The boatswain gave the dreadful word, HEARTS OF OAK. DAVID GARRICK, born 1716, died 1779. JOME 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, 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 swear they'll invade us, these terrible foes, They frighten our women, our children, our beaux, But should their flat bottoms in darkness get o'er, Britannia triumphant, her ships sweep the sea, THE ORIGIN OF GUNPOWDER. THOMAS DIBDIN's "English Fleet." Music by HEN Vulcan forged the bolts of Jove But finding in the boundless deep Long may she hold the glorious right; ALL'S WELL. ` THOMAS DIBDIN'S "English Fleet." Music by ESERTED by the waning moon, When skies proclaim night's cheerless gloom, On tower, or fort, or tented ground, The sentry walks his lonely round; Where caution marks the guarded way: "Who goes there? Stranger, quickly tell." "Good night." Or sailing on the midnight deep, well." THE ARETHUSA. By PRINCE HOARE, born 1754, died 1834. Music by SHIELD, in the Opera of "The Lock and Key." JOME, all ye jolly sailors bold, Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould, Huzza to the Arethusa ! She is a frigate tight and brave To their favourite launch, And when the foe shall meet our fire 'Twas with the spring fleet she went out, The famed Belle Poule straight ahead did lie- 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, Our captain hail'd the Frenchman, "Ho!" 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; For we fought till not a stick would stand And now we've driven the foe ashore, To his fav'rite lass, A health to the captain and officers true, EVERY BULLET HAS ITS BILLET. ANONYMOUS. 'M a tough true-hearted sailor, Careless and all that, d'ye see, Never at the times a railerWhat is time or tide to me? All must die when fate shall will it, Providence ordains it so: Every bullet has its billet Man the boat, boys.-Yo, heave yo! Life's at best a sea of trouble, Yet I have a tear for woe: Every bullet has its billet Man the boat, boys.-Yo, heave yo! |