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But yet think not our fate is hard,
Though storms at sea thus treat us,
With smiles our sweethearts greet us !
Our am'rous toast,
Her we love most,
The sails we furl,
The deck we clear,
Then three times cheer,
And then the grog goes round,
All sense of danger drown'd,
We sing a little, &c.
CHANGE FOR A GUINEA. ya TACK BINNACLE met with an old ship
mate 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 now he must jog,
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,
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 : 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
Here'stwo 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,
From the landlord's long shore,
For a five shilling score
Well, well, cries out Jack, you know figures and such,
I dare say your're right, mistress Moggy;
In the time, and yet never get groggy:
Come, put round the grog,
For away we must jog,
You may pocket your change for a guinea.
But pays his score
With spirit on shore,
O SAILOR'S love is void of art,
He knows no jealous folly:
All's peace with lovely Polly.
Enough that, far from sight of shore,
Still is he brisk and jolly:
The smiles of lovely Polly.
Should thunder on the horizon press,
E'en then dull melancholy
The snowy arms of Polly.
SOUNDING THE BOWL.
You must very well know how to hand, Al
reef, and steer; Yet a better maneuvre 'mongst seamen 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.
I've sounded at land, and I've sounded at sea,
All men try for soundings, wherever they steer, Your nabobs for soundings strive hard in Cape ClearAnd 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
JACK AT THE OPERA.
And to speak her soon stood under weigh. 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 rattlings, and went up aloft.
As I mounted to one of the uppermost tiers,
With many a coxcomb and flirt,
I thought there'd been somebody hurt;
Singing out with their lanterns of jaws;