, Some, May our foes and all such rips Own English resolution ! That fate might bless some Poll or Bess, And that they soon might hail her ; But the standing toast, &c. Some drank our queen, and some our lan&, Our glorious land of freedom ! Some that our tars might never stand For heroes brave to lead ’em! That beauty in distress might find Such friends as ne’er would fail her ; But the standing toast, &c. THE LOUD TATTOO. This, this, my lad, ’s a soldier’s life, — He marches to the sprightly fife, And in each town to some new wife Swears he’ll be ever true; He’s here — he’s there — where is he not 1 * 1 V ariety’s his envied lot, He eats, drinks, sleeps, and pays no shot* And follows the loud tattoo. Called out to face his country’s foes, The tears of fond domestic woes He kisses off, and boldly goes To earn of fame his due. Religion, liberty, and laws, Both his are, and his country’s cause — For these, through danger, without pause, He follows the loud tattoo. And if, at last, in honour’s wars He earns his share of danger’s scars, Still he feels bold, and thanks his stars He’s no worse fate to rue : At Chelsea free from toil and pain, He wields his crutch, points out the slain, And, in fond fancy, once again Follows the loud tattoo. 161 TRUE GLORY. What is glory,— what is fame? That a shadow, this a name, Restless mortals to deceive. Are they renown’d — can they be great, — - Who hurl their fellow creatures’ fate, That mothers, children, wives, may grieve ? Ask smiling honour to proclaim What is glory, what is fame ; Hark ! the glad mandate strikes the listening ear, — « “ The truest glory to the bosom dear Is when the soul starts soft compassion’s tear.” What are riches, pomp, and power? Gewgaws that endure their hour, Wretched mortals to allure. Can greatness reach the idly vain, Indulging in the princely fane, Deaf to the miseries of the poor ? Ask smiling reason to proclaim What is glory, what is fame ; Hark ! the sweet mandate strikes the listening ear, — “The truest glory to the bosom dear Is when the soul starts soft compassion’s tear.” THE CARFINDO. I, that once was a ploughman, a sailor am now, — No lark that aloft in the sky Ever flutter’d his wings to give speed to the plough, Was so gay or so careless as I. M 162 But my friend was a carfindo aboard a king’s ship, And he ax’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, That I left my poor plough to go ploughing the deep ; 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. I did not much like for to be aboard a ship ; When in danger there’s no door to creep out; I liked the jolly tars, I liked bumbo and flip, But I did not like rocking about. By-and-bye comes 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 ? Where I’d sow and I’d reap, Ere I’d left rny poor plough to go ploughing the dee] Where sweetly the horn Call’d me up in the morn. Ere 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 in a whole skin, Nor did I make any long stay Ere I found, by a friend, whom I ax’d for my kin, Father dead, and my wife run away. Ah, wdio, but thyself, said I, hast thou to blame ? Wives losing their husbands, oft lose their good name. 163 Ah, why did 1 roam, When so happy at home f could sow and could reap, Ere I left my poor plough to go ploughing the deep ? 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. Why, if that be the case, said this very same friend, And you ben’t no more minded to roam, Gis a shake by the fist, all your care’s at an end, Dad’s alive, and your wife safe at home. Stark staring with joy, I leap’d 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, Nor again leave my plough to go ploughing the deep : 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. THE DRUM-HEAD. Come on, jolly lads ! to the drum-head repair ; I beat up for recruits in the name of the fair — Britain s fair, who, to beauty add a new charm, Send good wishes, and flannel, our soldiers to warm. At the sound of the fife and the roll of the drum, Come away, my lads, come ! L 164 At the sweet call of beauty to duty repair, And worthily merit the gift of the fair. What but vict’ry complete can result from those wars Where the cestus of Venus encircles each Mars? At old Troy some kind goddess, by spell or by charm, Condescending, preserved votive warriors from harm ; So Britons shall boast the same tutelary care, Invulnerable grown by the gift of the fair. At the sound of the fife, &c. England’s armour’s her commerce — the woolsack is known To take place, in this kingdom, of all but the throne ; The power of our arms, then, what force can withstand, When wool’s formed to armour by beauty’s fair hand ? At the sound of the fife, &c. ’Tis allow’d through the world, as this nation’s proud meed, That the beauties of Britain all beauty exceed ! How t then must that beauty each Briton enslave, When it tenders its influence to succour the brave ! At the sound of the fife, & c. Complete then the work ; for the brave and the bold Let no fair in the land her assistance withold; What power to attack British soldiers shall dare, Who are, armed cap-a-pie, by a generous fair? At the sound of the fife, &c. 165 MAD PEG. The gloomy night stalk’d slow away, The twilight spoke the doubtful day, When on a rock poor Peg reclined, Mad as the waves, wild as the wind. Give me my love! she frantic scream’d ; [ saw his ghost as by it gleam’d : I’ll dive, I’ll search the briny gloom, And snatch him from his coral tomb. Ah ! let me, Fate, his relics save, — True lovers should find out one grave. And now the tempest dims the sky, — How many ways poor sailors die ! See, see, the stagg’ring vessel splits ! She’s lost, like Peg’s poor shipwreck’d wits. No, ’twas in battle that he died. Would no power turn the ball aside? I saw it as it rent his heart ; I heaid him cry — And must w r e part? For Peggy, ah ! these relics save, — True lovers should find out one grave. Where on the deep the cavern yawm’d, Now as the purple morning dawn’d The surge, in breakers loud and hoarse, Her love casts up, a lifeless corse. She raves, she screams, her hands she wirings, The shock returning reason brings : Reason returns, alas ! too late ; She clasps her love, and yields to fate. Their mourning friends their relics save, And these two lovers find one grave. THE CAMP. Oh ! the camp’s delightful rigs, At which such crowds are peeping* Where chaises, dillies, carts, and gigs Serve both to ride and sleep in. Oh ! the joys that there abound, Where, lured by the fine weather. Warriors of every rank are found, Who higgledy piggledy, on the ground, Like gipsies pig together. The morning sun Begins the fun, Reveillies next the drum beats, The sprightly fife So full of life, And then the silver trumpets ; And these, with all their might, Announce a fine sham fight ; Marches, retreats, attacks and routs, Proclaim’d by guns, and shrieks, and shouts 5 The air with various clangor fill ; While ranks of foot, and troops of horse, Resistless in their headlong course, Bear down while sliding, shifting, trimming, Beaux, belles, Jew pedlars, and old women ; Who left in topsy-turvy plight, Exhibit, O ye gods ! a sight That beggars Greenwich hill ! 167 Now either army stilly stands, The neighing horses cease to prance, The trumpet that erst cried Advance, Now sounds Retreat; Drums cease to beat ; Foes, turn’d to friends, eager shake hands, On neither side the winner : No longer armed for a sham fight, They tooth and nail unite To exterminate — the dinner. Oh! the camp’s delightful rigs, &c* Oh ! for a muse of fire, to sing The conflict of the day ! Upon the plain, in form a ring, The foe within entrenchments lay ; A cover’d way, Hid each division: at the sight, The heroes, eager for the fight, Arm, and the enemy invest. Each charge fresh vigour brings : They thin the ranks, Attacking flanks And wings : Legs, heads, and carcasses around They in one shapeless heap confound ; And, ris’n to such savage heat, Not only kill, but all they kill they eat! And see, to urge their furious course, Light troops the foe now reinforce ; On the instant, as they stand amazed, New works are raised; 168 Like magic to their wond’ring eyes, Bastions, redoubts, and rav’lins rise. Again the signal giv’n, Again with headlong fury driv’n; Comfits, now discomfited, Lie in promiscuous ruin spread; Trifles, blanc-mange, and jellies quake, While, as with rage they teem, Whole islands they devour of cake, And drink whole seas of cream. Again the general cries, Charge all ! The word’s — The King ! Forward they spring, And drink, in savage joy, the blood Drawn from the grape, in purple flood ; And strew with mangled heaps the plain, And fight the battle o’er again, And slay the slain ! And now, the foe all kill’d or fled, While those who can walk off to bed, — The solemn trumpet sowly sounded, Leave’s given to carry off the wounded, And bury all the dead. Oh ! the camp’s delightful rigs, &c. THE LOVER’S PROBATION. ’Tis said that love, the more ’tis tried, Grows firmer and lasts longer ; And when distress the knot has tied, ’Tis closer knit and stronger. 169 She who with love’s best joys would fain That fate would thus regale her, Must share the peril and the pain That mark the gallant sailor. To hope in vain, in vain to sigh, Deep sorrow to dissemble; To shudder at each lowering sky, At every breeze to tremble ; While neither wishes, prayers, nor tears* To ease her mind avail her These dreadful trials speak her fears Who loves a gallant sailor. And now her miseries to refine, To fate she’s forced to yield him ; For, with swoll’n eyes, she spells the line Where newspapers have kill’d him: This is the last of her alarms ; Cease, lovers, to bewail her; He comes, and in her trembling arms She holds her gallant sailor. DICK HOPEFUL. Dick Hopeful, from an honest stock, Born his kind parents’ hopes to mock, Who chose him out a lovely mate, But he resolved to brave his fate, Spurn’d at content and went to sea. Damme, says Dick, no wife for me ! ’Twere better brave the tempest’s strife; — Who’s such a fool to value life? 170 Mad as the winds, to sea he went , Nor was there danger ever sent, By sickness, water, fire, or air, Combin’d, but he’d a precious share ; Till shipwreck’d, flush’d with drink, at night* He saw a female, and a light ; ’Twas her who long’d to be his wife. For once, said he, I value life. The thankless wretch next swore, and reel’d, That night he’d die, or she should yield ; And now on force and outrage bent, Her window scal’d : but mark the event ! He found her on her knees at prayer That Heaven might make him still its care 3 Protect him from the tempest’s strife, And teach him how to value life. Confounded at the scene he saw, He stood immovable with awe ; And he, before who knew no shame, A contrite penitent became. Next morn he led the nuptial band, She yielded up her willing hand : She’s call’d the pattern of a wife, And Dick knows how to value life® J71 BEATJTY^S BANNER. Since love is the hero’s best duty, And the brave fight to merit the fair, How sweet, when commanded by beauty, He flies every danger to dare ! Hark, hark; the loud drum Cries, come, come, come, come, Another Britannia appears; And while England’s banners she gracefully rears, And sweetly addresses the band, And beauty and bravery salute, And the flute mocks the trumpet, the trumpet the flute, The heroes receive the dear pledge from her hand, And swear that they’ll well Hostile boasters repel, Till honour and safety give peace to the land Thus the hero may well wear his armour, And, patient, count over his scars; Venus’ dimples, assuming the charmer, Shall smooth the rough furrows of Mars. Hark, hark! &c. Then round with the health of the d&nor, While angels might look and approve ; Since love is the hero’s best honour, Let each hero do honour to love 8 Hark, hark! &c. 172 KICKARABOO. One neger say one ting, you no take offence, Black and white be one colour a hundred year hence ; For when massa Death kick him into him grave, He no spare neither massa, no buckra, nor slave : Then dance and then sing, an a banger strum, strum, He foolish to tink what a morrow may come ; Lily laugh and grow fat, a best ting you can do, Time enough to be sad when you kickaraboo. One massa, one slave, high and low, all degrees, Can be happy, all sing, make all pleasure him please ; One slave be one massa if him good, honest, brave, One massa bad, wicked, him worse um one slave : If you heart tell you good, you all happy, all well ; If bad, he a plague, vex you worse dan um hell. Let you heart make you merry den, good, honest, true, And you no care no farden for kickaraboo. One game him see massa him play, an call chess ; King, queen, bishop, castle, knight, all in a mess ; King kill knight, queen kill bishop, men castle trow down Like card soldier all scatter an lay on a ground ; And when de game over, king, bishop, tag, rag, Queen, knight, all agedder him go in a bag : So in life’s game o’ chess, when no more him can do, Massa Death bring one bag, and we kickaraboo. 173 Den be good, what you am never mind de degree ; Lily flower good for summat as well as big tree. You one slave, be no use a be sulky and sly; Worky, worky, you ’haps be one massa by'm by; Savee good and be poor, make you act better partg Dan be rich in a pocket and poor in a heart. Though ever so low, do your duty, — for true All you friend drop a tear when you kickaraboo. JOLTERING GILES. Hark ! with what glee yon merry clown Reasons, remarks, and sows ; To pain and care alike unknown, He whistles as he goes. From nature’s lore to reason taught, He knows not subtle rules, But ventures oft such pithy thought As might instruct the schools. “This ground’s just like the world,” cries he, “And thezum zeeds its cares.” “How’s that?” says one. “Why, can’t’e zee? As I be a zowing o’ tares? Tol de rol, &c. “For drill or broadcast none do know Better than Jolt’ring Giles to sow, Be’t beans, or whuts, or wheat or rye, Or barley, you mun come to I.” Tol de rol &c. 174 Thus Jolt’ring G*les, the merry clown, Reasons, remarks, and sows : To pain and care alike unknown, He whistles as he goes. One day some dashing sprigs came by, Imported neat from town ; As they pass’d on, Giles heard ’em cry~=« “I say, let’s quiz the clown!” And just as they their fun began An ass was heard to bray Xchaw! “Here, fellow, clown!” — “Anon! One at a time, zur, pray!” “We reap the fruit of all that’s sown By fellows of your stamp.” “ That’s very likely, zur, I own, Vor I be zowing o’ hamp.” Tol de rol, &c. For drill or broadcast, &c. “A vriend to all the country round, My labours all regale ; ’Twas I the barley put i’ the ground That brew’d th’ exciseman’s ale ; The wheat I sow wi’ even hand, To thousands shall give bread ; There’s never no king, nor ’squire o’ th’ land, Zo many mouths ha’ ved : I zaves zum zouls, vor aught I know — If how thou’st wish lam — The tithe of every grain I grow Goes into the parson’s barn. Tol de rol, &c. For drill or broadcast, &c. 175 “But what at last be all my pains? Just like to wheat or rye, A man comes vorward, counts his gains, And holds his head up high : Then, scarcely full and ripe he’s grown, However great he be, Death, with his zickle, cuts un down, And there be’s an end o’ he. Zo, while a body’s here below Clean hands be zure to keep, Vor, zure as death, as we do zow We zartainly shall reap!” Tol de rol, &c. For drill or broadcast, &c. THE IRISH DRUMMER. Sure en’t I the drummer that goes to the fight? Only hear me with joy, and you’ll be stunned with delight The likes of my fame sure no mortal enjoys, For there’s nobody makes such a dev’l of a noise. With my rub a dub, row de dow, rattle away, See the army all drawn out in battle array ; How sweetly they come to the sound of my drum, With my rub a dub, &c. Advancing the last, and retreating the first, When we’re covered with smoke, and with glory, and dust , ’Mongst heroes that follow and heroes that fly, If a devil of a thundering you hear, why, that’s I f With my rub a dub, &c. 176 Then the fun that you’d see, wid delight and surprise, Tf the devilish smoke did not put out your eyes. In the lovely Dutch concert of shrieks and dismay, Sure en’t it, my soul, the first fiddle I play? With my rub a dub, &c. Then, like herrings, — all smoked, from the field when we’re come, And our battles abroad we are fighting at home, My share I contend for wid body and breath, Thougli I nobody kill’d, fait I stunn’d them to death, With my rub a dub, &c. THE LADIES. There was a lady, a lady, a pretty lady, The pride of Aurora; Such a string of relations ! a string of relations ! (Ad libitum .) First cousin to Narcissus, Hyacinthus cousin-german, Heliotropus’ niece, the sister of Myrtillis, And the grand-daughter of Flora ! Alike she delighted the eyes and the nose, She outblush’d the belles, and she charm’d all the beaux, And thus we smelt out that her name was Rose. And though she alternate gave pleasure and smart, In my bosom I placed her, and nearest my heart ; Half seas over in love, of no danger afraid, I thought, not remembering that roses would fade, 177 That for ever now fix’d I had done with my rambles, But alas ! Heaven knows, this delicate rose, Alas ! Heaven knows, this delicate rose, In Hymen’s soft fetters I scarcely had bound, When, by symptoms of scratching, I presently found That roses have brambles, have brambles, have brambles, That roses have brambles ! Thus my pretty little Rose, When I put her to my nose, Scratch’d my face with her beautiful brambles ! There was a lady, a lady, a pretty lady ; Not the same, but another. Oh, such an extraction ! oh, such an extraction ! {Ad libitum.) She could count by the father’s side all the way to Methu- selah and Adam, and to Eve by the mother ; Call’d a Phoenix by bards, by her godmothers Grace ; But as if Madam Nature, in making her face, Had got drunk, and so happen’d her charms to misplace, Though she gave wherewithal admiration to get, There was no want of lily, nor ruby, nor jet ; But the jet was her teeth in irregular rows, Her lips were the lily, the ruby her nose. But love attempts all things ; and I swore to win her. And this Madam Grace, with her whimsical face, And this Madam Grace, with her whimsical face, A bride to the altar I surely had led, Had she not bless’d another, who never had said Grace before dinner, before dinnei, before dinner! G race before dinner ! What a pity such a Grace, With such a queer face, Should forget to say grace before dinner! k 178 'There was a lady, a lady, a Spanish lady^ A lovely Blondinella! And they call’d her for shortness, they call’d her fot shortness (A d lilitum.') Signora Flora di Guzman y Bazalos Pintenda Merceda Yolante Isabella! So numerous the charms of this heavenly belle, They bewitch’d my fond heart like a conjuror’s spell; Had she been Orpheus’ wife, he’d have fetch’d her frorr hell! The lily, the rose, and the stars in the skies, Were eclipsed by her lips, and her teeth, and her eyes; No peacock so stately, more graceful no swan; Thus full gallop my love and my raptures began ! Her charms and attractions so filling my napper, But, alas ! pretty belle how it grieves me to tell, Alas ! pretty belle, how it grieves me to tell She’d one imperfection, a sort of a speck, — A kind of deduction, a drawback, a check, — My bell had a clapper, had a clapper, a clapper, My bell had a clapper ! Oh, my pretty little bell, I’d have loved her very well, If she hadn’t had a devil of a clapper ! THE WAGGONER. When I comes to town with a load of a hay, Mean and lowly though I seem, I knows pretty well how they figures away, While I whistles and drives my team. 179 Your natty sparks and flashy dames, How I do love to queer ! I runs my rigs, And patters and gigs, And plays a hundred comical games, To all that I comes near. Then in a pet To hear ’em fret, A-mobbing away they go, — “The scoundrel deserves to be horse-whipp'd V s “ Who ? me, Ma’am ?”) Wo, Ball, wo ! So to mind them I never seem, But whistles and drives my team ! So, as I seems thinking of nothing at all, And driving as fast as I can, I pins a queer thing against a wall, Half a monkey and half a man ! The mob came round him to put up his blood * While he’s trembling from top to toe, My whip it goes spank, I tips Ball on the flank, Ball plunges, and paints him all over with mud, Queers his stockings, and spoils the beau ! Then the sweet pretty dear, Ah, could you but hear, — (“ Odds, curse! I’ll make you know, You infernal villain!” “ Lord bless your baby face, I would not hurt your spindle shanks for the world !”) Wo, Ball, wo ! So to mind them I never seem, But whistles and drives my team. n % 180 And so I gets the finest fun And frisk that ever you saw ; Of all 1 meets I can queer every one But you gemmen of the law. Though they can scarcely put me down : Says I, to their courts when I’m led, Where their tails of a pig They hide with a wig, How many ways in London town They dresses a calf’s head ! Then ev’ry dunce To hear open at once, Like mill -clacks their clappers go, (“Oh, that’s the fellow I saw grinning through the horse- collar in the country.” “I fancy you are the fellow I saw grinning through the pillory in London!”) Wo, Ball, wo ! So to mind ’em I never seem, But whistles and drives my team THE FAIR. Would you see the world in little Ye curious here repair; We’ll suit you to a tittle At this our rustic fair. We’ve glitt’ring baits to catch you, As tempting as at court; With whim for whim we’ll match you, And give you sport for sport. 181 From a sceptre to a rattle, We’ve everything in toys; For infants that scarce prattle, To men who still are boys. Cock-horses and state coaches In gingerbread are sold ; Cakes, parliament, gilt watches, And horns all tipp’d with gold. Then if for fine parade you go, Come here and see our puppet-show. Walk in here, ladies and gentlemen. Here you may see the Queen of Sheba, and King Solomon in all his glory. You think that figure’s all alive; but he is nc more alive than I am! While the pipes and the tabors rend the air, Haste, neighbours, to the fair. What’s your sweepstakes and your races* ? And all your fighting cocks, To our horse-collar grimaces, And girls that run for smocks ? Our Hobs can swivel noses, At single-stick who fight, As well as your Mendozas, Though not quite so polite. In their deceptions neater Are your keen rooks allow’d, Than is yonder fire-eater, Who queers the gaping crowd ? 182 Then boast not tricks so noxious, That genteel life bespeak, Our jugglers, hixious doxious, Shall distance every Greek. Can Pharaoh and his host be found To match our nimble merry-go-round? Put in, here, put in, put in! — Every blank a prize!— I frown with it and double it, — twenty can play as well as one l While the pipes, &c. Hear yon mountebank assure ye Of diseases by the score, A single dose shall cure ye, Can Warwick-lane do more? Wid virligigs tetotums, Yon Jew’s imposhing faish Shall cheat you here in no times. All one as in Duke’s-place. Hark, yonder, making merry, Full many a happy clown! For champagne who drink perry, As good as that in town. Then, for sights, we’ve apes and monkeys, Some or four legs, some on two ; Tall women, dwarfs, cropp’d donkeys, For all the world like you ! Then, would ye Ranelagh find out, What d’ye think of our roundabout? Walk in, ladies and gentlemen! the only booth in the fair! Here ye may make the tour of the whole world! Would ye ride in the caravan, the expedition, the land- frigate, or the dilly? Fourteen miles in fifteen hours, ladies and gentlemen! While the pipes, &c. 183 HUMANITY'S COT. Of horns and of echoes that through the woods ling, And of lads full of spunk and of soul, And of gay sporting boxes let other bards sing, Merely built for the chase or the bowl. I bring you, of sportsmen, a true and tried knot, Who sport a snug box call’d Humanity’s Cot. Is honour in danger, worth sunk by its fears, On those coursers, their wishes, they’re borne, To hunt vice to the toils, and to dry virtue’s tears, As the sun melts the dew of the morn. Then join of true sportsman so noble a knot, The good lads that inhabit Humanity’s Cot. What chase a delight can more gloriously yield, Than to hunt in so noble a track ; Vice and folly the game, wide creation the field, And the vot’ries of honour the pack ? Rejoice, then, ye sportsmen, who’re thrown by Fate’s lot ’Mongst the lads that inhabit Humanity’s Cot. Return’d from their toil, with life’s comforts well stored, Reflection their food gives a zest ; Health seasons the viand that smokes on the board, A clear conscience invites them to rest. And sweet are the slumbers that fall to the lot Of the lads that inhabit Humanity’s Cot. 184 Then let each English sportsman these maxims embrace, Who the spoils of true honour would share, All that’s noxious to hunt to the toils in life’s chase, All that’s harmless and useful to spare. So the blessing of thousands shall make up their lot, And each sporting box vie with Humanity’s Cot. THE WATCHMAN. A watchman I am, and I knows all the round, The housekeepers, the strays, and the lodgers, Where low devils, rich dons, and high rips may be found, Odd dickies, queer kids, and rum codgers. Of money and of property I’m he that takes care, And cries when I see rogues go by, Hey! what are you doing there? “Only a little business in that house! You under- stand me?” “Understand you! Well, I believe you are an honest man. Do you hear. — Bring me an odd silver candlestick.” Then to my box I creep, And then fall fast asleep. Saint Paul’s strikes ONE ! Thus after all the mischief’s done, I goes and gives them warning, And loudly bawls, As strike St. Paul's, Past one o’clock, and a cloudy morning. 185 1 hen, round as the hour I merrily cries, Another fine mess I discover, — For a curiou.s rope-ladder I straightway espies, And Miss Forward expecting her lover. Then to each other’s arms they fly — My life — my soul ! Ah, ah ! Fine work, Miss Hot-upon’t! cries I ; I’ll knock up your papa. “No, no, you won’t.” “I shall! worthy old soul !— to be treated in this manner.” “ Here, here, take this.” “ Oh, you villain ! want to bribe an honest watchman ! and with such a trifle too!” “ Well, well, here is more?” “More! You seem to be a spirited lad. Now do make her a good husband. I am glad you tricked the old hunks. Good night. I wish you safe at Gretna Green!” Then to my box I creep, And then fall fast asleep. Saint Paul’s strikes TWO ! The lovers off, what does I do,— I gives the father warning. And loudly bawls, As strikes St. Paul’s, Past two o’clock, and a cloudy morning. Then towards the square from my box as I looks, I hears such a ranting and tearing : ’Tis Pharaoh’s whole host, and the pigeons and rooks Are laughing, and singing, and swearing. Then such a hubbub and a din, How they blaspheme and curse ! That thief has stole my diamond pin, — - Watch, watch, — I’ve lost my purse! 186 “ Watch, here ; I charge you.” “ And I charges you.” “ v Tis a marvellous thing that honest people can't go home without being robbed. Which is the thief?” “ That’s the thief that tricked me out of two hundred pounds this evening.” “ Ah ! that you know is all in the way of business. But which is the thief that stole the gentleman’s purse?” “That’s him.” “What! Sam Snatch? Give it to me, Sam. He has not got your purse, — you are mistaken in your man. Go home peaceably, and don’t oblige me to take you to the watch- house.” Then to my box I creep, And then fall fast asleep. St. Paul’s strikes THREE — Thus from all roguery I gets free By giving people warning. And loudly bawls As strike St. Paul’s, Past three o’clock, and a cloudy morning. BACHELOR’S HALL, To Bachelor’s Hall we good fellows invite, To partake of the chase that makes up our delight. We have spirits like fire, and of health such a stock, That our pulse strikes the seconds as true as a clock. Did you see us, you’d swear, as we mount with a grace, That Diana had dubb’d some new gods of the chase. Hark, away ! hark, away ! all nature looks gay, And Aurora with smiles ushers in the bright day. 187 Dick Thickset came mounted upon a line black, A better fleet gelding ne’er hunter did back ; Tom Trigg rode a bay full of mettle and bone; And gaily Bob Buxom rode on a proud roan ; But the horse of all horses that rivall’d the day Was the Squire’s Neck-or-Nothing, and that was a grey. Hark away ! &c. Then for hounds, there was Nimble, so well that climb’d rocks ; And Cock-nose, a good one at scenting a fox ; Little Plunge, like a mole, who will ferret and search ; And beetle-browed Hawk’s-eye, so dead at a lurch ; Young Sly-looks, who scents the strong breeze from the south, And musical Echo-well, with his deep mouth. Hark away ! &c. Our horses thus all of the very best blood, ’Tis not likely you’ll easily find such a stud; And for hounds our opinions with thousands we’d back That all England throughout can’t produce such a pack. Thus having described you dogs, horses, and crew, Away, we set off, for the fox is in view. Hark away ! &c. Sly Reynard’s brought home, while the hounds sound a call, And now you’re all welcome to Bachelor’s Hall. The savoury sirloin grateful smokes on the board, And Bacchus pours wine from his favourite hoard. Come on, then, do honour to this jovial place, And enjoy the sweet pleasures that spring from tne chase : Hark, away ! hark, away 1 while our spirits are gay, Let us drink to the joys of the next coming day. 188 FATHER AND MOTHER AND SUKE. Says my father, says he, one day, to I, Thou knowest by false friends we are undone, Should my law-suit be lost, then thy good fortune try Amongst our relations in London. Here’s Sukey, the poor orphan child of friend Grist, Who once kept thy father from starving : When thy fortune thou’st made, thou shall take by the fist, For a wife, — for she’s good and deserving. But mind thee in heart this one maxim, our Jack, As thou’st read thy good fate in a book, Make honour thy guide or else never come back To father and mother and Suke. So I buss’d Suke and mother, and greatly concern’d, Off I set, with my father’s hind blessing, To our cousin the wine-merchant, where I soon learn’d About mixing, and brewing, and pressing : But the sloe-juice, and ratsbane, and all that fine joke, Was soon in my stomach arising : Why dom it, cried I, would you kill the poor folk ? I thought you sold wine, and not poison. Your place, my dear cousin, won’t do, for you lack To make your broth, another guess cook ; Besides, without honour, I cannot go back To father and mother and Suke. 189 To my uncle, the doctor, 1 next went my ways ; He teach’d me the mystery quickly, Of those that were dying to shorten their days, And they in good health to make sickly. Oh, the music of groans ! cried my uncle, dear bo}*', Vapours set all my spirits a-flowing ; A fit of the gout makes me dancing for joy; At an ague Pm all in a glowing ! Why then, my dear uncle, cries 1, you’re a quack, For another assistant go look ; For, you see, without honour, I munna go back To father and mother and Suke. From my cousin, the parson, I soon corned away, Without either waiting or warning, For he preach’d upon soberness three times one day f And then corned home drunk the next morning. My relation, the author, stole other folks’ thoughts, My cousin, the bookseller, sold them ; My pious old aunt found in innocence faults, And made virtue blush as she told them ! So the prospect around me quite dismal and black, Scarcely knowing on which side to look, I just saved my honour, and then I corned back To father and mother and Suke. I found them as great as a king on his throne, — The lawsuit had banish’d all sorrow. Pm come, said I, father, my honour’s my own. Then thou shalt have Sukey to-morrow. But how about London? ’Twon’t do for a clown ; There vice rides with folly behind it ; Not, you see, that I says there’s no honour in town — T r»nlv says I could not find it- •' you sent me to starve, you found out the right track If to live, the wrong method you took ; or I poor went to London, and poor I corned back To father and mother and Suke. THE FLOWING ^OWL. Of all Heav’n gave to comfort man, And cheer his drooping soul, Show me a blessing, he who can, To top the flowing bowl : When amorous Strephon, dying swain, Whose heart his Daphne stole, Is jilted, to relieve his pain He seeks the flowing bowl. When husbands hear, in hopeless grief, The knell begin to toll, They mourn awhile, then, for relief, They seek the flowing bowl. The tar, while swelling waves deform Old Ocean as they roll, In spite of danger and the storm, Puts round the flowing bowl. The miner, who his devious way Works like the purblind mole, Still comfort for the loss of day Finds in the flowing bowl, it gives to poets lyric wit, To jesters to be droll, Anacreon’s self had never writ But for th< flowing bowl. 191 Moisten your clay, then, sons of earth, To Bacchus in a shoal, Come on the volunteers of mirth : And by the flowing bowl Become immortal, be adored, ’Mongst Gods your names enroll,— Olympus be the festive board, Nectar the flowing bowl. MARGATE HOY. Standing one summer’s day on the Tower slip. Careless how I my time should employ, ft popp’d in my head that I’d take a trip Aboard of a Margate Hoy. 1 took a few slops, such as shirts and a coat, For of prog I knew well they’d be stor’d; Then I hail’d a pair of oars, shoved off my boat, And away I dashed aboard. “ Ah, my dear Commodore ! who thought of seeing you? What, Mrs. Garbage! How is the Alderman?” “ There is my husband, sir.” “ ’Pon my word and dicky, I declare.” “ Give me leave, Commodore, to introduce you to my friends : Mr. Shadrack, Commodore Kelson — Commodore Kelson, Mr. Shadrack.” “Very much at your sharvice, sir.” “ Miss Minnikin, Commodore Kel- son — Commodore Kelson, Miss Minnikin.” “Very happy to have the pleasure of knowing you, sir.” Dr. :S2 Quibu®, Commodore Kelson — Commodore Kelson, Dr. Quibus ; Captain Squash, Commodore Kelson — Commo- dore Kelson, Capcain Squash: Sir Phelim O’Drogheda, Commodore Kehson — Commodore Kelson, Sir Phelim O’Drogheda/'. — Hollo, there! Cast off the painter. Sit stjP lad es and gentlemen. So off we went with a flowing jib, Full of merriment and joy ; The alderman munching, and prattling his rib. Sing who so blithe as we, Who take a voyage to sea Aboard of a Margate Hoy. Then such glee and good humour, our joy to prolong, Pervaded us fore and aft ; Some were telling a story, some whistling a song, As we turn’d in and out ’mongst the craft. Then we talk’d of our danger, and then we were gay ; Then how we’d astonish the folks When at Margate arrived ; then cut out of our way, To laugh at the watermen’s jokes. “Ho! the ship, ahoy!” “Ay, ay!” “Pray, have you one Wiseman aboard?” “No, no,” “Then you are all fools, heh?” “Ha, ha, ha!” went Miss Minnikin. “Dat is very coot chokes,” said the Jew. “Why, I say, Moses,” said the man that was affronted, “ are you a bull or bear? Damme, I think you look more like a monkey. And you, Miss Dolly Drylips, take a reef in your perriwig, and clap a stopper on your muzzle, clew up the plaits in your jaw-bags, and give your tongue leave of absence. About ship, — helm’s alee — here she comes.” 193 So we made t’other tack, and laid gunnel to, Which soon gave a damp to our joy — Miss Minnikin squall’d ; Mine Cot ! cried the .Tew, Sing who so blythe as we, Who take a voyage to sea On board of a Margate Hoy ? The company’s merriment now out of joint, And their tattlers not moving so quick, Scarce right a-head did we twig Cuckold's Point But the alderman ’gan to be sick. Then we’d like to fall foul of an oyster smack, The wind freshening towards the Nore ; Then stretching too far on the larboard tack, By and by we came bump on shore. “ Ah, we shall all be cast away ! My poor dear pattern-cap !” “ Cash’d away ! What shall I do to be shaved?” “Why, faith!” said I, “I fancy we shall have a touch of the salt wa before we get to Margate.” “Yes, sir,” said the doctor, “Not that I have any quar rel with death, but I am afraid we shall take in too large a dose.” “How do you do, Sir Phelim?” “Arrah! I should be well enough if I was not so cursedly sick.” She rights, she rights ! Next a gale coming on, we did preciously kick, Which finish’d completely our joy ; ’Twas, Madam, how do you do? Oh! 1 am monstrously sick. Sing who so blythe as we, Who take a voyage to sea On board of a Margate Hoy ? 19 * And now ’twould have made a philosopher grin To have seen such a concourse of muns ; Sick as death, wet as muck, from the heel to the chin, For it came on to blow great guns. Spoil’d clothes and provisions now clogg’d up the way, In a dreary and boisterous night ! While apparently dead every passenger lay With the sickness, but more with the fright. “ Oh, oh ! I wish I was at home in my bed !” “ Oh, that I was a hundred miles off!” “ Mashy upon my shins “Oh, oh! will nobody throw me overboard?” “Avast, there!” “Ah, my poor dear pattern-cap’s blown into the pond!” “Oh, my soul ! what a devil of a sickness!” “ Arrah, stop the ship! let me out! Sir, would you be so kind as to be after handing me a caudle- cup V* Land, land, upon the starboard bow ! At last after turning on two or three tacks, Margate lights soon restored all our joy; The men found their stomachs, the women their clacks. Sing who so blythe as we, Who take a voyage to sea Aboard of a Margate Hoy ? NONGTONGPAW. John Bull for pastime took a prance, Some time ago to peep at France; To talk of sciences and arts, And knowledge gain’d in foreign parts. 195 Monsieur, obsequious, heard him speak, And answer’d John in heathen Greek : To all he ask’d, ’bout ail he saw, ’Twas Monsieur , Je vous n entends pas. John to the Palais-Royal come, Its splendour almost struck him dumb. I say, Whose house is that there here ? Hosse ! Je vous n entends pas , Monsieur . What, Nongtongpaw again! cries John; This fellow is some mighty Don : No doubt he’s plenty for the maw, I’ll breakfast with this Nongtongpaw. John saw Versailles from Marli’s height, And cried, astonish’d at the sight, Whose fine estate is that there here ? Stat! Je vous n entends pas , Monsieur . His ? what, the land and houses too ? The fellow’s richer than a Jew : On everything he lays his claw ! I should like to dine with Nongtongpaw. Next, tripping, came a courtly fair, John cried, enchanted with her air, What lovely wench is that there here ? Ventch! Je vous n’ entends pas , Monsieur • What, he again? Upon my life! A palace, lands, and then a wife Sir Joshua might delight to draw : I should like to sup with Nongtongpaw. o 2 But hold! whose funeral’s that? cries John. Je vous n'entends pas : — What is he gone ? Wealth, fame, and beauty could not save Poor Nongtongpaw then from the grave! His race is run, his game is up, — I’d with him breakfast, dine, and sup ; But since he chooses to withdraw, Good night t’ye, Mounseer Nongtongpaw! THE LABOURER’S WELCOME HOME The ploughman whistles o’er the furrow, The hedger joins the vacant strain, The woodman sings the woodland thorough, The shepherd’s pipe delights the plain: Where’er the anxious eye can roam, Or ear receive the jocund pleasure, Myriads of beings thronging flock Of nature’s song to join the measure, Till to keep time the village clock Sounds, swee*t, the labourer’s welcome home. The hearth swept clean his partner smiling, Upon the shining table smokes The frugal meal ; while, time beguiling, The ale the harmless jest provokes. Ye inmates of the lofty dome Admire his lot : his children playing, To share his smiles, around him flock; And faithful Tray, since morn that straying, Trudg’d with him till the village clock, Proclaim’d the labourer’s welcome home. 197 1 he cheering fagot burnt to embers While lares round their vigils keep, That Power the poor and rich remembers Each thanks and then retires to sleep. And now the lark climbs heaven’s high dome, Fresh from repose, toil’s kind reliever, And furnish’d with his daily stock. His dog, his staff, his keg, his beaver, He travels, till the village clock Sounds, sweet, the labourer’s welcome home. CAPTAIIs WATTLE AND MISS ROE. Did you ever hear of Captain Wattle? He was all for love and a little for the bottle. We know not, though pains we have taken to enquire, If gunpowder he invented, or the Thames set on fire ; If to him was the centre of gravity known, The longitude, or the philosopher’s stone ; Or whether he studied from Bacon or Boyle, Copernicus, Locke, Katerfelto, or Hoyle : But this we have learnt, with great labour and pain, That he loved Miss Roe and she loved him again. Than sweet Miss Roe none e’er look’d fiercer, She had but one eye, but that was a piercer. We know not, for certainty, her education, If she wrote, mended stockings, or settled the nation ! At cards if she liked whist and swabbers cr voles, Or at dinner loved pig, or i steak on the coals ; 198 Whether most of the Sappho she was, or Thalestris Or if dancing was taught her by Hopkins or Vestris ; But, for your satisfaction, this good news we obtain, That she loved Captain Wattle and he loved her again. When wedded he became lord and master depend on’t: He had but one leg, but he’d a foot at the end on’t, Which, of government, when she would fain hold the bridle, He took special caution should never lie idle ; So, like most married folks, ’twas my plague and my chicken, And sometimes a kissing and sometimes a kicking ; Then for comfort a cordial she’d now and then try. Alternately bunging or piping her eye ; And these facts of this couple the history contain, For when he kick’d Miss Roe she kick’d him again. THE COUNTRY CLUB. Now we’re all met here together, In spite of wind and weather, To moisten well our clay; Before we think of jogging Let’s take a cheerful noggin. Where’s the waiter ? Ring away. Bring the glees and the catches, The tobacco-pipes and matches, 399 And plenty of brown stout. Get the glasses, ere we start ’em, Let’s proceed secundem artem , Let the clerk all the names read out. “Gentlemen of the Quizzical Society, please to answei to your names. Farmer Scroggins ?” “ Why, I be here.” — “Dr. Horseleach?” “Here.” — “Parson Paunch?” “Here.” — “Tailor Tit?” “Here.” — So he goes on foi about twenty. At last, “You here! are you all assem- bled?” “All, all, all, all, all.” Then here’s to you, Mister Wiggins, — Here’s to you, Master Figgins ; So put the beer about. Come, tell us what the news is, Who wins and who loses, Of the times what do people say ? Hard, hard, the landlord racks us ; Then we’ve such a load of taxes. Indeed! Well, how goes hay? Why, now there’s Master Wiseman, He told the exciseman That the cause of this pother and rout — Order, order, and sobriety! The rules of this society — Let the secretary read ’em out. “ Every member of this society that spills his liquor in his neighbour’s pocket shall forfeit two-pence. Every member of this society that singes his neighbour’s wig with his pipe shall forfeit two-pence. Every member of this society that refuses to laugh at a good joke shall 200 forfeit two-pence. Every member of this society who reproaches his neighbour with coming to distress by unavoidable misfortunes shall forfeit two-pence.” — “Mr. President, I move that this forfeit be a shilling.” “ And I second the motion.” — “Are you all agreed?” “I am, unanimously.” “ A noble resolution.” “ D’ye think so?” Why, then, here’s to you, Mr. Figgins, — Here’s to you, Mr. Higgins ; So put the beer about. And now the potent liquor Not even spares the vicar, But in all their noddles mounts : While among this set of queerers, All talkers and no hearers, Each his favourite tale recounts ; The soldier talks of battle, The grazier sells his cattle, Conversation to provoke ; Till the juice of the barrel Begets some curious quarrel, While the company’s lost in smoke. “ Upon my soul, neighbour, I had no hand in the death of your wife : it was all in the way of business.” “Nay, but Doctor, ’twere a cursed unneighbourly thing of you : not that the woman were any sitch great things, but to put a body to sitch an expense.” — “ Why, you don’t tell me so! killed fifteen wdth your own hand?” “Fifteen, by my laurels !” — “D’ye hear that, butcher?” “Hear it, yes; but I’ll lay an what he dares, he has not killed so many as I by hundreds.” “Powder my 201 whiskers!” — “ Come, come, gentlemen,” says the bellows- maker, “no breezes!” “Let me exhort you to tem- perance,” says the parson. “Amen!” says the clerk. “That’s right,” says the undertaker; “let us bury all animosity.” “Now, that’s what I like,” says the fiddler; “I like to see harmony restored.” D’ye, though? You like to see harmony restored ? Why then Here’s to you, Mr. Higgins,— Here’s to you, Mr. Wiggins; So put the beer about. JACKEY AND THE COW. There were Farmer T washer, and he had a cow. And Gammer were very fond on un ; And they’d a son Jackey, that made a fine bow, So they sent un a prentice to London. Jackey’s master a barber and hair-dresser were, Than some squires ’cod he thought unself bigger ; In the day through the town he would cut and dress hair, And dress’d out at night — cut a figure. To ape Jackey’s master were all his delight The soap-suds and razor both scorning ; He’s been took’t by the nose by the same fop at night That he took by the nose in the morning. 202 Now to see the cow moan would have made a cat laugh ! Her milk were his food late and early ; And even if Jackey had been her own calf, She could not ha loved un more dearly. She moan’d and she moan’d, nor knew what she did ail, To heart so she took this disaster ; At last roaming about, some rogues cut off her tail, And then sent her back to her master. Here’s the kiaw come home, Gammer, come bring out the pail, — Poor creature, I’ze glad we have found her. Cried dame, tain’t our cow, she’s got never a tail; Here, Roger, goo take her and pound her. p Tis our kiaw, but you zee she’s been maimed by some brute ; Why, dame, thou art a vool ! Give me patience ! So to squabbling they went : when, to end the dispute, Came home Jackey to see his relations. His spencer he sported, his hat round he twirl’d, As whistling a tune he came bolt in ; All bedock’d and belopp’d wounds ! he look’d all the world Like trim bantums or magpies a-moulting. Oh dear! ’tis our Jackey ; come, bring out the ale : So Gammer fell skipping around him. Our Jackey, why, dam’t, he’s got never a tail! Here, Roger, go take un and pound him. 203 Tis the kick, I say, old one, so I brought it down, Wore by Jemmies so neat and so spunkey. Ah, Jackey ! thou went’st up a puppy to town, And now thou be’st come back a monkey. Gammer storm’d, Gaffer swore, Jackey whistled, and now ’Twas agreed, without any more passion, To take Jackey in favour as well as the cow, Because they were both in the fashion. THE LADY’S DIARY. Lectured by Pa and Ma o’er night : Monday, at ten, quite vex’d and jealous; Resolv’d in future to be right, And never listen to the fellows : Stitch’d half a wristband, read the text, Receiv’d a note from Mrs. Racket ; — 1 hate that woman, — she sat next, All church-time, to sweet Captain Clackit. Tuesday got scolded, did not care ; The toast was cold, ’twas past eleven ; I dreamt the Captain through the air On Cupid’s wings bore me to heaven. Pouted and dined, dress’d, look’d divine, Made an excuse, got Ma to back it ; Went to the play,— what joy was mine ! Talk’d loud and laugh’d with Captain Clackit, 204 Wednesday came down, no lark so gay? The girl’s quite alter’d, said my mother ? Cried Dad, I recollect the day When, dearee, thou wert such another. Danced, drew a landscape, skimm’d a play ; In the paper read that widow Flackit To Gretna Green had run away — The forward minx ! — with Captain Clackit. Thursday fell sick ; — poor soul, she’ll die ! Five doctors came, with lengthen’d faces ; Each felt my pulse ! — Ah, me ! cried I, Are these my promised loves and graces ? Friday grew worse ; cried Ma in pain, Our day was fair ; Heaven, do not black it : Where’s your complaint, love ? In my brain. What shall I give you ? Captain Clackit. Early next morn a nostrum came, Worth all their cordials, balms, and spices— » A letter : — I had been to blame The Captain’s truth brought on a crisis. Sunday, for fear of more delays, Of a few clothes I made a packet, And, Monday morn, stepp’d in a chaise* And ran away with Captain Clackit. MARY, MARRY JOHN Old Mary, her poor husband dead And buried but a week, Tired of her fate, with hobbling gait, The parson went to seek. I’ll tell you, sir, says she, the truth, My poor man’s dead and gone ; Our servant John’s a comely youth, — Ought I to marry John? The parson cried, who quickly knew She’d not his counsel hear, The proverb tells you what to do This knotty point to clear. “As the fool thinks, So the bell tinks So, when the bells shall ring anon, Take care you don’t mistake the sound ; They’ll tell you, as the peal goes round. If you should marry John. Now Mary listens to each bell, — “ Hey ! that’s a knell that toll’d ! ’Tis not for me, thank Heaven! well, well, I’m not yet quite so old. But of a burying should you think, They say a wedding’s near ; 1 hope the bells will sweetly tink That I should wed my dear/* 20 6 At length the ringers rouse her hopes, And all her senses charm, And as they singly pull the ropes Her aged blood gets warm : “ But as the fool thinks So the bell tinks And now the sprightly peal comes on, While Mary, as they tug away, Cries, “Lovely bells ; how plain they say & Do, Mary, marry John!” Now at both ends the candle’s burn’d: She’s beggar’d to a souse ; Each thing is topsy-turvy turn’d, Out of the window goes the house. “I cannot this distress survive; What scandle and disgrace ! Would my first husband were alive, Or I were in his place ! A curse upon the fatal day I listen’d to the bells That took my reason quite away, J ust like so many spells ; ‘ But, as the fool thinks, So the bell tinks Why, what must I be thinking on, To fancy as they rang away, The bells so stupid were, to say That I should marry John?” Straight to the parson Mary goes, And soundly lays it on : You are the cause of all my woes, You married me to John. 207 “Nay, nay, to lay the blame on me. Good Mary, is u 1 kind ; I never yet advised the s°a, A woman, or the wind. Hark, hark ! the bells are ringing now— They sound with might and main ; I what they say can hear. Canst thou ?” “ I hear ’em, sir, too plain. ‘ But as the fool thinks, So the bell tinks :’ But folly ’twas set me on, Intent upon my foolish freak They cry, as plain as they can speak, Don’t, Mary, marry John.” THE LAST SHILLING. As pensive one night in my garret I sate, My last shilling produced on the table ; That advent’rer, cried I, might a hist’ry relate, If to think and to speak it were able. Whether fancy or magic ’twas play’d me the freak, The face seem’d with life to be filling, And cried, instantly speaking, or seeming to speak. Pay attention to me thy last shilling. I w T as once the last coin of the law a sad limb, Who in cheating was ne’er known to faulter ; ‘Till at length, brought to justice, the law cheated him, And he paid me to buy him a halter : 208 A Jack Tar, all his rhino but me at an end, With a pleasure so hearty and willing, Though hungry himself, to a poor distress’d friend, Wish’d it hundreds, and gave his last shilling. ’Twas the wife of his messmate, whose glistening eye With pleasure ran o’er as she view’d me; She chang’d me for bread, as her child she heard cry, And at parting with tears she bedew’d me. But I’ve other scenes known, riot leading the way, Pale want their poor families chilling ; Where rakes, in their revels the piper to pay, Have spurn’d me, their best friend and last shilling. Thou, thyself has been thoughtless, for profligates bail, But to-morrow all care shalt thou bury When my little history thou offerest for sale ; In the interim, spend me and be merry ! Never, never, cried I, thou’rt my Mentor, my muse, And, grateful thy dictates fulfilling, I’ll hoard thee in my heart : — thus men counsel refuse, ’Till the lecture comes from the last shilling. RATIONAL VANITY. Man, poor forked animal, why art thou vain ? Of thy form, that so matchless the Deity owns, Where beauty, proportion, and symmetry reign, Adding grace to distinction, and splendour to thrones ? 209 While, by folly and fashion, this form so divine Is abused ’till all figures fantastic it wears, Till worn by diseases, and bloated by wine, Men, the Deity’s image, turn monkeys and bears. A mass of remorse, of reflection, of pain, Man, poor forked animal, why art thou vain? Art vain of thy mind? still, the Deity there, Where virtues angelic their natures impress, Pale anguish to chase, smooth the brow of despair, And with charity’s hand dry the tear of distress. While this generous mind, on beneficence bent, Fair gratitude’s height shall in vain strive to climb, And those lavish’d riches so liberally meant, ’Stead of virtue rewarding shall sanctify crime. While philanthropy gives disappointment to gain, Man, poor restless animal, why art thou vain ? Take the rational mean. If thou’rt proud of thy form, Let health given by temperance glow in thy face , Let simplicity’s hand, as it decks every charm, To decorum add neatness, to decency grace. Then to temper thy mind neither tower nor stoop, Nor with sordidness grovel nor arrogance ride , Be not niggard nor lavish, a churl nor a dupe, But let prudence the hand of benevolence guide. Thus in form and in heart shall the Deity reign ; Thus reason shall teach, and thus man shall be vain. P 210 ANOTHER CUP, AND THEN, Mat Mudge, the sexton of our town, Though oft a little heady, The drink not so his wits could drown But some excuse was ready, Mat said the parson loved a sup, And e'ke also the clerk ; And then it kept his spirits up ’Mongst spirits in the dark : Swore ’twas his predecessor’s fault, A cursed drunken fellow,— The very bells to ring he taught, As if they all were mellow. Hark ! hark ! cried he, in tipsy peal, Like roaring topers as they reel ; Hark ! what a drunken pother : Another cup, and then — What then ?— Another. For good news Mat got drunk for joy, Jf he could beg or borrow ; Did anything his mind annoy He drank to drown his sorrow : Thus he’d rejoice or he’d condole, Cried Mat be’t joy or grief, As the song says, the flowing bowl Still gives the mind relief. ’Twas all my predecessor’s fault, &c. 211 Were peace the theme and all its charms, Mat fill’d the sparkling noggin : If war, he drank — May British arms Still give the foe a flogging. The parson once took Mat to task, Bid him beware the bowl ; Your pardon I most humbly ask, Cried he, but ’pon my soul, ’Twas all my predecessor’s fault, &c. And then no liquor came amiss, Wherever he could forage • That gave him spirits, wisdom this, And t’other gave him courage. Thus was he merry and jocose, If fortune smiled or frown’d : And when he fairly got his dose, And all the things turn’d round, Swore ’twas his predecessor’s fault, &c* A LITTLE. Wid my Lor Anglois I came over un valet, From my own country to ’scape the galley: By’m by, grow rich, I teach the ballet, All while I play mine fittle. A little I earn, a little I sheat, A little sometime I lodge in the Fleet, A little I roll in my shariot the street. And I ogle the girls a little. p % 212 I go de governess de school I want to teach, you know de rule; I find de governess no fool, She say, Veil, pring your fittle. A little I go and I teach de dance, A little they jompe, a little they prance; By and by, when I took a little entrance, The governess touch a little. To the dinner they ask this man such merit, I stuff the turtle, the beef, and the carrot ; And with the ale, the punch, and the claret, I figure away the first fittle. A little give toast, ’bout politic bawl, A little they sing, tol, lol, de rol, lol ; So my ticket I sell while I sing small, And pocket de ginnay a little. By’m by he come grand benefice, Where the aunt, and the mother, the daughter, the niece; Everybody good nature, so come to be fleece, While I scrape away de fittle. A little they jompe, a little they jig, A little de lady some time lose his wig; While their head grow empty, my purse he grow big* And I take in the flat a little. So den, at last, my scholar he flock, That I get my banker, and puy de stock ; And their head for good sense in vain they may knock, I drive it all out with my fittle. 213 A little I flash at the opera, de play, In my shariot a little I figure away ; And keep, like myself, un damn’d rogue de valet, To laugh at the English a little. FATHER AND T. Mother were dead, and sister were married, And nobody at home but father and I ; So I thought, before I longer tarried, To get a good wife my fortune I’d try : But I swore she the moral should be of my mother, For ne’er was a better wife under the sky; So we mounted our nags to find out such another, And we set out a courting, Father and I. Farmer Chaffhave a darter that’s famous for breeding; She do daunce, and do play, and do sing, and do write f But she never would talk, she were always a reading ’Bout ravishments, devils, and ghostes in white. Woons! says 1, at that fun you won’t find me a good one To be mine, girl, far other guess fish thou must fry ; The wife for my money must make a good pudding, So we’ll wish you good morning, Father and I. As to Lunnun, to manage like other folks scorning, They sat down to breakfast when we went to sup ; At midnight they dined, and they supp’d in the morning, And went to bed Just at the time we got up : h y 214 Then so poor, but that I had no heart to make fun on, They could not afford any covering to buy ; So shivering with cold we the girls left in Lunnun, And came back to the country, Father and I. But, Lord ! farmers’ girls be as bad as their betters, Poor prudence and decency left in the lurch : They paints pictures and faces, w r rites stories and letters, And dresses like sheets standing up in a church. ’Stead of sitting at home shirts and table-cloths darning, Or pickling of cabbage, or making a pie, All the clodpoles are standing astound at their laming, Sad wives for the likes of Father and I ! So just as we did not know what to be arter, “ Odds wouns!” cried out father, “a neighbour of mine Died a twelvemonth ago, left a sister and darter, And they both can milk cows and make gooseberry- wine.” On to see ’em we went — this fell out on a Monday — Neither stood shilly-shally, look’d foolish or shy : The licence were bought, and the very next Sunday They were both of them married to Father and I. THE LAMPLIGHTER. I’m jolly Dick the lamplighter, They say the Sun’s my dad ; And truly I believe it, sir, ^or I’m a pretty lad. 215 Father and I the world do light, And make it look so gay, — The difference is, I lights by night And father lights by day. But Father’s not the likes of I For knowing life and fun, For I queer tricks and fancies spy Folks never show the sun. Rogues, owls, and bats can’t bear the light. I’ve heard your wise ones say ; And so, d’ye mind, I sees at night Things never seen by day. At night men lay aside all art As quite a useless task, And many a face and many a heart Will then throw off the mask: Each formal prude and holy wight Will throw disguise away, And sin it openly all night Who sainted it all day. His darling hoard the miser views, Misses from friends decamp, And many a statesmen mischief brews To his country o’er his lamp. So Father and I, d’ye take me right, Are just on the same lay ; I barefaced sinners light by night, And he false saints by day. 216 EVERY MAN’S FRIEND. Come all jolly topers! the toast as ye pass, Who have sworn to keep Bacchus’s laws, The conditions repeat, lay your hands on the glass, And vindicate wine and its cause. So long as the power of generous wine Shall the practice of honour inspire, Our affections and passions to rule and refine, As gold issues pure from the fire — So long o’er the mind may its empire extend, And the generous bottle be every man’s friend. While in brisk circulation it genially glows Through each sluice of the heart in full speed, Turning sourness to milk in the veins as it flows, The children of sorrow to feed : While its lib’ral influence to honour so dear, With such pity the heart shall impress, As with Charity’s hand to wipe off the sad tear That glistens to mark our distress — So long o’er the mind may its empire extend, And the generous bottle be every man’s friend. But when in the glass the fiend Envy shall lurk, Her foul train waiting near at her call, On the credulous mind to achieve her fell work, And the milk of the heart turn to gall : 217 Then may wine change to poison, and each cank’rous e\f ? Detected, ashamed, and alone, Despised by the world, and despised by himself, By death for its errors atone : So shall wine to the last serve humanity’s end. And the generous bottle be every man’s friend. COME ALL YE GEM’MEN VOLUNTEERS Come all ye gem’men volunteers, Of glory who would share, And, leaving with your wives your fears, To the drum-head repair; Or to the noble Sergeant Pike Come, come, without delay, — You’ll enter into present pay; My lads the bargain strike. A golden guinea and a crown, Besides the Lord knows what renown, Her Majesty the donor; And if you die, Why then you lie Stretch d on the bed of honour. Does any ’prentice work too hard ? Fine clothes would any wear ? Would any one his wife discard? To the drum-head repair; Or to the, &c. 218 *s your estate put out to nurse? Are you a cast-off heir ? Have you no money in your purse? To the drum-head repair; Or to the, &c. THE NEGRO AND HIS BANJA. One negro wi my banjer, Me from Jenny come, Wid cunning yiei Me savez spy De buckra world one hum, As troo a street a stranger Me my banjer strum. My missy for one black dog about the house me kick, Him say my nassy tawny face enough to make him sick ; But when my massa he go out, she then no longer rail, For first me let the captain in, and then me tell no tale. So aunt Quashy say, Do tabby, brown, or black, or white, You see ’em in one night, Every sort of cat be gray. One negro, &c. 219 To fetch a lilly money back you go to law they call, The court and all the tie-wig soon strip you shirt and all, The courtier call him friend him foe, And fifty story tell ; To-day say yes, to-morrow no, And lie like any hell ; And so, though negro black for true He black in buckra country too. One negro, &c. TOM TOUGH. My name, d’ye see, ’s Tom Tough, I’ve seen a little sarvice Where mighty billows roll and loud tempests blow ; I’ve sail’d with gallant Howe, I’ve sail’d with noble Jarvis* And in valiant Duncan’s fleet I’ve sung out Yo, heave ho ! Yet more ye shall be knowing, — I was coxon to Boscawen, And even with brave Hawke have 1 nobly faced the foe. Then put round the grog, — - So we’ve that and our prog, We’ll laugh in Care’s face, and sing Yo, heave ho! When from my love to part I first weigh’d anchor, And she was sniv’ling seed on the beech below, I’d like to cotch’d my eyes sniv’ling too, d’ye see, to thank her, But I brought up my sorrows with a Yo, heave ho! 220 For sailors, though they have their jokes, And love and feel like other folks, Their duty to neglect must not come for to go ; So I seized the capstain bar, Like a true honest tar, And, in spite of tears and sighs, sung out Yo, heave ho! But the worst on’t was that time when the little ones were sickly, And if they’d live or die the doctor did not know ; The word was gov’d to weigh so sudden and so quickly, I thought my heart would break as I sung Yo, heave ho* For Poll’s so like her mother, And as for Jack, her brother, The boy when he grows up will nobly face the foe ; But in Providence I trust, For you see what must be must, So my sighs I gave the winds and sung out Yo, heave ho ! And now at last laid up in a decentish condition, For I’ve only lost an eye, and got a timber toe ; But old ships must expect in time to be out of commission, Nor again the anchor weigh with Yo, heave ho ! So I smoke my pipe and sing old songs, — My boys shall well revenge my wrongs, And my girls shall breed young sailors, nobly for to face the foe ; — Then to country and king, Fate can no danger bring, While the tars of Old England sing out Yo, heave ho ! 221 THE ANCHORSMITHS. Like Etna's dread volcano see the ample forge Large heaps upon large heaps of jetty fuel gorge, While, salamander-like, the pond’rous anchor lies Glutted with vivid fire thro’ ail its pores that flies ; The dingy anchorsmiths, to renovate their strength, Stretch’d out in death-like sleep are snoring at their length, Waiting the master’s signal when the tackle’s force Shall, like split rocks, the anchor from the fire divorce ; While as old Vulcan’s Cyclops did the anvil bang, In deafening concert shall their pond’rous hammers clang, And into symmetry the mass incongruous beat, To save from adverse winds and waves the gallant British fleet. Now, as more vivid and intense each splinter flies, The temper of the fire the skilful master tries ; And, as the dingy hue assumes a brilliant red, The heated anchor ieeus mat nre on which it fed : The huge sledge-hammers round in order they arrange, And waking anchorsmiths await the look’d-for change, Longing with all their force the ardent mass to smite, When issuing from the fire arrayed in dazzling white ; And, as old Vulcan’s Cyclops did the anvil bang, To make in concert rude their pond’rous hammers clang, So the misshapen lump to symmetry they beat, To save from adverse winds and waves the gallant British fleet. 222 The preparations thicken; with forks the fire they goad. And now twelve anchorsmiths the heaving bellows load ; While arm’d from every danger, and in grim array, Anxious as howling demons waiting for their prey : The forge the anchor yields from out its fiery maw, Which, on the anvil prone, the cavern shouts hurraw ! And now the scorch’d beholders want the power to gaze, Faint with its heat, and dazzled with its powerful rays ; While, as old Vulcan’s Cyclops did the anvil bang To forge Jove’s thunderbolts, their pond’rous hammers clang • And, till its fire’s extinct, the monstrous mass they beat To save from adverse winds and waves the gallant British fleet. 223 ADDENDA. SONGS SELECTED FROM THE WORKS OF T. DIBDIN, AUTHOR OF THE ENGLISH FLEET— MOUTH OF THE NILE — NAVAL PILLAfr- NELSON’S GLORY — THE CABINET, &C. &C. THE HEART OF A TRUE BRITISH SAILOR. [Gratefully inscribed to the Hon. Edmund Byng.] Would you know the ingredients that make up a tar? Take of courage and truth quantum suff; A soul, unsubdued by toil, tempest, and war ; And a body of durable stuff ; A temper quite easy — yet firm in a squall — When Boreas that blustering railer, Blows great guns, that shiver stays, braces, and all, — Save the heart of a true British sailor ! i Would you know what their heart is composed of? take All that friendship and love know of feeling For sweetheart, or mate in distress, for whose sake He’d stand firm were the universe reeling! Just Too proud to complain, be his lot e’er so low ; Show him want ! with his best he’ll regale her ; Oppress him ! and Jack’s but a word and a blow From the heart of a true British sailor ! About sympathy, Jack he knows nothing at all, Though he practises all its sweet duty; Of purse-proud assurance whilst taking the wall, He yields it to age, worth, and beauty ! His ship is his glory — his captain a king, Whose fiat ne’er finds him a failer ! Call ye that degradation ? ’tis no such a thing In the heart of a true British sailor • Then mingle whate’er ye deem manly or mild> Tough, tender, keen, yet unsuspicious; The nerve of a hero, the sigh of a child, — All that nature esteems most delicious ; Fire the cauldron of Fancy, and put in all these, Envy’s malice shall nothing avail her, When she finds all on earth that can warm, charm, and please, In the heart of a true British sailor ! [The Music of the above Song, which is copyright, may be had of the Composer, Mr. Williams, 2, Trafalgar Square, Charing Cross.] KATE. O, life is an ocean, where tempests from far Endanger our peace and repose ; And care fires his broadsides to keep up the war With the passions, our natural foes. 225 What tack shall we try, then ? for safety where run ? How fly from the breakers of fate ? What harbour from sorrow ? I know but of one — My anchor and compass is Kate. False friendship oft changes a calm to a storm ; Love’s frowns may give birth to a squall : Dissension the sweet calm of peace may deform ; To be poor, is worse weather than all ! Then how to find shelter? what course shall we steer ? Good sense be my master and mate ; True love be my pilot, then what need I fear, When my anchor and compass is Kate ? Of your purse-strings the doctor may haul in a reef. The lawyer steer close to the mark ; But, for all their fine tricks, ’tis my honest belief One’s a grampus, the other a shark. Then keep your helm steady, boys, thus, and go clear A -midways, though danger be great; Neither rocks, shoals, nor quicksands, nor breezes. I’ll fear, While my anchor and compass is Kate. Should prosperity fill ye an o’ ers welling sail, Haul down a top-gallant or two ; Should adversity blow, and you’d weather the gale, Work at industry’s pumps till all’s blue. Should your crew be increased by dad Flymen, what then ? Let such blessings come early or late, To me all are welcome, though eight, nine, or ten, Whil* my anchor and compass is Kate. * 226 HOME & VICTORY; or, THE COMRADES [Composed by Mr. Williams.] CAPTAIN. Say, gallant soldier, do I see The comrade who on Egypt’s sands Dash’d forward side by side with me And charged thro’ Gallia’s fiercest bands ? When Abercrombie at our head Resistless led, and when he bled! In victory resign’d his sword To death ! and dying gave the word! “ Albion adored ! we fight for thee ! Our watchword — Home and Victory LIEUTENANT. Say, brother soldier, was it you Fought near me on that glorious day When Wellington at Waterloo The Gallic eagle bore away ? When, ere the awful fight began, One feeling ran from man to man ! And as each phalanx drew the sword, From rank to rank thus pass’d the word! “ Albion adored ! we fight for thee f Our watchword, — Home and Victory.” TOGETHER. Yes! brother soldier, we have seen Together sanguine wars imbue, With purple tide, the laurels green Of conquror and of conquer’d too* “ Albion adored ! we fought for thee ! Our watchword, — Home and Victory ! JJ 227 THE DEATH OF WOLFE. [Composed by Mr. Williams.] RECIT. Shades of Britannia’s sons, who sleep In hallow’d earth ! — or in the deep ! Spirits of patriots dead — who fell — Inspire me ! while a hero’s fate I tell* AIR. The martial strife is heard once more, Again the din of war now reigns, On that far-famed Columbian shore Where blood o’erflow’d Canadian plains. Wolfe ! dauntless Wolfe ! who boldly led Of gallant chiefs a patriot band, And in the arms of vict’ry bled — For “Freedom and his Native Land!” The foe did thrice his force display ; Yet thrice was conquer’d on that day ! No father e’er his children loved, No children more revered a sire, Beyond what Britain’s hero proved, ’Mid Gallia’s fierce, unceasing fire ! His shatter’d wrist he calmly binds, While cheerly “Onward!” was his cry — A second shot his heart now finds ; And Victory mourns that Wolfe must dieE Then, raise to him the patriot lay, In Victory’s arms who fell that day ! a & 228 THE SNUG LITTLE ISLAND. Daddy Neptune, one day to Freedom did say, If ever I lived upon dry land, The spot I should hit on would be little Britain ! Says Freedom, “ Why that’s my own island O, it’s a snug little island! A right little, tight little island ! Search the globe round, none can be found So happy as this little island. Julius Caesar the Roman, who yielded to no man, Came by water, — he couldn’t come by land ; And Dane, Piet, and Saxon, their homes turn’d their backs on, And all for the sake of our island. O, what a snug little island; They’d all have a touch at the island ! Some were shot dead, some of them fled, And some stayed to live on the island. Then a very great war-man, called Billy the Norman, Cried D — n it, I never liked my land ; It would be much more handy, to leave this Normandy, And live on yon beautiful island. Says he, ’tis a snug little island ; Shan’t us go visit the island ? Hop, skip, and a jump, there he was plump, And he kick’d up a dust in the island. But party deceit, help’d the Norman’s to beat; Of traitors they managed to buy land ; By Dane, Saxon, or Piet, Britons ne’er had been lick’d, Had they stuck to the King of their island. Poor Harold, the king of the island! He lost both his life and his island. That’s very true; what more could lie do? Like a Briton he died for his island ! The Spanish Armada set out to mvade-a, Quite sure, if they ever come nigh land, They couldn’t do less than tuck up Queen B^ss, And take their full swing in the island. Oh, the poor Queen of the island ! The Dons came to plunder the island ; But, snug in her hive, the Queen was alive, And buzz was the word in the island. These proud pufF’d-up cakes thought to make ducks and drakes Of our wealth ; but they hardly could spy land, When our Drake had the luck to make their pride duck And stoop to the lads of the island ! Huzza for the lads of the island ! The good wooden walls of the island; Devil or Don, let ’em come on; And see how they’d come off at the island! Since Freedom and Neptune have hitherto kept time, In each saying, “ This shall be my land ;” Should the “Army of England,” or all it could bring, land, We’d show ’em some play for the island. We’d fight for our right to the island; We’d give them enough of the island ; Invaders should just — bite at the dust, But not a bit more of the island 230 THE LAND IN THE OCEAN. [Air. — “Meg of Wapping.”] In the midst of the sea, like a tough man of war, Pull away, pull away, yo ho there! Stands an island surpassing all islands by far ; If you doubt it, you’ve only to go there. By Neptune ’twas built upon Freedom’s firm base, And for ever ’twill last, I’ve a notion ; All the world I defy to produce such a place : Pull away, pull away, pull away, pull, I say ; As the neat bit of land in the ocean. From the opposite shore, puff’d with arrogant pride, Pull away, pull away so clever! They’ve oft swore as how they would come alongside, And destroy the poor island for ever. But Britannia is made of such durable stuff, And so tightly she’s rigg’d, I’ve a notion, She’d soon give the saucy invaders enough ; Pull away, pull away, pull away, pull, I say! Should they touch at the land in the ocean. There was Howe, ever bold in the glorious cause, Pull away, pull away, so stout boys ! Who gain’d on the first day of June such applause, And put every foe to the rout, boys, The next was St. Vincent, who kick’d up a dust, As the Spaniards can tell, I’ve a notion ; For they swore not to strike; says he, “Damme but yon must Pull away, pull away, pull away, pull, I say! To the lads of the land in the ocean. 231 Adam Duncan came next; ’twas in autumn, you know, Pull away, pull away, so jolly, That he made big Mynheer strike his flag to a foe Against whom all resistance was folly : And they sent, as you know, if your not quite a dunce, But a sad story home, I’ve a notion; So Duncan he beat a whole Winter at once, Pull away, pull away, pull away, pull, I say! What d’ye think of the land in the ocean? Next the Frenchmen again they came in for their share, Pull away, pull away, so hearty ! For Nelson he set all the world in a stare, And land-lock’d the great Bonaparte. Then he beat them again, when with Spain they combined, Till they all were done up, I’ve a notion ; When victory’s sword did the olive entwine ; Pull away, pull away, pull away, pull, I say And peace crown’d the land in the ocean ! THE HEART OF A SAILOR. [Composed by John Braham.] ’Tisn’t the jacket or trousers blue, The song or the grog so cheerly, That show us the heart of a seaman true, Or tell us his manners sincerely. ’Tis the hour of strife, when venturing life, Where the spirit of prudence might fail her, In battle he’ll sing for Britannia and king, And this shows the heart of a sailor ! 232 Tisn’t his merriment kindled ashore, By the cash oft too quickly expended ; ’Tisn’t his going to sea for more, When the store in the locker is ended. ’Tis the hour of distress, when misfortunes oppress, And virtue finds sorrow assail her ; Tis the bosom of grief made glad by relief, That pictures the heart of a sailor ! ON CHARLES DIBDIN’S MONUMENT AT GREENWICH. Stop ! shipmate, stop ! He can’t be dead His lay yet lives to memory dear; His spirit, merely shot a-head, Will yet command Jack’s smile and tear! Still in my ear the songs resound, That stemm’d Rebellion at the Nore! Avast ! each hope of mirth’s aground, Should Charley be indeed no more ! The evening watch, the sounding lead, Will sadly miss old Charley’s line. Saturday night may go to bed, His sun is set no more to shine ! “Sweethearts and Wives,” though we may sing, And toast at sea the girls on shore ; Yet now ’tis quite another thing, Since Charley spins the yarn no more ! 233 Jack Rattlin's story now who'll tell ? Or chronicle each boatswain brave ? The sailor’s kind historian fell With him who sung the soldier's grave? Poor Jack ! Tom Bowling! but, belay * Starboard and larboard, aft and fore, Each from his brow may swab the spray, Since tuneful Charley is no more ! The capstan, compass, and the log, Will oft his muse to memory bring; And when all hands wheel round the grog 5 They’ll drink and blubber as they sing. For grog was often Charley’s theme, A double spirit then it bore ; It sometimes seems to me a dream, That such a spirit, is no more. It smooth'd the tempest, cheer’d the c&h^. Made each a hero at his gun; It even proved for foes a balm, Soon as the angry fight was done., Then, shipmate, check that rising sign Hc s only gone a-head before ; For even foremast men must die, As well as Charley, now no more l 234 THE ORIGIN OF NAVAL ARTILLERY, [Music by John Davy.] When Vulcan forged the bolts of Jove In Etna’s roaring glow, Neptune petition’d he might prove Their use and power below ; But finding in the boundless deep Their thunders did but idly sleep, He with them arm’d Britannia’s hand, To guard from foes her native land. Long may she own the glorious right, And when through circling flame She darts her thunder in the fight, May justice guide her aim ! And when opposed in future wars, Her soldiers brave and gallant tars Shall launch her fires from every hand On every foe to Britain’s land. PETER PULLHAUL’S MEDLEY Near Kew one morn was Peter born, At Limehouse educated; I learnt to pull of Simon Skull, And a tightish lad was rated. 235 For coat and badge I’d often try, And when first oars, ’twas who but 1 ; While the pretty girls would archly cry, “O didn’t you hear of a jolly young waterman Who at Blackfriars’ Bridge used for to ply? He feather’d his oars with such skill and dexterity, Winning each heart, and delighting each eye.” When grown a man I soon began To quit each boyish notion: With old Benbow I swore to go, And tempt the roaring ocean. Ten years I sarved with him or nigh, And saw the gallant hero die; Yet ’scaped each shot myself, for why, — “There’s a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft, To keep watch for the life of poor Jack i” To Italy a great grandee Brought me through fortune’s steerage, By chance of war a British tar May meet Italian peerage. Now hither sent by friends unkind, And in this island close confined, I sigh for that I’ve left behind, Because it’s a nice little island. “ A right little, tight little island : May its commerce increase, And the blessings of peace Long glad every heart in the island ! ff 236 THE DEATH OF ABERCROMBIE [Composed by Braham.] RECITATIVE. ’Twas on the spot in ancient lore oft named Where Isis and Osiris once held sway O’er kings who sleep in pyramidic pride : But, now for British valour far more famed, Since Nelson’s band achieved a glorious day, And graced by conquest Abercrombie died ! AIR. Her orient colours the dawn had not spread O’er a field that stern slaughter had tinted too red ; All was dark, save one flash at the cannon’s harsh sound, When the brave Abercrombie received his death-wound ! His comrades with grief unaffected deplore, Though to Albion’s renown he gave one laurel more. With a mind unsubdued still the foe he defied, On a steed which the hero of Acre supplied ; ’Till feeling he soon to fate’s summons must yield, He gave Sidney the sword he no longer could wield. His comrades with grief unaffected deplore, Though to Britain’s renown he gave one laurel more. The standard of Britain, by victory crown’d, Wav’d over his head while he sank on the ground. “Take me hence, my brave friends!” he exclaimed with a sigh : “My duty’s complete, and contented I die!” POLL OF WAPPING STAIRS. [Music by Reeve.] Your London girls, with all their airs, Must strike to Poll of Wapping Stairs ; No tighter lass is going, From Iron Gate to Limehouse Hole You’ll never meet a kinder soul : Not while the Thames is flowing. And sing Pull away, &c. Her father, he’s a hearty dog, Poll makes his flip, and sarves his grog, And never stints his measure; She minds full well the house affairs, She seldom drinks, and never swears ; And isn’t that a pleasure ? Pull away, &c. And when we wed, that happy time, The bells of Wapping all shall chime; And, ere we go to Davy, The girls like her shall work and sing, The boys like me shall sarve the king, On board Old England’s Navy ! And sing Pull away, &c. 238 ALL'S WELL. [Composed by Braham.] Deserted by the waning moon, When skies proclaim night’s cheerless noon, On tow’er, fort, or tented ground, 1 he sentry walks his lonely round ; And should some footstep haply stray, Where caution marks the guarded way : “Who goes there? Stranger, quickly tell!” “A Friend!” — “The word?” — “Good night! All’s well!” Or sailing on the midnight deep, When weary messmates soundly sleep, The careful watch patrols the deck, To guard the ship from foes or wreck ; And while his thoughts oft homeward veer, Some well-known voice salutes his ear : “Who goes there? Brother, quickly tell!” “Above! Below!” — '“Goodnight! All’s well!” THE CABIN BOY. [The Music of this Song may be had of Messrs. Purday, Holbom.] The sea was rough, the clouds were dark Far distant every joy, When, forced by fortune to embark, I went a Cabin Boy. My purse soon fill’d with Frenchmen’s gold, I hasten’d back with joy, When, wreck’d in sight of port, behold The hapless Cabin Bov ! 239 THE WANDERER ALWAYS AT HOME. Most respectfully dedicated to Benjamin Boyd, Esq., owner of aa beautiful a British brig yacht as “ ever walked the water.”] Air — “ Away with this pouting and sadness.” Moore’s Melodies. Come, lads, here’s good luck to the purser As long as he finds us in grog ; And though growlers say “ Times can’t be worser,” We’ll keep up hilarity’s log! Though a rolling stone cynics may tell us, Is famed for not gathering moss, Its absence to wandering fellows Like us can scarce be deem’d a loss. While through each change of scene ’tis our notion For air, health, and pleasure to roam, We oft drink in port on the ocean , “The Wanderer always at home,” She skims o’er the surge like a fairy, With wonder while land-lubbers gaze; No lady, though lissome and airy, Is smarter than she is in stays . So ship-shape she graces the water, Of the crew she’s the love , pride, and joy ; And Love too has boarded her quarter, For she’s sometimes attached to a Buoy . While through each change of scene, You may talk of the breeze and the battle. For neither has she any fears; Were great guns to blow, or shot rattle, She’d meet ’em with three jolly cheers. *fis alike whether beating or running, There’s none can this craft overtake; They may try all their steering and cunning, But they’ll soon be asleep in her wake. Through each change, &c. She’s placid and calm in fair weather, Or, when storms would her hull o’erwhelm. She rides o’er the wave like a feather, And readily answers the helm. With idleness ever untainted, A housewife from taffrail to bows, With the Needles of course she’s acquainted. And no dairy-maid knows more of Cowes . While through each change of scene, &c. Down Channel when once she was thrashing, A French frigate designed her a treat ; But at beating quite fail’d, though so dashing, Then tried running , and there too got beat. Than the Crapaud' s craft none seem’d completer While sail after sail up he crowds ; But the little brig, laughing, dead beat her, For she was alive in her shrouds . Through each change of scene, &c. Then fill, fill, again and again, boys ! The Wanderer claims your regards ; Her skipper, his mates, and her men, boys, Hull, rigging, masts, canvass, and yards. 241 On her helmsman and hands safe relying, Mischance may she ever avoid, May she ever come off colours flying, And always by fortune be Buoy’d! And while through new scenes ’tis our notion For air, health, and pleasure to roam, We’ll oft drink in port on the ocean , “The Wanderer always at home!” LOVE AND GLORY. Young Henry was as brave a youth As ever graced a martial story; And Jane was fair as lovely truth, She sighed for Love, and he for Glory ! With her his faith he meant to plight, And told her many a gallant story ; Till war, their coming joys to blight, Call’d him away from Love to Glory. Young Henry met the foe with pride; Jane followed, fought ! ah, hapless story ! In man’s attire, by Henry’s side, She died for Love, and he for Glory ! & 242 STR SIDNEY SMITH. [Music by Braham.] Gentlefolks, in my time, I’ve made many a rhyme, But the song I now trouble you with Lays some claim to applause, and you’ll grant it, because The subject’s Sir Sidney Smith. It is, The subject’s Sir Sidney Smith. We all know Sir Sidney, a man of such kidney, He’d fight every foe he could meet; Give him one ship or two, and without more ado, He’d engage, if he met, a whole fleet. He would, He’d engage, &c. Thus he took, every day, all that came in his way Till Fortune, that changeable elf, Order’d accidents so, that while taking the foe, Sir Sidney got taken himself. He did, Sir Sidney got, &c. His captors, right glad of the prize they now had, Rejected each offer we bid, And swore he should stay, lock’d up till doomsday, But he swore he’d be d — d if he did. He did, He swore he’d be, &c. So Sir Sid got away, and his gaoler next day Cried “ Sacre diable, morbleu! Mon prisonnier ’scape, I av got in von scrape, And I fear I must run away too. 1 must, I fear,” &c. 243 If Sir Sidney was wrong, why then blackball my song, E’en his foe he would scorn to deceive : His escape was but just, and confess it you must, For it only was taking French leave. You know, It only was, &c. NAVAL PROMOTION. The Cabin Boy’s over the sea, For his sisters and mother weeps he; Till good conduct prevails, and homeward he sails, To land his full pockets with glee. Next a Middy away o’er the wave, ’Tis his fortune in action to save His officer’s life, in the heat of the strife, And he lands at home happy and brave. Now an Officer over the main, Fresh laurels on ocean to gain, Till commanding a prize, his friends see him rise, And a Captain’s commission obtain, The Captain adventures once more, Returning a bold Commodore ! And, his wishes to crown, he comes up to town With an Admiral’s dag at the fore. 244 TOBACCO, GROG, AND FLIP. Whate’er the pleasures known on shore, They’ve little charms for me ; Be mine the sea — I ask no more, ’Tis Jack’s variety. Give me tobacco, grog, and flip, An easy sail, a tight-built ship; In ev’ry port a pretty lass, And round, for me, the globe may pass. When tired of land, our pockets low, With will alert we steer O’er hostile seas, attack the foe, For sailors know no fear. Our prize in tow, we’re all agog For fresh tobacco, flip, and grog: In port each seeks his fav’rite lass, And bids the world unheeded pass. BRITISH SAILORS. [Music by Reeve.] British sailors have a knack, Haul away, yo ho, boys ! Of pulling down a foeman’s jack, ’Gainst all the world, you know, boys Come any odds, right sure am I, If we can’t beat ’em, yet we’ll try To make our country’s colours fly. Haul away, yo ho, boys; 245 British sailors, when at sea, Haul away, yo ho, boys ! Pipe all hands with glorious glee* While up aloft they go, boys ! And when with pretty girls on shore Their cash is gone, and not before, They wisely go to sea for more. Haul away, yo ho, boys ! British sailors love their king, Haul away, yo ho, boys ! And round the bowl delight to sing, And drink his health, you know, boys ! Then while his standard owns a rag, The world combined shall never brag It made us strike our country’s flag, Haul away, yo, ho, boys ! THE BARD OF POOR JACK. This song was written by the son of the Bard for the meeting which proposed the erection of a monument to his Father s memory f\ One sigh for the bard by philanthropy fired, Who ne’er wrote but some truth to impart, Whose Muse, while portraying what Nature inspired, Brought ever}'- touch home to the heart ; On his plain honest lay fools would censure intrude, Forgetting the theme of his song Was the “ Heart of a Tar,” or the “ Billows so rude,” Which bore his trim vessel along ; 246 But grumblers can seldom achieve aught beyond, The false taste which directs their attack ; And till pedants can rail Nature’s “ seal from his bond,” They’ll ne’er injure the bard of “Poor Jack !” Ye fair ones, who love the bold sons of true blue, Your hearts will be ever allied To him who ne’er yet breath’d a verse but which you Might approve, and this fact was his pride : His harp’s speaking melody ne’er own’d a strain Which could poison convey to the ear, Make semblance of pleasure a passport to pain, Or “caused ruin’d beauty a tear!” If mirth, with sound moral commingled, may claim ecollection, his Muse ne’er will lack The wreath of true genius which justly-earn’d fame Entwines for the bard of “ Poor Jack.” Ye tars of our island, what “ Saturday Night,” Tho’ waves roll, and weather blow hard, Shall call you to toast her in whom you delight, Without some grateful thought of the bard? While the can circles gaily, give one manly sigh To him who recorded your worth; And who, tho’ “ gone aloft,” will with you never die, But in each seaman’s heart find a berth; And you, Brother Britons, met nobly to-day, With applause his past merit to back, With delight will oft think of each patriot lay, Which “ poor Charles” sung to solace “Poor Jack.” 247 SAM SPLICEM. Sam Splicem, d’ye mind me? is one of those boys Who from danger or duty ne’er flinches, He as well can sail through the world’s bustle and noise As any tight lad of his inches : For Sam had a sweetheart, and meant to be wed, Till a trifling accident knock’d up his plan — He found she had married another instead, But his courage he boldly pluck’d up like a man! “Let her go, if she will, ’tis but folly to sorrow ; If a storm comes to-day, why a calm comes to-morrow.” Sam sail’d to the Indies, and safely came back. After braving hard knocks and foul weather, Of rupees in his chest he had more than a lac, And his heart was as light as a feather ; While himself and his treasure were hoisting on shore A press gang prevented his reaching the land, And his chest of rupees he set eyes on no more, For the rogues knew the value of what they’d in hand: Yet it cost honest Sam little more than a sigh, “For,” says he, “all this here will rub out when it’s dry.” Sam once more return’d with his pockets well lined, Yet his cloth was too shabby for wearing, So determined no more it should shake in the wind, From a bum-boat he purchased repairing. Then when Sam was new-rigg’d, his old trousers despised, He threw into the sea — when a thought struck his nob, And sure no poor devil was e’er so surprised, When he found all his cash had been left in the fob ! 248 Some folks would have died, but our Sam had more sense, For,” says he, “’twill be all one a hundred years hence.” Sam was going again for fresh rhino to work, When his uncle, a lucky wind falling, Left Sam all his wealth, for the terrible Turk With Old Davy for cash had no calling. Then Sam, having gold, didn’t long want a wife And, what’s better his lass to her sailor proves true. With his girl and his grog he floats easy thro life, And laughs at the troubles he formerly knew : “ For,” says Sam, “on this maxim you’ll safely depend, When things come to the worst they’ll be sartain to mend.” WHO’LL SERVE THE QUEEN? “ Who’ll serve the Queen?” cried the sergeant aloud, Roll went the drum, and the fife play’d sweetly. “ Here, master sergeant !” said I, from the crowd, “ Is a lad who will answer your purpose completely. My father was a corporal, and well he knew his trade ; Of women, wine, and gunpowder, he never was afraid. He’d march, fight, left! right! Front flank ! centre rank ! Storm the trenches, court the wenches, Loved the rattle of a battle ; Died in glory, lives in story ! And, like him, 1 found a soldier’s life, if taken smooth and rough, A very merry, hey-down derry, sort of life enough. 249 “ Hold up your head !” cried the sergeant at drill, Roll went the drum and the fife play’d loudly. “Turn out your toes, Sir!” — Says I, “ Sir, I will For a nimble- wristed round rattan the sergeant flourish’d proudly. My father died when corporal, but I ne’er turn’d my back, Till promoted to a halbert, I was sergeant in a crack. In sword and sash cut a dash ; Spurr’d and booted, next recruited, Hob and Clod, awkward squad, Then began my rattan ! When boys unwilling came to drilling. Till made the colonel’s orderly, then who but I so bluffy Led a very merry, hey-down derry, sort of life enough. “Homewards, my lads !” cried the general, “ huzza !” Roll went the drum, and the fife play’d cheerly. To quick time we footed, and sung all the way, “ Hey, for the pretty girls we all love dearly !” My father liv’d with jolly boys in bustle, jars, and strife, And, like him, being fond of noise, I mean to take a wife. Soon as miss blushes y-i-s, Rings, gloves, dears, loves, Bells ringing, comrades singing, Honeymoon, finish’d soon ! Scolding, sighing, children crying ! Yet still a wedded life may prove, if taken smooth and rough, A very merry, hey-down derry, sort of life enough. 250 THE COLOUR OF THE OCEAN. When the world first began, and some folks say before, As old Neptune was quaffing his grog at the Nore, He cried out in his cups, “ As my land is the sea, ’Tis high time to consult what its colour shall be.” Amphitr'ite, who had been to drink tea at Sheerness, And had seen at the barracks a captain’s spruce dress, To her husband exclaim’d, as she flirted her fan, “Let its colour be red, do now, that’s a dear man.” Neptune shook his rough locks, at his wife gave a frown, When his tailor call’d in with some patterns from town ; He still was perplex’d, till he cast up his eye, And resolved that the ocean should match the bright sky Thus the sea, as philosophers know to be true, As it wash’d our white cliffs bore a fine azure hue, Till the laurel of Britain victorious was seen To reflect on its surface, and change it to green. You may guess our opponents were sad at the sight, As the sea grew more green, our pale foes grew more white And never beheld it, but vex’d, at the view, They scolded old Neptune, and cried out “Mor-bleu !” May its colour remain, and good luck to the boys Who o’er its salt surface through danger and noise, With Howe, Duncan, and Jarvis, and Nelson, maintain, That the tight little island will govern the main. 251 THE LASS FOR A SAILOR. The lass for a sailor is lively and free, Meaning yes, she would scorn to say no; Such a girl as would dangers encounter with me, When over the billows we go. One on deck, when bright moonbeams bespangle the deep, Who would sing while the plummet we throw ; Or, while loud blows the wind, would unconsciously sleep, While over the billows we go. Oh, had I for life such a free-hearted lass, I’d envy no mortal below ! On shipboard, or shore time would merrily pass, As over life’s billows we go. WATERLOO. The lofty hall with trophies proud, And dazzling panoply of gold, Was graced, and trumpets long and loud Of Britain’s former glories told; Of laurels won on that famed field, Where warriors, to old England true, In phalanx fix’d to die ere yield, Together fought at Waterloo. The “ royal feast for Persia won” Less splendid victory proclaim’d, Nor were the deeds of “ Philip’s son” Than British gallantry more famed. 252 The hero who those squadrons led, Earth’s great Despoiler to subdue* Now sat triumphant at the head Of chiefs who fought at Waterloo. Each canopy some standard bore, Or eagled ensign in the fray, By England won; each bosom bore Some proud memorial of that day ! And splendid symbols pending round Recall’d to all with mem’ry true, Some action on that hard-fough ground, By each achieved at Waterloo. In every warlike dazzling hue Of martial pomp each chief was dress’d, Beyond all pencil ever drew, Or Fancy’s boldest tints express’d; And, sovereign of our happy land, Sate William, that famed scene to view, Enthroned among the gallant band Of those who fought at Waterloo. With honest pride the cup he took, To grace the leader of that day, W T hen casting round an anxious look, — “ And why,” he asked, “are those away, Whose proud insignia caught my eye On entering here — an humble two, Who in the ranks might haply vie With all who fought at Waterloo?” 253 Think how their lovers, friends, and wives, With beating hearts from year to year, That humble two throughout their lives, Describing that glad day will hear ; In William’s presence call’d to drain The cup, “To every warrior true, And him who led the victor train To conquer peace at Waterloo.” KING WILLIAM'S MEMORIAL. [ Written on the 'proposal to erect a monument at Greenwich in honour of our late beloved Sovereign , William IV., and dutifully dedicated to Her Majesty Queen Adelaide.] When pyramids, form’d by the fiat of pow’r, The mem’ry of monarchs preserv’d, Who strutted and fretted on earth their short hour, Amid plaudits not always deserved : Of those massy memorials, how many proclaim That oblivion of pride is the lot, And their ruins alone remain sacred to fame, While for whom they were form’d is forgot ! 4 The lesson this teaches we can’t read too oft, Object to its moral who can? Truth longest preserves in Time’s annals aloft, Not the rank, but the worth of the man ! So thought Albion’s William, when, born to a crown, The splendour of courts he resign’d, For the seaman’s rude cot changed his cradle of down, And soft airs for the rude roaring wind ; 254 Royal birthdays and balls to gay courtiers he left, No berth but his cabin he knows ; Save his sword, of each dazzling distinction bereft, While he only gave balls to our foes. His station unenvied by folly, though oft Noble hearts warmly share in his plan, Of ascending to honour’s maintopmast aloft, Not by rank but the merit of man ! Able seaman, smart middy, lieutenant, and post, By experience he gain’d every grade, And no sovereign but ours of a son e’er could boast Such a tar as our William was made. When commodore, admiral — ranks bravely won, For through each by desert did hq pass — From the hour when he only stood last at his gun, To the day he rose first of his class. With Digby, Keate, Rodney, and Hardy, how oft Up the shrouds of true honour he ran ; While Britain, exulting, beheld him aloft By his worth, not the rank of the man ! When regal succession encircled his brow With that crown he oft sail’d to defend, Once obedient to others, commanding them now, Of our tars he’s the father and friend ; Brave hearts, who, as he did, knew how to obey, With distinction to hail he delights ; And age, worn by service, old Greenwich can say, He protects in their comforts and rights ; 255 While gratitude renders the toughest heart soft, When to recompense worth is the plan Of our blue-jacket King, in our hearts throned aloft, Not for rank, but desert as a man ! Then where is the subject with nobler claim Than our King to the tribute we pay, In adding one shaft to the columns of fame Which his worth shall in story convey? And when the full canvass shall homeward impel Gallant tars, as they gratefully view William’s tow’ring memorial their hearts too will swell, As their lips give our sovereign his due ! Whose sailors and soldiers, and country so oft Proved that honour alone was the plan f I hat taught Britain to place her loved William aloft Less from rank than desert as a man ! VICTORIA. “When Britons on the foaming main,” Of Albion’s flag the rights maintain, What is their valour’s glorious gain? Victoria ! When warriors in the tented field In Freedom’s cause the Fauchion wield, What is the contest sure to yield ? Victoria! 256 A id what the sweetest flower that glow?. Tinted by loveliness ; — a Rose That with Hope’s sweetest promise blows ? Victoria ! Britannia’s daughters, dear to them Art thou, Victoria ! Freedom’s gem, Pride of thine honour’d royal stem, Victoria ! SONGS FROM THE WORKS OF C. DIB DIN, Jus, AUTHOR OF “THE FARMER’S WIFE,” “MY SPOUSE AND I,” &C , SzC. ALL IN HIS GLORY. Jack Junk was a tar who could tether his tack, Of his merits who never was talking; If his friend was in limbo, he ne’er hung aback, And his courage it ne’er wanted caulking: Then Jack was, moreover, a comical dog, And, if rightly I stick to my story, He would now and then get so aboard of the grog ! Then, d’ye see, he was all in his glory. In battle one day, with a jorum of flip, Jack while crossing the deck, began reeling, And fell, for his leg was shot off at the hip, But the liquor he just saved from spilling. “Don’t you see,” cried his captain, “your leg’s off; yoi dog ?” Jack answer’d, if right is my story, “Never mind it, for, splice me, I’ve sav’d all the grog!” So d’ye see, he was all in his glory. 258 Discharg’d on a pension, he’d not live forlorn, But wedlock’s wide ocean would weather ; There he made Cuckold’s Point, and he doubled Cape Horn, And his course and command lost together ; For his wife slipp d her cable with some pirate dog, And Jack just to wind up the story, Sprung the leak of despair, and so swigg’d at the grog, That to Davy he went in his glory ! BEN BOWSPRIT OF WAPPING. Ben Bowsprit I am, and a true bonny boy, — Pull away ! pull away ! so funny ; And was always the first to pipe hands a-hoy When the signal was out to be sunny ; I can weather all seas like a good jolly dog, With the best he that ever went hopping ; But the ocean for me is the ocean of grog : Pull away ! pull away ! Pull ! I say. What d’ye think of Ben Bowsprit of Wapping? My grandfather bulg’d with a freighting of flip, — Pull away ! pull away 1 so frisky ; Old Davy contrived my dad’s cable to slip, One day when o’erladen with whisky ; My wife’s Christian name it was Brandy-fac’d Nan, The native to Nick sent her hopping; So, the family cause I’ll support while I can ; Pull away ! pull away ! Pull ! I say. What d’ye think, &c., 259 Avast! don’t suppose I have launch’d out a lie, — Pull away ! pull away ! so groggy ; Don’t you see, in the service I’ve bung’d up one eye? And t’other I own’s rather foggy ; Then to stand on I’ve scarcely a leg left, d’ye mind ; And should death t’other daylight be stopping, The worst you can say is, I’ve drunk till I’m blind; Pull away ! pull away ! Pull ! I say. What d’ye think, &c. While one leg I’ve left, I’ll stand to my gun,- — Pull away ! pull away ! beauty ! One’s enough for to stand on, and as for to run, Why that’s not set down in our duty. For England’s good king and our dear native shore, Should the foe in our channel be chopping, I’ll show ’em, d’ye see, what I’ve shown ’em before : Pull away ! pull away ! Pull ! I say. What d’ye think of Ben Bowsprit of Wapping? THE ALBION. The Albion is a noble ship, Her colours are true blue, Her hull is royal heart of oak. And heart of oak her crew ; Her rigging’s tight for every tack, Her planks without a starter, The gallant union is her jack, Her sheathing Magna Charta. s 2 260 How gallantly she bears her port, The ocean s pride and dread; The envied cap of liberty Adorns her glorious head : Her pride is commerce to increase, In war she is no starter; But may she anchor long in peace, Secur’d by Magna Charta! READY FOR ACTION. When a sailor goes to sea, Merrily, cheerily, yo ! yo ! yo ! A-weather the helm, or a-lee, He sings aloft, or below, Rifol, derol, &c. When a foe appears The deck he clears, And, d — e, he comes it so. ( Putting himself in attitude of defence.} Bold and bluff, Till his man has enough, And then it’s yo ! heave ho ! Fol, lol, &c. When a sailor comes ashore, Merrily, &c, Stor’d with gold galore, He’s but an odd fish we know, Rifol, &c. I 261 But on shore as at sea, If a foe there be, D — e, he comes it so. ( Drawing his cutlass .) Bold, &c. When a sailor’s spent his chink, Merrily, &c. As he can’t stay ashore to think, To sea again he must go, Rifol, &c. For his country’s right, Like the devil will fight, And, d — e, he comes it so. {Fires a pistol .) Bold, &c. SAILOR’S LOG ASHORE. I unshipp’d from aboard the Sky Rocket, At seven p.m., at half-past An odd guinea burnt in my pocket, And d — e, why that was my last ! To spend it at eight, and get groggy, I swore ; at half-past eight thought as how I wouldn’t, because when I’m foggy i’m sartain to kick up a row. Fol, &c. 262 At nine Betty Sly overhaul’d me ; The guinea, says I, get you sha’n’t, For tho’ your true blue boy you call me, The yellow-boy, hussey, you want : At ten a Jew wanted to bone it ; Says I, Smouchee, I won’t buy your stuff, And, d’ye mind, altho’ pork you disown it, You like guinea-pigs well enough* Fol, &c. At eleven I pip’d like a ninny, To see an old tar in distress ; So I took and I gave him the guinea ; And, splice me ! how could I do less ? At twelve sail’d to old Mother Crocket, At whose house I’d thrown hundreds about, But I hadn’t a kick in my pocket, So she soon enough kick’d me out. Fol, &c. The rain was most preciously pouring ; In a watch-box I look’d for a bed, But the old woman in it was snoring, So I kept the watch in his stead : To me watching w 7 a’n’t a new 7 notion ; Thro’ many a terrible squall, For Old England I’ve watch’d on the ocean, And her watch-word is “Liberty Hall!” Fol, &c. 263 GOOD SHIP BRITANNIA. Old England’s a ship of the line, do you mind, The Britannia ; — no force can withstand her : Her old wooden walls defy quicksands and winds, And the king is her honour’d commander : Lieutenants, you know, are your lords, and them there; Then midshipmen, many a gross on, Are your big- wigs and justices ; then, my lord-mayor, Why, d — e, he must be the boatswain! Then pull away, yeo ! yea ! Merry push the can about, Drink success to the good ship Britannia. Chaplains, stewards, and cooks, you may very soon name* And the mess just as easy be filling Of doctors and gunners, for they're all the same, As they’re both of them dabsters at killing : But for lawyers one can’t find a station so pat, For their likes on board ne’er caught are, Except cat-o’-nine-tails, and if they a’n’t that, They must be the sharks in the water. Then pull, &c. Prime min’ster is purser ; and when the bag’s full, He empties it, state cares to soften ; And then, as ship-owner, his honour, John Bull, Must fill it, and that pretty often : But his honour, John Bull, is as rich as a Jew, And swears to the length of his cable, He’ll stick to Britannia, — and, pray wou’dn’t you ? Ay, d — e, as long as you’re able ! Pull away, &c, 264 MODES OF INVASION We’re told that our foes to invade us intend, And no wonder if Buonaparte’s madness thus end ; For the man is most likely, it must be allow’d, In the air to build castles who lives at St. Cloud . Tol de rol. They’ll come, we are told, or fame makes a faux pas, In balloons to be filled with the smoke of burnt straw T , And it’s quite a-propos that a plan, without joke, Which is founded in vapour, should finish in smoke. Tol de rol. Then some say they’ll come here, in flat-bottom’d boats, To reap a good harvest, and sow their wild oats ; But the harvest they fancy to reap will be smash’d, And their oats and themselves get confoundedly thrash’d. Tol de rol. But why to get here need they take so much pains, To project this or that way, or puzzle their brains ? Let them once put to sea, and they’ll soon find escorts, For our sailors will pilot them into our ports. Tol de rol. As a proof that they’ll come ’tis their ev’ry-day toast, “The hero who first sets his foot on our coast!” But he’ll not keep his footing, I’ll wager a crown, So let us toast “The Briton that first knocks him down! Tol de rol, &c. 265 A TAR’S DUTY. Born at sea, and my cradle a frigate, The boatswain he nurs’d me true blue ; I soon learnt to fight, drink, and jig it, And quiz every soul of the crew. So merrily push round the glasses, And strike up the fiddles, huzza ! And foot it away with the lasses, Tol de rol, heave ahead, pull away ! A tar tho’ his hopes should be lopp’d off, His courage should ever hold fast ; So, Tom Tough, when the colours were popp’d off, His blue jacket nail’d to the mast. So merrily, &c. To love and to fight’s a tar’s duty, And either delight to him bring, To live with his favourite beauty, Or die for his country and king. So merrily, &c. BEN THE BOATSWAIN. Ben Backstay was our boatswain, a very merry boy, For no one half so merrily could pipe all hands a-hoy ; And when it chanc’d his summons we didn’t well attend No lad than he more merrily could handle a rope’s end. With a chip, chow, fol de rol, &c. 266 While sailing once, our captain, who was a jolly dog, One day sarv’d out to ev’ry mess a double share of grog ; Ben Backstay he got tipsy, all to his heart’s content, And, being half-seas over, why overboard he went. With a chip, &c. A shark was on the starboard — sharks don’t for manners stand, But grapple all that they come near, like lawyer sharks on land We threw out Ben some tackling, of saving him in hopes, But the shark had bit his head off, so he could not see the ropes. With a chip, &c. Without a head his ghost appear’d, all on the briny lake ; He pip’d all hands ahoy, and cried, “ Lads, warning by me take ! By drinking grog I lost my life ; so, lest my fate you meet, Why, never mix your liquor, lads, but always drink it neat!” With a chip, &c. DUET. LET ’EM COME. SAILOR. The foe on one string always strumming, boys, Declare to attack us they’re coming, boys, But I fancy they’re only humming, boys, What say you? (Tb Soldier .) 267 SOLDIER. Let ’em come, if resolv’d to attack ; The best way to come they their brains needn’t rack ; They’d much better study the way to get back ! What say you? (To Sailor .) SAILOR. I say so too. SOLDIER* And so do I. BOTH. Let ’em come, let ’em come ; we their force defy & Then strike hands ( join hands ) , for together we’ll conquer or die. Tol de rol, de rol liddle lol, &c. Cheery, my hearts, yo ! yo ! SOLDIER. If to make us pay shot they require, boys, We’ll give them their heart’s desire, boys; With, make ready ! present, and fire, boys ! What say you? (To Sailor .) SAILOR. Helm a-port, helm a-lee, or aloft or below, Wind foully, or fairly, we’ll soon make the foe, When once half-seas over, quite how come you so. What say you? (To Soldier .) SOLDIER. I say so too, &c* 26 $ SONS OF ALBION. Sons of Albion, sound to arms ! The hour of glory’s near ; And, if the name of Briton charms, Or freedom’s sweets are dear, Fly, fly to prove your charter’d claim To those blest sweets, that envied name: And, when in freedom’s cause you go To meet a proud insulting foe, Oh, emulate your race of yore,— “ Return victorious, or return no more !” TOM TACK. Tom Tack was the shipmate for duty, Till Fortune she gave him a twitch, For Tom fell in love with a beauty— He’d better have fall’n in a ditch : With his fair he could get no promotion, So Tom, like a desperate dog, He drown’d all his cares in the ocean, — But then, ’twas the ocean of grog. True love, when it’s slighted, will cankei, So, Tom, when the bo’swa’n wa’nt by, Minded less about heaving the anchor Than he did about heaving a sigh. 269 Then for the last time to be jolly, He invited each soul in the ship ; With a shot, then, he finish’d his folly, — • But ’twas the shot paid for the flip. In folly, thus, faster and faster, Tom went on, in search of relief ; Till one day a shocking disaster Without a joke finish’d his grief: If his fair one’s heart he couldn’t mellow, He’d hang himself, often he said ; So his neck in a noose put, poor fellow ! — In plain English, one day he got wed. NAVAL WORTHIES. Your grave politicians may kick up a rout Of invasions and such sort of stuff, With as how, and as what, all the French are about. Why, lord, they’re about sick enough ; Their armies in Egypt might conauer bashaws, And deck with their tails each brow, But their navies can ne’er hope to conquer, because They’ve forgot — no — they can’t forget Howe ! While British cannons their thunder boast, And every sailor’s a Mars, Secure from all squalls, Be this our toast, God bless the king ! Long life to our tars * And success to our old wooden walls 1 270 The Mounseers, your worships can never forget, Just when they were lather’d by Howe, Or because that the Don shouldn’t die in our debt, How Jarvis kick’d up such a row. Then how Duncan he pepper’d our flat-bottom’d foes, They’ll think of a pretty long while ; And if they forget all this here, I suppose They’ll remember the mouth of the Nile. While, &c. Their Army of England was once a great gun, But we’ve taught ’em ecod ! to sing small ; And for navy, if things go on as they’ve begun, I think they’ll soon have none at all ; Their tri-colour’d flag’s very pretty belike, But, spite of their humming, ’twon’t do, For you and I know that all colours must strike To King George and old England’s true blue. While, &c. POLL OF HORSLEYDOWN. Ye landsmen and ye seamen, be you a-head or stern, Come listen unto me, and a story you shall learn ; It’s of one Captain Oakum that you shall quickly hear, Who was the bold commander of the Peggy privateer : And he his colours never struck, so great was his renown, To never no one soul on earth but Poll of Horsleydown. 271 Miss Polly was a first-rate, trick’d out in flashy gear, And Captain Oakum met her, as to Wapping he did steer: And as he stood a viewing her, and thinking of no hurt, A porter passing with a load capsized him in the dirt; Then taking out his ’bacco-box, that cost him half-a-crown, He took a quid, and heav’d a sigh to Poll of Horsleydown. He soon found out Poll’s father, and, dress’d in rich array, He got permission for to court, and so got under weigh : Miss Polly she received him all for a lover true, And quite inamorated of her he quickly grew : He squir’d and convey’d her all over London town, Until the day was fix’d to wed with Poll of Horsleydown. But Poll she was a knowing one, as you shall quickly find, And this here Captain Oakum, — why, love had made him blind : One morning in her chamber he found a cockney lout, So, captain shov’d the window up, and chuck’d my gem’- man out; Then cock’d his arms a kimbo, and, looking with a frown, He took a quid, and bid good bye to Poll of Horsleydown, THE OBSTINATE DOG. Jack Gunnel, an odd fish as ever hove anchor Or clew’d up a topsail, lov’d Poll of Spithead ; But Poll was a Tartar, a terrible canker, For, though a tight vessel, false colours she spread; 272 Jack, oftens he told me, he loved her more better Than deep sounding, smooth sailing, good biscuit, oi g r °g; But I thought he was wrong so his senses to fetter, And reason’d, d’ye mind, with the obstinate dog ; For it’s always my way, when a shipmate I sees Deceived in his reckoning or hanging astarn, To take him in tow, if I drives with the breeze, Or point out those shallows he cannot dissarn. Her false arms she lash’d round his neck when they parted That time when the Dreadnought she sail’d from the Nore, A leak in her eye for to queer him she started, And shamm’d for to faint when the boat put off shore. How oft of her constancy Jack would be talking! And toasted her still when we push’d round the grog; But I told him her constancy oft would want calking, And a scowl lour’d the eye of the obstinate dog : But it’s always my way, &c. Each prize that we took gave Jack’s spirits fresh canvass, And the compass of Hope seem’d to point to Port Joy : But I knew in my mind how mistaken the man was, And tried still his senses to pipe hands a-hoy ! For which in the presence of every mess-brother, He struck me one night w r hile we push’d round the grog; So 1 trounc’d him, d’ye see, and how could I do other ? And I left to himself, then, the obstinate dog. Yet it’s always, &c. 273 When to port we return’d, Jack soon heard that his Polly Didn’t single long after his sailing remain : The latitude then he first found of his folly, And wanted the timbers to start of his brain ; But I captur’d his pistols, and bid him weigh anchor, And leave Port Despair for the Ocean of Grog ; He took my advice, overboard threw his rancour, And never more turn’d out an obstinate dog. And it’s always, &c. PRO ARIS ET FOCIS. I’m a true honest-hearted gay fellow, And scorn to be hanging aback, Who fear neither bullet nor billow, And this has been always my Jack : In defence of my system to pledge heart and hand, And to fight for my king and my dear native land, Some people about Whig and Tory, And such sort of trash and to do, Will tell you all day a tough story, And perhaps all they say may be true ; But such outlandish lingo I don’t understand. So I fight for, &c. Both parties they quarrel most rarely ; I m puzzled with which side to strike, For both find sound argument fairly To prove they’re all patriots alike; Yet I side with no maxims I don’t understand. But I fight for, &c. V 274 LIEUTENANT YEO. Off Cape Finisterre lay the king’s ship La Loire, When a privateer foe Captain Maitland he saw : So a boat’s crew he sent, with the Spaniard to cope, Who was call’d L’Esperance— in plain English, The Hope; Tho’ but a forlorn Hope she prov’d to the foe, Made a prize by the boat’s crew and Lieutenant Yeo ! Yeo ! Yeo ! for ever. “’Tis the birth of our king, boys!” the captain he cried ; “ To crown it with victory then be your pride: Yes, the birth of your sovereign distinguish, in short, By planting his flag on that proud Spanish fort So the gallant boat’s crew volunteer’d all to go, To conquer or die with brave Lieutenant Yeo ! Yeo, &c. Then Lieutenant Yeo, to his lasting renown, The fort he knock’d up, and the governor down; The Don’s captur’d ensign wav’d over his head, And planted the flag of King George in its stead ! Let the trumpet of fame then thro’ all the world blow To the glory of Britons and Lieutenant Yeo. Yeo, &c. NATIONAL SONCS, FROM POPULAR AUTHORS, INSERTED BY SPECIAL DESIRE. OLD ENGLAND’S A LION. [Written by John O’Keeffe. Music by Shield.] Old England ’s a lion, stretch’d out at his ease, A sailor his keeper, his couch the green seas ! Should a monkey dare to chatter, or a tiger claw, They tremble at his roar as he lifts his paw. I love a neighbour’s friendship, but, he turn’d foe, Prepare to receive him with blow for blow. THE LAND, BOYS, WE LIVE IN. Since our foes to invade us have long been preparing, ’Tis clear they consider we’ve something worth sharing, And for that mean to visit our shore ; It behoves us, however, with spirit to meet ’em, And though ’twill be nothing uncommon to beat ’em, We must try how they’ll take it once more, So fill, fill your glasses, be this the toast given — • Here’s England for ever, the land, boys, we live in ! So fill, fill your glasses, be this the toast given— Here’s England for ever, huzza ! t 2 276 Here’s a health to our tars on the wild ocean ranging, Perhaps even now some broadsides are exchanging, We’ll on shipboard and join in the fight; And when with the foe we are firmly engaging, Till the fire of our guns lulls the sea in its raging, On our country w r e’ll think with delight. So fill, fill your glasses, &e. On that throne where once Alfred in glory was seated, Long, long may our king by his people be greeted; Oh ! to guard him we’ll be of one mind. May religion, law, order, be strictly defended, And continue the blessings they first were intended, In union the nation to bind ! So fill, fill your glasses, &c. BLACK EYED SUSAN. [By John Gay.] All in the Downs the fleet lay moor’d, The streamers waving in the wind, When black-eyed Susan came on board — Oh ! where shall I my true love find ? Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, It my sweet William sails among your crew. William, who high upon the yard Rock’d with the billows to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard, He sigh’d, and cast his eyes below. The cord glides swiftly thro’ his glowing hands, And quick as lightning on the deck he stands. 277 So the sweet lark, high pois’d in air, Shuts close his pinions to his breast, If chance his mate’s shrill call he hear, And drops at once into her nest, The noblest captain in the British flee* Might envy William’s lips those kisses sweet. O Susan, Susan, lovely dear ! My vows shall ever true remain ; Let me kiss off that falling tear — We only part to meet again. Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee ! Believe not what the landmen say, Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind ; They’ll tell thee sailors, when away, In every port a mistress find : Yes, yes, believe them, when they tell thee so, For thou art present wheresoe’er I go! If to far India’s coast we sail, Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, Thy breath is Afric’s spicy gale, Thy skin is ivory so white : Thus every beauteous object that I view Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. Though battle calls me from thy arms, Let not my pretty Susan mourn ; Though cannon’s roar, yet, safe from harms, William shall to his dear return : Love turns aside the bails that round me fly, Lest precious tears should drop from Susan’s eye. 278 The boatswain gave the dreadful word, The sails their swelling bosom spread, No longer must she stay on board : They kiss’d, she sigh’d, he hung his head. The less’ning boat unwilling rows to land ; Adieu ! she cried, and waved her lily hand. THE STORM. [By G. A. Stevens. Music by Leveridge.] Cease, rude Boreas, blust’ring railer ! List, ye landsmen, all to me ; Messmates, hear a brother sailor Sing the dangers of the sea ; From bounding billows first in motion, When the distant whirlwinds rise, To the tempest-troubled ocean, Where the seas contend with skies. Hark ! the boatswain hoarsely bawling, By topsail-sheets and haulyards stand, Down top gallants, quick, be hauling, Down your staysails, hand, boys, hand! Now it freshens, set the braces, The lee topsail-sheets let go ; Luff, boys, luff! don’t make wry faces, Up your topsails nimbly clew. Now all you, on down beds sporting, Fondly lock’d in beauty’s arms, Fresh enjoyments wanton courting, Safe from all but love’s alarms • 279 Round us roars the tempest louder, Think what fears our minds enthral ; Harder yet, it yet blows harder; Hark! again the boatswain’s call! The topsail-yards point to the wind, boys, See all clear to reef each course ; Let the foresheet go, don’t mind, boys, Though the weather should prove worse ; Fore and aft the spritsail-yard get, Reef the mizen, see all clear, Hands up, each preventer-brace set, Man the fore-yards ! Cheer, lads, cheer ! Now the dreadful thunder rolling, Peal on peal, contending, clash ; On our heads fierce rain falls pouring, In our eyes blue lightnings flash : One wide water all around us, All above us one black sky, Different deaths at once surround us. — Hark ! what means that dreadful cry 1 The foremast’s gone ! cries every tongue outg O’er the lee, twelve feet ’bove deck ; A leak beneath the chest-tree’s sprung out,— Call all hands to clear the wreck. Quick ! the lanyards cut to pieces ; Come, my hearts, be stout and bold ! Plumb the well, the leak increases, Four feet water in the hold! 280 While o’er the ship wild waves are beating, We for wives or children mourn; Alas ! from hence there’s no retreating ; Alas ! from hence there’s no return. Still the leak is gaining on us, Both chain-pumps are chok’d below ; Heav’n have mercy here upon us ! For only that can save us now. O’er the lee-beam is the land, boys ! Let the guns o’erboard be thrown ; To the pump come every hand, boys ! See, our mizen-mast is gone ! The leak we’ve found, it cannot pour fast ; We’ve lighten’d her a foot or more; Up and rig a jury foremast, — She rights ! she rights, boys ! we’re off shore ! Now once more on joys we’re thinking, Since kind Fortune saved our lives ; Come, the can, boys ! let’s be drinking To our sweethearts and our wives : Fill it up, about ship wheel it, Close to the lips a brimmer join.' — Where’s the tempest now ? who feel it 7 None! our danger’s drown J d in wine. 281 MINDEN’S PLAINS OF GLORY. [The Rev. Sir H. Dudley Bate. Music by Shield.] From Minden’s Plains of glory I date my warlike story, When conquest, never yet undone, By British arms was nobly won. See old Kingley’s lads present, Revenge desiring, Incessant firing, On fame and Britain’s glory bent. All our powder and ball expended, The Monsieurs thought the battle ended. Till with bayonets advancing, We quickly set their columns prancing* And to make our victory good, Follow’d through a crimson flood. From Minden’s Plains of glory I date my warlike story, When conquest, never yet undone, By British arms was nobly won. RUSSELI/S TRIUMPH. Thursday in the morn, the nineteenth of May. Recorded be for ever the famous Ninety-two,— Brave Russell did discern, by break of day, The lofty sails of France advancing too. 282 All hands aloft! they cry, let English courage sliine t Let fly a culverine, the signal of the line ; Let every man supply his gun, Follow me, You shall see That the battle it will soon be won. Tourville on the main triumphant roll’d To meet the gallant Russell in combat o’er the deep • He led his noble troops of heroes bold To sink the English admiral and his fleet. Now every gallant mind to victory does aspire : The bloody fight’s begun — the sea is all on fire ; And mighty Fate stood looking on, Whilst the flood All with blood Fill’d the scuppers of the Rising Sun. Sulphur, smoke, and fire, disturbing the air, With thunder and wonder, affright the Gallic shore ; Their regulated bands stood trembling near, To see their lofty streamers now no more. At six o’clock the Red the smiling victors led To give the second blow — the total overthrow. Now Death and Horror equal reign; Now they cry, Run or die — British colours ride the vanquish’d mam. See, they fly amazed o’er rocks and sands ! One danger they grasp to shun a greater fate : In vain they cried for aid to weeping lands, The nymphs and sea-gods mourn their lost estate. 283 For ever more adieu, thou ever dazzling Sun ! From thy untimely end thy master’s fate begun Enough, thou mighty God of War ! Now we sing, Bless the king ! Let us drink to every English tar. THE SPANISH ARMADA. [John O’Keeffe. Music by Dr. Arnold.] In May fifteen hundred and eighty and eight, Cries Philip, the English I’ll humble ; I’ve taken it into my Majesty’s pate, And their lion, oh ! down he shall tumble. They lords of the sea ! — then his sceptre he shook,—- I’ll prove it an arrant bravado. By Neptune ! I’ll sweep ’em all into a nook, With th’ invincible Spanish Armada! This fleet then sail’d out, and the winds they did blow, Their guns made a terrible clatter ; Our noble Queen Bess, ’cause she wanted to know, Quill’d her ruff and cried, “Pray what’s the matter?” “ They say, my good Queen,” replied Howard so stout, “ The Spaniard has drawn his toledo ; Cock sure that he’ll thump us, and kick us about, With th’ invincible Spanish Armada.” ij The Lord Mayor of London, a very wise man, What to do in this case vastly wonder’d; Says the Queen, “Send in fifty good ships il you can.” Says my Lord, “ Ma’am, I’ll send in a hundred.” 284 Our fire-ships they soon struck their cannons all dumb, For the Dons run to ave and credo. Great Medina roars out, “ Sure the devil is come For th’ invincible Spanish Armada.” On Effingham’s squadron though all in a breast, Like open-mouth curs, they came bowling : His sugar-plums finding they could not digest, Away home they ran yelping and howling. Whene’er Britain’s foes shall, with envy ago g, In our Channel make such a bravado — Huzza, my brave boys ! w T e’re still able to flog An invincible Spanish Armada ! Huzza, my brave boys ! &c. THEN, OH! PROTECT THE HARDY TAR [Words and Music by Mr. Smart.] I sing the British seaman’s praise, A theme renown’d in story ; It well deserves more polish’d lays, Oh, ’tis your boast and glory ! When mad-brain’d War spreads death around By them you are protected, But when in peace the nation’s found These bulwarks are neglected. Then, oh ! protect the hardy tar, Be mindful of his merit, And when again we’re plung’d in war He'll show his daring spirit. 285 When thickest darkness covers all Far on the trackless ocean, When lightnings dart, when thunders roll, And all is wild commotion ; When o’er the bark the white-topp’d waves With boist’rous sweep are rolling — Yet coolly still the whole he braves, Serene amidst the howling. Then, oh ! protect, &c. When deep immers’d in sulph’rous smoke He feels a glowing pleasure ; He loads his gun, right heart of oak, Elated beyond measure. Though fore and aft the blood-stain’d deck Should lifeless trunks appear, Or should the vessel float a wreck, The sailor knows no fear. Then, oh! protect, &c. When long becalm’d on southern brine, Where scorching beams assail him, When all the canvass hangs supine, And food and water fail him — Then oft he dreams of Britain’s shore, Where plenty still is reigning. They call the watch. His rapture’s o ^r — He sighs — forbears complaining. Then, oh ! protect, &c. Or burning on that noxious coast Where death so oft befriends him ; Or pinch’d by hoary Greenland’s frost, True courage still attends him. 286 No clime can this eradicate — He’s calm amidst annoyance— He fearless braves the storms of fate, On Heav’n is his reliance. Then, oh! protect, &c. Why should the man who knows no fear In peace be then neglected? Behold him move along the pier, Pale, meagre, and dejected ! Behold him begging for employ ! Behold him disregarded ! Then view the anguish in his eye, And say, are tars rewarded ? Then, oh ! protect, &c. To them your dearest rights you owe ; In peace, then, would you starve them? What say ye, Britain’s sons ? Oh, no ! Protect them and preserve them. Shield them from poverty and pain — ’Tis policy to do it ; Or, when grim War shall come again, Oh, Britons ! ye may rue it. Then, oh ! protect, &c, 287 OUR COUNTRY IS OUR SHIP. [Written by James Cobb, Esq. Music by Storace.j Our country is our ship, d’ye see, A gallant vessel, too : And of his fortune proud is he Who’s of the Albion’s crew. Each man, whate’er his station be, When duty’s call commands. Should take his stand, And lend a hand, As the common cause demands. And when our haughty enemies Our noble ship assail, Then all true-hearted lads despise What peril may prevail ; But, shrinking from the cause we prize. If lubbers skulk below, To the sharks Heave such sparks, — They assist the common foe. Among ourselves, in peace, ’tis true, We quarrel, make a rout ; And, having nothing else to do, W e fairly scold it out ; But once the enemy in view, Shake hands, we soon are friends ; On the deck, Till a wreck, Each the common cause defends. 288 NEPTUNE’S RESIGNATION [Written by Mr. Wagnell. Music by Worgan.] The wat’ry god, great Neptune, lay In dalliance soft and amorous play On Amphitrite’s breast, When Uproar rear’d its horrid head, The tritons shrunk, the nereids fled, And all their fear confess’d. Loud thunder shook the vast domain, The liquid world was wrapp’d in flame $ The god, amazed, spoke— “Ye Winds, go forth and make it known Who dares to shake my coral throne, And fill my realms with smoke.” The Winds, obsequious, at his word Sprung strongly up t’obey their lord, And saw two fleets a-weigh — One, victorious Hawke, was thine, The other, Conflans’ wretched line — In terror and dismay. Appall’d, they view Britannia’s sons Deal death and slaughter from their guns, And strike the dreadful blow, Which caused ill-fated Gallic slaves To find a tomb in briny waves, And sink to shades below. 289 With speed they fly and tell their chief That France was ruin’d past relief, And Hawke triumphant rode. “ Hawke !” cried the Fair ; “ Pray who is lie That dare usurp this power at sea, And thus insult a god ?” The Winds reply — “ In distant lands There reigns a king whom Hawke command^ He scorns all foreign force ; And when his floating castles roll From sea to sea, from pole to pole, Great Hawke directs their course. “ Or when his winged bullets fly To punish fraud or perfidy, Or scourge a guilty land; Then gallant Hawke, serenely great, Though death and horror round him wait, Performs his dread command.” Neptune, with wonder, heaid the story Of George’s sway and Britain’s glory, Which time shall ne’er subdue ; Boscawen’s deeds, and Saunders’ fame, Join’d with brave Wolfe’s immortal name, — - Then cried, “ Can this be true? — “ A king ! he sure must be a god, Who has such heroes at his nod To govern earth and sea: I yield my trident and my crown A tribute due to such renown,— Great George shall rule for me.” 290 HEARTS OF OAK. [Written by Mr. Garrick. Composed by Dr. Boyce.] Come, cheer up, my lads ! ’tis to glory we steer, To add something more to this wonderful year: To honour we call you, not press you like slaves ; For who are so free as the sons of the waves? Heart of oak are our ships, Heart of oak are our men, We always are ready: Steady, boys, steady! We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again and again. We ne’er see our foes but we wish them to stay, They never see us but they wish us away ; If they run, why, we follow, or run them ashore ; For if they won’t fight us we cannot do more. Heart of oak, &c. They swear they’ll invade us, these terrible foes ! They frighten our women, our children, and beaux ; But should their flat bottoms in darkness get o’er, Still Britons they’ll find to receive them on shore. Heart of oak, &c. Britannia triumphant, her ships sweep tne sea ; Her standard is Justice — her watch-word, “Be free.” Then cheer up, my lads ! with one heart let us sing, “Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, and king.” Heart of oak, &c. 2.91 THE ARETHUSA. [Written by P. Hoare, Esq. Old Air, arranged by Shield.] Come, all ye jolly sailors bold, Whose hearts are cast in honour’s mould, While English glory I unfold — Huzza to the Arethusa! She’s a frigate tight and brave As ever stemm’d the dashing wave : Her men are staunch To their fav’rite launch, And when the foe shall meet our fire, Sooner than strike, we’ll all expire, On board of the Arethusa. ’Twas with the Spring fleet she went out, The English Channel to cruise about, When four French sail in show so stout, Bore down on the Arethusa. The famed Belle Poule straight a-head did lie, The Arethusa seem’d to fly ; Not a sheet, or a tack, Or a brace did she slack ; Though the Frenchmen laugh’d and thought it stuff But they knew not the handful of men, how tough, On board of the Arethusa. On deck five hundred men did dance, The stoutest they could find in France; We with two hundred did advance On board of the Arethusa. u « 292 Our captain hail’d the Frenchman, “ Ho!” The Frenchman then cried out, “Hallo!” “ Bear down, d’ye see, To our admiral’s lee.” “No, no,” says the Frenchman, “that can’t be.” “ Then I must lug you along with me,” Says the saucy Arethusa. The fight was off the Frenchman’s land ; W e forced them back upon the strand ; For we fought till not a stick would stand Of the gallant Arethusa. And now we’ve driv’n the foe ashore, Never to fight with Britons more, Let each fill a glass To his favourite lass ; A health to the captain and officers true, And all that belong to the jovial crew On board of the Arethusa. WHAT SHOULD SAILORS DO ON SHORE [Written by O’Keeffe. Composed by Dr. Arnold.] What should sailors do on shore? — Kiss the girls and toss the can ! When the cannons cease to roar, Sweet the voice of smiling Nan. Bring me first a spacious bowl, Deeper than a plummet’s sound ; Give me next a generous soul, That in loving knows no bound. 293 Flowing ever let it be, If the tide good liquor prove : Thus, my hearts, let’s keep the sea* Sailing with the girl we love. What should sailors, &c. Nancy be my true love’s name, And to compliment my dear, Bonny ship secure thy fame, Thou the darling title bear. To guard and bless my fav’rite realm* (Smiling, thus old Neptune spoke,) I place my William at the helm ; Royal Will is heart of oak. Whether moor’d or on a cruise, Sailor still, in peace or war : Poise the linstock, brim the booze, Sing, Long live the royal tar ! What should sailors, &c. SLING THE FLOWING BOWL. [Written by Mrs. Linley. Composed by Mr. Linley.] Come, come, my jolly lads, the wind’s abaft, Brisk gales our sails shall crowd ; Come, bustle, bustle, bustle, boys, haul the boat, The boatswain pipes aloud : The ship’s unmoor’d ; all hands ot. ; The rising gale fills every sail, The ship’s well mann’d and stored : 294 Then sling the flowing bowl ! Fond hopes arise, the girls we prize Shall bless each jovial soul ; The can, boys, bring, we’ll drink and sing, While foaming billows roll. Then sling, &c. Though to the Spanish coast we’re bound to steei, We’ll still our rights maintain ; Then bear a hand, be steady, boys, soon we’ll see Old England once again : From shore to shore, while cannons roar, Our tars shall show the haughty foe Britannia rules the main % Then sling the flowing bowl ! Fond hopes arise, the girls we prize Shall bless each jovial soul ; The can, boys, bring, we’ll drink and sing, While foaming billows roll. Then sling, &c. THE TOPSAILS SHIVER IN THE WIND. [Michael Arne.] The topsails shiver in the wind, The ship she casts to sea ; But yet my soul, my heart, my mind, Are, Mary, moor’d with thee. For though thy sailor’s bound afar, Still love shall be his leading star. l;35 Should landmen flatter when we’ve sail’d, O doubt their artful tales ; No gallant sailor ever fail’d, If Love breath’d constant gales : Thou art the compass of my soul Which steers my heart from pole to pole. Sirens in every port we meet, More fell than rocks or waves ; But such as grace the British fleet Are lovers and not slaves : No foes our courage shall subdue, Although we’ve left our hearts with you. These are our cares, but if you’re kind We’ll scorn the dashing main, The rocks, the billows and the wind, The power of France and Spain; Now England’s glory rests with you; Our sails are full — sweet girls, adieu ; THE HARDY SAILOR. [Dr. Arnold.] The hardy sailor braves the ocean, Fearless of the roaring wind; Yet his heart with soft emotion Throbs to leave his love behind. To dread of foreign foes a stranger, Though the youth may dauntless roam, Alarming fears paint ev’ry danger In a rival left at home. The hardy sailor, &c. 296 THE WANDERING SAILOR. [Written by M. P. Andrews, Esq. Music by Dr. Arnold.] 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 thunders shake from pole to pole, Though dreadful waves surrounding foam, Still flatt’ring fancy wafts him home ; In hopes, &c. When round the bowl the jovial crew The early scenes of youth renew, Though each his fav’rite fair will boast, This is the universal toast : “ May we, when toil and danger’s o’er, Cast anchor on our native shore.” THE MID-WATCH. [The Rt. Hon. Richard Brinsley Sheridan. Music by Linley. When ’tis night, and the mid-watch is come, And chilling mists hang o’er the darken’d main. Then sailors think of their far distant heme, And of those friends they ne’er may see again. 297 But when the fight’s begun, Each serving at his gun, Should any thought of them come o’er our mind, We think, should but the day be won, How ’twill cheer Their hearts to hear That their old companion he was one ! Or, my lad, if you a mistress kind Have left on shore, some pretty girl and true, Who many a night doth listen to the wind, And sighs to think how it may fare with you,— O when the fight’s begun, Each serving at his gun, Should any thought of her come o’er your mind, Think, only should the day be won, How ’twill cheer Her heart to hear That her own true sailor he was one ! BLOW, BOREAS, BLOW. [R. Bradley (1700).] Blow, Boreas, blow, and let thy surly winds Make the billows foam and roar. Thou canst no terror breed in valiant minds, But, spite of thee, we’ll live and find a shore ! Then cheer, my hearts, and be not awed, But keep the gun-room clear ; Tho’ hell’s broke loose, and the devils roar abroad, Whilst we have sea-room here, boys, never fear ! — Hey ! how she tosses up, how far ! The mounting topmast touch’d a star ! The meteors blazed as through the clouds we came, And, salamander-like, we live in flame! — But now we sink ! now, now we go Down to the deepest shades below. Alas ! where are we now ? who, who can tell ? Sure ’tis the lowest room of hell! Or where the sea-gods dwell ! — With them we’ll live — with them we’ll live and reign- With them we’ll laugh and sing and drink amain. But see, we mount ! see, see we rise again! Though flashes of lightning, and tempests of rain, Do fiercely contend who shall conquer the main; Though the captain does swear, instead of a pray’r, And the sea is all fired by the demons of the air ! — We’ll drink, and defy The mad spirits that fly From the deep to the sky, And sing while the thunder does bellow ; For Fate will still have a kind home for the brave, And ne’er make his grave of a salt-water wave, To drown, — no, never to drown a good fellow. YE GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND. [Music by Calcott.] Ye gentlemen of England, Who live at home at ease, Ah ! little do you think upon The dangers of the seas ! While pleasure does surround you, Our cares you cannot know, Or the pain, on the main, When the stormy winds do blow The sailor must have courage, N o danger he must shun ; In every kind of weather His course he still must run : Now mounted on the topmast, — How dreadful ’tis below ! Then we ride, as the tide, When the stormy winds do blow. Proud France, again insulting, Does British valour dare ; Our flag we must support now, And thunder in the war : To humble them, come on, lads, And lay their lilies low ; Clear the way for the fray, Though the stormy winds do blow* Old Neptune shakes his trident, The billows mount on high ; Their shells the Tritons sounding, The flashing lightnings fly. The watery grave now opens, All dreadful from below, When the waves move the seas, And the stormy winds do blow. 300 But when the danger’s over, And safe we come on shore, The horrors of the tempest, We think of them no more. The flowing bowl invites us, And joyfully we go; All the day drink away, Though the stormy winds do blow. LITTLE DO THE LANDSMEN KNOW. How little do the landsmen know Of what we sailors feel, When waves do mount, and winds do blow ! But we have hearts of steel : No danger can affright us; No enemy shall flout ; We’ll make the Monsieurs right us, So toss the can about. Stick stout to orders, messmates ; We’ll plunder, burn, and sink! Then, France, have at your first-rates, For Britons never shrink: We’ll rummage all we fancy; We’ll bring them in by scores ; And Moll, and Kate, and Nancy, Shall roll in Louis-d’ors. 301 While here at Deal we’re lying, With our noble Commodore, We’ll spend our wages freely, boys, And then to sea for more. In peace we’ll drink and sing, boys, In war we’ll never fly ! Here’s a health to George our King, boys, And the royal family. NOW AWAY, MY BRAVE BOYS. Now away, my brave boys, hoist the flag, beat the drum, Let the streamers wave over the main ; When Old England she calls us, we merrily come, She can’t call a sailor in vain. Already we seem an armada to chase, Already behold the galleons ; Undaunted, unconquer’d, look death in the face, And return with a load of doubloons. Then farewell for a time, lovely sweethearts, dear wives ; Nancy, fear not the fate of true blue ; Though we leave you and merrily venture our lives, To our girls we will ever be true. With spirit we go an armada to chase, With rapture behold the galleons ; Undaunted, unconquer’d, look death in the face, And return with a load of doubloons. 302 HARK! THE BOATSWAIN’S WHISTLE. [Dr. Green.] Life is chequer’d — toil and pleasure Fill up all the various measure. See the crew, in flannel jerkins, Drinking, toping flip by firkins : And as they raise the tip To their happy lip On deck is heard no other sound But prithee, Jack, prithee, Dick, Prithee, Sam, prithee, Tom, Let the can go round. Then, hark to the boatswain’s whistle ! Bustle, bustle, bustle, my boy ; Let us stir, let us toil, But let us drink all the while, For labour’s the price of our joy. Life is chequer’d — toil and pleasure Fill up all the various measure. Hark ! the crew in sun-burnt faces, Chanting black-eyed Susan’s graces ! And as they raise their notes Through their rusty throats On the deck is heard no other sound But prithee, Jack, prithee, Dick, Prithee, Sam, prithee, Tom, Let the can go round. Then hark, &c. 303 Life is chequer’d ! — toil and pleasure Fill up all the various measure. Hark ! the crew, their cares discarding, With hustle-cap, or with chuck-farthing; Still in a merry pin, Let ’em lose or win, On the deck is heard no other sound But prithee, Jack, prithee, Dick, Prithee, Sam, prithee, Tom, Let the can go round. Then hark, &c. ALOFT THE SAILOR LOOKS AROUND. [By J. Cobb, Esq. Music by Storace.] From aloft the sailor looks around, And hears below the murm’ring billows sound : Far off from home he counts another day, Wide o’er the seas the vessel bears away ! His courage wants no whet, But he springs the sail to set, With heart as fresh as rising breeze of May : And caring nought, He turns his thought To his lovely Sue or his charming Bet. Now to heav’n the lofty topmast soars, The stormy blast like dreadful thunder roars $ 304 Now ocean’s deepest gulfs appear below, The curling surges foam, and down we go \ When skies and seas are met, They his courage serve to whet ; With a heart as fresh as rising breeze of May, And dreading nought, &c. LOOSE EVERY SAIL TO THE BREEZE. [Michael Arne.] Loose every 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. Since Emma is true as she’s fair, My griefs I fling all to the wind ; ’Tis a pleasing return to my care, My mistress is constant and kind. My sails are all fill’d to my dear ; What tropic-bird swifter can move ? Who cruel shall hold bis career That returns to the nest of his love ? Hoist every sail to the breeze ; Come, shipmates, and join in the song Let’s drink while the ship cuts the seas, To the gale that may drive her along. 305 COME, BUSTLE, BUSTLE. [Words Anonymous. Music by Dibdin.] Come, bustle, bustle, drink about, And let us merry be , Our can is full, we’ll see it out, And then all bands to sea. And a sailing we will go. Fine Miss, at dancing-school, is taught The minuet to tread ; But we go better when we’ve brought The fore-tack to cat-head. And a sailing, &c. The jockey calls, “ To horse, to horse V 9 And swiftly rides the race ; But swifter far we shape our course When we are giving chase. And a sailing, &c. When horns and shouts the forest rena, His pack the huntsman cheers ; As loud we holla when we send A broadside to Monsieur. And a sailing, &c. The What’s-their-names at uproars sqtiu]J 3 With music fine and soft; But better sounds our boatswain’s call, “All hands, all hands aloft!” And a sailing, &c. With gold and silver streamers fine The ladies rigging show ; But English ships more grander shine. When prizes home we tow. And a sailing, &c. x 306 What’s got at sea we spend on shorp, With sweethearts or with wives ; And then, my boys, hoist sail for more Thus passes sailors’ lives. And a sailing, &c. THE BOLD SALAMANDER. [Old Ballad.] Come, let’s drink a health to George our king, And his brave commanders ; Another glass let us toss off To the valiant Salamanders ; Who fought so bravely for their king, sir, For their country, and their crown, To put the Mounsieurs’ courage down, By the brave Salamander, When we cruised on the raging main, Our guns they roar’d like thunder ; Along the coast of France and Spain, Brave boys, we search for plunder ! We’ll make the French and Spaniards quake, Our English merchant-ships retake, For the glory of Old England’s sake, By the valiant Salamander. One night we fought, in a mistake, With a Bristol privateer, sir ; With one broadside we made them shake, And laid them on the careen, sir, 307 They swore no mortals we could be, But devils, sure, that liv’d at sea ; But to their joy they soon did see ’Twas the valiant Salamander. Who can pretend for to withstand A creature bred by fire? When man can live by sea or land, What fool would e’er come nigh her ? With hand-grenades and musket-shot, Their cannon ball, although red hot, We neither fear, nor value not, On board the Salamander. And when that we do come on shore, We’ll all fill up our glasses ; We’ll drink and make the taverns roar, Along with our English lasses : We’ll dance and sing and roam about, And spend our money, and then go out Another cruise, and search about For more French and Spanish plunder. HOW HAPPY APE WE NOW THE WIND IS ABAFT. [Aldrich.] How happy are we now the wind is abaft, And the boatswain he pipes, Haul both our sheets aft ! Steady says the master, it blows a fresh gale ; We’ll soon reach our port, boys, if the wind doth not fail. Then drink about, Tom ; although the ship roll, We’ll save our rich liquor by slinging the bowl, x 2 SOS WHEN IN WAR ON THE OCEAN. [By the Composer of Admiral Benbow.] When in war on the ocean we meet the proud foe, Though with ardour for conquest our bosoms may glow Let us see on their vessels Old England’s flag wave, They shall find British sailors but conquer to save. See, their tri-colour’d ensigns we view from afar, W T ith three cheers they are welcom’d by each British tar; Whilst the genius of Britain still bids us advance, And our guns hurl in thunder defiance to France. But mark our last broadside, — she sinks — down she goes ! Quickly man all your boats, boys — they no longer are foes ; To snatch a brave fellow from a wat’ry grave As worthy of Britons who conquer to save. HOW BLEST ARE WE SEAMEN. [Anonymous.] How blest are we seamen ! how jovial and gay ! Together we fight, or together we play ; Our hearts are true sterling, — their worth shall be seen ; We’ll fight for our country, and die for our Queen! For plenty, for freedom, we’ll range the wide flood, And for England, Old England, we’ll shed our last blood 309 By land other nations their forces may boast; ’Tis we, only we, can protect Britain’s coast! Our strong floating castles, our loud English guns, Shall convince the proud Spaniards we’re Neptune’s true sons. For plenty, &c. Our Admirals lead, and our flag is let fly ; Our cross like a comet appears in the sky, Portending destruction ! our sea-lion roars ; And his voice, like loud thunder, breaks full on the shores. For plenty, &c. Come, bustle, my boys ! let us form the good line ; Come, cheer up, old England, — the day shall be thine ! Huzza for our country ! huzza for our king ! We’ll raise its renown, and ennoble his reign. For plenty, &c. WAPPING OLD STAIRS. [Percy.] Your Molly has never been false, she declares, Since last time we parted at Wapping Old Stairs; When I swore that I still would continue t! same, And gave you the ’bacco-box mark’d with my name. When I pass’d a whole fortnight between decks with y^w, Did I e’er give a kiss, Tom, to one of your crew ? To be useful and kind to my Thomas I stay’d, For his trousers I wash’d, and his grog too I made. Though you promis’d last Sunday to walk in the Mall With Susan from Deptford, and likewise with Sail, 310 In silence I stood, your unkindness to heax, And only upbraided my Tom with a tear. Why should Sal, or should Susan, than me be more prized For the heart that is true, Tom, should ne’er be despised. Then be constant and kind, nor your Molly forsake ; Still your trousers I’ll wash, and your grog too I’ll make OLD ENGLAND'S FLAG FOR EVER. [Written by Jas. Evans, Esq. Composed by Aaron Fry.] The records of our fathers’ deeds Are blazon’d forth in song; Let Fame’s loud trumpet sound the theme, While we the note prolong. The staunch supporters of our isle, Whose backs the foe saw never, Still onward ran, and loudly cried, “ Old England’s flag for ever !” If vengeance call’d them to the field They’d well defend their right, And gleaming swords a million strong, Were ready for the fight. Their banner flutter’d o’er the van, From which they ne’er would sever; But pressing round it, shouted still, “ Old England’s flag for ever!” Then, Britons, emulate your sires, Support their old renown ; Raise high your flag, and woe betide The hands that plrtk it down 1 311 Still over all it proudly floats, And shall it fall ? Oh never ! Unto the death we’ll rally round “Old England’s flag for ever!’* THE LAUNCH. [Written and composed by Joshua Done.] With ardent pride Britannia’s sons attend The gallant ship on airy structure raised, Ere to the boundless deep she could descend : With awe and pleasure thousands stand amazed. Behold the grand triumphant skill of man, Whose genius dared the mighty pile to form, That o’er the ocean vast shall lead the van, And long defy the battle and the storm ! In all the gorgeous pomp of naval pride, Aloft she stands in solemn stillness bound ; And, as she seems to watch the swelling tide, Her stately keel the waters deep surround,— Then gently woo her to their soft embrace ; While breathless admiration fills the throng, Bliss in each heart, and joy in every face, The shouts foretell that hang on every tongue. At length the well-known warning signals pass, The pond’rous hammer stroke is heard around ; She moves ! she glides ! a pond’rous living mass, Into the bosom of the wave profound. Huzza! huzza! the loud-toned cannons roar; Huzza! huzza! resounds from shore to shore : On her broad decks a thousand seamen stand, The prop and glory of their native land 1 SJ2 MAY OUR NAVY FOR EVER OLD ENGLAND PROTECT. [Composed by Shield.] Though hurricanes rattle, though tempests appear, We sailors have pleasure in store, For the pride of our hearts is to hand, reef and steer, Weigh anchor, and bear off from shore. If contention of winds raise the waves mountains high, O’er our quarters a heavy sea break, Or the reef-tackle fall, we undauntedly ply, Nor from danger e’er lubher-like sneak. But the storm gone astern, and the mainmast erect, Then with messmates we cheerily sing, May our navy for ever Old England protect, Our laws, constitution, and king! Why, lately we spied Tore the jib right a head A three-decker, trim, gallant, and gay, And thwart of her poop a French ensign was spread, That the tri-colour’d stripes did display. Then by skill of our helmsman the weather-gage got, And soon as alongside her we lay, We so pepper’d her hull, and her masts away shot, That to strike she was forced to obey. So we took her in tow, and to Plymouth direct, Where our crew did all manfully sing, Thus our navy shall ever Old England protect, Our laws, constitution, and king ! 313 STAND TO YOUR GUNS. [Composed by C. Carter.] Stand to your guns, my hearts of oak, Let not a word on board be spoke ; Victory is ours, ’mid fire and smoke ; Be silent and be ready. Ram home the guns and spunge them well f Let us be sure the balls will tell; The cannon’s roar shall sound their knell ; Be steady, boys, be steady. Not yet, nor yet, nor yet ; Reserve your fire, I do desire. Now the elements do rattle ; The gods amazed behold the battle. A broadside, my boys ! See the blood in purple tide Trickle down her batter’d side. Wing’d with fate the bullets fly, Conquer, boys, or bravely die. She sinks, she sinks, she sinks, huzza! To the bottom down she goes ! BRITAIN'S BEST BULWARKS. [Written and composed by Dr. Arne.] When Britain on her sea-girt shore Her ancient Druids erst address’d, What aid, she cried, shall I implore 1 What best defence, by numbers press’d ? 314 The hostile nations round thee rise, The mystic oracles replied, — And view thine isle with envious eyes ; Their threats defy, their rage deride ; Nor fear invasion from those adverse Gat Is: Britain’s best bulwarks are her wooden walls. Thine oaks, descending to the main, With floating forts shall stem the tide, Asserting Britain’s liquid reign Where’er her thundering navy rides. Nor less to peaceful arts inclined, Where commerce opens all her stores, In social bands shall league mankind, And join the sea-divided shores. Spread thy white sails where naval glory calls Britain’s best bulwarks are her wooden walls, Hail, happy isle! What though thy vales No vine-impurpled tribute yield, Nor fann’d with odour-breathing gales, Nor crops spontaneous glad the field, — Yet liberty rewards the toil Of industry to labour prone, Who jocund ploughs the grateful soil, And reaps the harvest she has sown ; While other realms tyrannic sway enthrals ; Britain’s best bulwarks are her wooden walls 315 Six “Songs of the Mid Watch,” written by Captain Willes Johnson, R.N. Composed by Klitz. No. 1.— THE SAILOR’S BEQUEST. [The Music of this and the following five Songs may be had of Messrs. Purday, 45, High Holborn.l The fight was o’er, and strew’d around Lay many a seaman brave, And those who nobly died had found A deep unfathom’d grave. One ling’ring lived, who vainly strove The manly tear to hide ; A pray’r he breath’d to Heav’n above, For her his promised bride. ’Twas poor Tom Ratline wounded lay, His life-blood ebbing fast; On her he lov’d, far, far away, He felt he’d look’d his last. “ Shipmate,” said he, “ it is not dread Of death that fills my eye ; ’Tis Mem’ry’s dream of joys, though fled, Which makes it sad to die. “ If our good prize should pay us well, Which I’ve no doubt she’ll do, Take all my share, and, hark ye! tell The rhino out to Sue. Dry her sweet eyes — salt tears they’ll pour At poor Tom’s fate,” he cried; “Say my last thought” — he could no more, But whisp’ring “Susan!” died. 316 No.2.— 1 THE MARINER’S INVOCATION. Bright Moon ! fair Moon ! the mariner’s friend* When wintry storms prevail, Deign from thy throne of state to bend, And list a lover’s tale. She I adore is far away, And I may roam the main For years ere comes the happy day When we can meet again. Then, beauteous Moon, fair Queen of Night ! Still more thy friendship prove; Reflect, as in a mirror bright, The face of her I love. I *d forfeit all thy cheerful light When danger’s lurking round, The dread lee-shore, and craggy height, The boldest hearts astound ; I ’d brave the wreck, nor seek thy aid, If sometimes to my view Thoud’st bring the form of that sweet maid. So tender and so true. Then beauteous Moon, fair Queen of Night f My fondest wish approve, And show me in thy mirror bright The face of her 1 love. 317 No 3. — THE HEART KNOWS ONLY ONE. The landsmen tell you those who roam O’er Ocean’s boundless tide, On ev’ry shore can find a home, In ev’ry port a bride. Heed not, sweet maid, their idle prate, They ne’er such feelings knew As warm the heart of thy sailor-mate, Which beats alone for you. What though, when storms our bark assail, The needle trembling veers, When night adds horror to the gale, And not a star appears?— True to the pole as I to thee, It faithful still will prove, An emblem, dear, of constancy, And of a sailor’s love. • Then turn from what the landsmen say, Who would thy faith beguile ; They seize the time when we’re away To practise every wile ; O’er beauty bright our looks may rove* We ne’er its influence shun, But though the eye has many a love, The heart knows only one. 318 No. 4.— HURRAH FOR THE SEA. Your poets may sing of the pleasures of home, Of the land and a bright sunny sky; Give me the rough ocean with bosom of foam, And a bark, when in chase, that will fly : Though aloft to the clouds on the billows we soar, And then sink to the valley below, We danger defy, ’mid the hurricanes roar, And reck not, how hard it may blow ! Then, hurrah for the sea, boys ! hurrah for the sea ! The mariner’s life is the life for me. The dear ones we love, when our pockets are lined, Help to spend all our rhino on shore, And when empty, “Up anchor!” we’re sure soon to find A prize that will furnish them more. All friends we avoid as we roam o’er the wave ; The sail which we, welcome ’s a foe ; And should Death heave us to, there ’s a ready-made grave, And down to the bottom we go ! Then hurrah for the sea, boys ! hurrah for the sea ! A mariner’s life is the life for me. 319 No. 5.— THE LIGHTHOUSE. Our sea-borne chimes eight bells have taLPd Far o’er the wat’ry waste ; To distant ships their sound has roll'd ; The canvass drips with night-dew cold; The mid-hour watch is placed. Look out ! look out, my trusty crew ! Strain every arwxious eye ; Though spray and mist obscure the view. We know the land is nigh ! And spare ye not the plunging lead, As carefully we steer; What star shides o’er the lee cathead, Which now gleams forth with lustre red, Now seems to disappear? It is no star ! I see it now ! It is the lighthouse beam, Which from yon tall cliff’s beetling brow Sheds forth its changeful gleam. A sailor’s thanks to those who tend Its true though fitful light, Who, like our guardian angels, lend Their ceaseless vigils to befriend The wand’ring vessel’s flight. No strangers, now, the deep we roam! Shake out, shake out the reefs : make sail • That lighthouse is the light of home, And hope breathes in the gale. 320 As still we coast the rugged steep, The lighthouse sheds its ray ; But there’s a love which does not sleep, And hearts which watch as constant keep, When we are far away. What transport in each breast will glow, When, with to-morrow’s sun, Our well-known signal-flags shall show The destin’d port we’ve won. No. 6.— THE SAILOR’S FUNERAL. Our ship had struck soundings, and blithe were our tars, As up channel for England we joyfully bore; Though shatter’d her hull, we were proud of her scars, And the riddled blue flag in the battle she wore. Each heart was elate ; e’en the wounded forgot All their pangs, as the land of their home they drew near; And the late sunken eye lighted up as the spot (Tho’ distant) was seen which we’d left with a tear. But where is the gallant, the brave, and the gay, Whom we hoped to have saved from the fate of the slain? Alas ! he survived but to watch the last ray Of the sun’s setting beams on the queen of the main ! His war-broken frame had with hope been sustain’d That the land he had bled for again he might see ; “Farewell, my lov’d country!” he faintly exclaim’d, Then bow’d with submission to Heaven’s decree. 321 No ashes were strew’d o’er his watery grave! We sounded no knell save the cannon’s deep boom But his bier was bedew’d with the tears of the brave, Ere we launch’d him below to his dark ocean tomb Rest, rest, gallant spirit ! though lonely thy bed, Thy virtues in fondest remembrance we’ll guard ; And when the sea’s summon’d to render its dead, Aloft thou wilt rise to receive thy reward. THE BAY OF BISCAY O! [Written by Andrew Cherry. — Old Air.] Loud roar’d the dreadful thunder, The rain a deluge show’rs ; The clouds were rent asunder By lightning’s vivid powers ! The night both drear and dark ; Our poor deluded bark ! Till next day, There she lay, In the Bay of Biscay O ! Now, dash’d upon the billow, Her op’ning timbers creak : Each fears a wat’ry pillow ! None stop the dreadful leak !— To cling to slipp’ry shrouds Each breathless seaman tries, As she lay, Till the day, In the Bay of Biscay O 2 t 322 At length the wish’d-for morrnv Broke through the hazy sky \ Absorb’d in silent sorrow, Each heav’d a bitter sigh ! — The dismal wreck to view Struck horror to the crew, As she lay, On that day, In the Bay of Biscay O ! Her yielding timbers sever ; Her pitchy seams are rent! When Heav’n (all bounteous ever) Its boundless mercy sent ! A sail in sight appears ! We hail her with three cheers ! Now we sail With the gale From the Bay of Biscay O ! THE OLD COMMODORE. [Written by Mark Lonsdale. Music by W. Reeve.] ’Blood ! what a time for a seaman to sculk Under gingerbread hatches ashore ! What a d — d bad job that this batter’d old hulk Can’t be rigg’d out to sea once more ! 323 The puppies, as they pass, Cocking up a squinting-glass, Thus run down the Old Commodore :■ “That’s the rum Old Commodore, The tough Old Commodore, The fighting Old Commodore, he ! But the bullets and the gout Have so knock’d his hull about, That he’ll never more be fit for sea.” Here I am in distress, like a ship water-1 ogg’d, Not a tow-rope at hand, nor an oar; I am left by my crew, and, may I be flogg’d, But the doctor ’s a son of a wh — e ! While I’m swallowing his slops, How nimble are his chops To run down the Old Commodore: — “Can’t say, Commodore; Must n’t flatter, Commodore ; Though a brave Old Commodore you be, Yet the bullets and the gout Have so knock’d your hull about, That you’ll never more be fit for sea.” What, no more be afloat ! blood and fury ! they lie I’m a seaman, and only threescore ; And if, as they tell me, I’m likely to die, Oh, pray let me not die ashore ! As for death, ’tis all a joke! Sailors live on fire and smoke, — x 2 324 At least so says an Old Commodore* The rum Old Commodore, The tough Old Commodore, The fighting Old Commodore, he ! Whom the devil, nor the gout, Nor the French lads to boot, Shall kill, till they grapple him at sea ! Shall kill, till they grapple him at sea ! OUR COUNTRY; or, BRITISH HEROES. [Written by R. Oldfield. Composed by T. Williams.] Our country is the land we love ; Nought with it can compare, For statesmen wise and heroes brave, For commerce and the fair ; ’Tis Britain’s pride, No land beside Such influence can maintain ; Go where you will, Our country still, — You’ll ne’er find its like again ! For ages past our admirals brave Pre-eminent have stood; And, spite of all the world, have held The mast’ry of the flood, Howe, Duncan, Hood, And Collingwood, Long triumph’d o’er the mam ; While Nelson’s name. So dear to Fame! — We may never see their like again! 325 Brave heroes in the field we’ve had ; Remember Marlboro’s name, With Abercrombie, Wolfe, and Moore l Who died to live in Fame ! Anglesea still, With gallant Hill And Wellington, remain; Each to the end, His country’s friend We may never see their like again! [Concluding verse by T. Dibdin.] Her people, soldiers, tars, adore The Queen ; and for her crown, Should danger threaten, as of yore, Their lives would all lay down ! She’s Albion’s boast, Whose cliff-rob’d coast Her sceptre will maintain ; While Truth shall own On Britain’s throne We ne’er may see her like again. A SHIP ! A SHIP ! A GALLANT SHIP. A ship ! a ship ! a gallant ship ! the foe is on the main A ship! a gallant ship, to bear our thunder forth again! Shall the stripes, and stars, or tricolor, in triumph sweep the sea, While the flag of Britain waves aloft, the fearless and the free ? 326 Nobly she comes in warlike trim, careering through the wave, The hope, the home, the citadel of Britain and the brave : Well may the sailor’s heart exult, as he gazes on the sight, To murmur forth his country’s name, and think upon her might ! How proudly does the footstep rise upon the welcome deck, As if at every pace we trod upon a foeman’s neck ! Hurrah! hurrah! let mast and yard before the tempest bend ; The sceptre of the deep from us nor storm nor foe shall rend. Our country’s standard floats above, the ocean breeze to greet, And her thunder sleeps in awful quiet beneath our trampling feet ; But let a foeman fling abroad the banner of his wrath, And a moment will awake its roar to sweep him from our path ! No foreign tyrant ever through our wooden bulwarks broke ; No British bosom ever quail’d within our walls of oak: Let banded foes and angry seas around our ship con- spire, — To tread our glorious decks would turn the coward’s blood to fire ! 327 Out every reef! let plank, and spar, and rigging crac again ! Let a broad belt of snow surround our pathway through the main ; High to the straining topmast nail the British ensign fast — We may go down, but never yield, and it shall sink the last. Our country’s cause is in our arms, but her love is in our souls, And by the deep that underneath our bounding vessel rolls — By heaven above, and earth below — to the death for her we’ll fight : Our Queen and country is the word ! and God defend the right l RULE BRITANNIA. [Written by James Thomsom. Composed by Dr. Arne.] When Britain first, at Heaven’s command, Arose from out the azure main, This was the charter of the land, And guardian angels sung this strain : — Rule, Britannia! Britannia rule the waves! Britons never shall be slaves ! The nations not so bless’d as thee Must in their turn to tyrants fall ; While thou shalt flourish great and free, The dread and envy of them all. Rule, Britannia &c. 328 Still more majestic shait thou rise, More dreadful from each foreign stroke $ As the loud blast that tears the skies Serves but to root thy native oak. Rule, Britannia, &c. Thee haughty tyrants ne’er shall tame ? All their attempts to bend thee down Will but arouse thy generous flame. And work their woe and thy renown. Rule, Britannia, &c. To thee belongs the rural reign ; Thy cities shall with commerce shine ; All thine shall be the subject main, And every shore it circles thine. Rule, Britannia, &c. The Muses, still wdth freedom found, Shall to thy happy coast repair ; Bless’d isle! with matchless beauty crown And manly hearts to guard the fair. Rule Britannia ! Britannia rule the waves ! Britons never shall be slaves! finis. 'I