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In slumber of midnight the sailor-boy lay
In storms when clouds obscure the sky
I sail'd from the Downs in the Nancy
I sail'd in the good ship the Kitty
I sail'd in the Terrible frigate
I say, my heart, why here's your works
I sing of that life of delight beyond measure
I sing the British seaman's praise
I that once was a ploughman, a sailor am now
It blew great guns, when gallant Tom
“ I've heard,” cried out one, " that you tars tack and

tack"
I've sail'd round the world without fear or dismay
I've sail'd the salt seas pretty much
I was, d'ye see, a waterman
I was saying to Jack, as we talk'd t'other day
I was the pride of all the Thames
I went to sea all so fearlessly
I went to sea with heavy heart
Jack Anchor was leaving to plough the salt wave
Jack Binnacle met with an old shipmate .
Jack dances and sings, and is always content
Jack just come home, his pockets lined
Jack Rattlin was the ablest seaman
Jack row'd, old England left behind.
Let swabs, with their vows, their palaver, and lies
Life's like a ship in constant motion
List! list to the storm, see the dark frowning sky
Loose every sail to the breeze
Loud roar'd the dreadful thunder
Lustily, lustily, lustily let us sail forth
Mayhap you have heard, that as dear as their lives.
Merry ocean! honest ocean
Musing on the roaring ocean
My name, d'ye see's Tom Tough, I've seen a little

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sarvice
No fear we jolly sailors know
Now safe moord with bowl before us.
Odsblood! what a time for a seaman to skulk
Of Nelson and the north
Of us tars 'tis reported, again and again
Oh, don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt
Oh! firm as oak, and free from care .
Oh! to hand, reef, and steer, is the thing sailors prize
Oh! where will you hurry, my dearest
Old Cunwell, the pilot, for many a year
Old England is our home

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On the waves the wind was sleeping .
One night came on a hurricane
0, pilot ! 'tis a fearful night
Our country is our ship, d'ye see
Our ship had struck soundings, and blithe were our

tars
O whither are we driven, o'er the waters so free
O you, whose lives on land are pass'd
Peaceful slumb’ring on the ocean
Poll Pennant's father was a tar .
Poor Joe the marine was at Portsmouth well known
Resplendent gleam'd the ample moon
Rock'd in the cradle of the deep.
Roll, liquid mountains, roll
Sam Splint, Dick Douse, Ben Brace, Tom Tow.
See the shore lined with gazers, the tide comes in fast
Sew up the hammock, Death has laid
She comes, she comes, in glorious style
Since fate of sailors hourly varies
Since, Jack, thou art a seaman's son
Since our foes to invade us have long been preparing
Smiling grog is the sailor's best hope, his sheet anchor
Son of the ocean isle, where sleep your mighty dead
Spanking Jack was so comely, so pleasant, so jolly
Sweet is the ship that, under sail
Sweet Nancy Nouse and Jack Jibboom
That girl who fain would choose a mate
The Albion is a noble ship .
The boatswain calls, the wind is fair.
The breeze was fresh, the ship in stays
The British tar no peril knows
The busy crew, their sails unbending,
The fight was o'er, and strew'd around
The moon on the ocean was dimm'd by a ripple
The network stow'd with hammocks all
Then farewell, my trim-built wherry
The north-east wind did briskly blow
There's some is born with their straight legs by natur
The sailor sighs as sinks his native shore .
The sea, the sea, the open sea
The sea was bright, and the bark rode well
The signal to engage shall be
The storm had ceased, the vessel striving
The storm o'er the ocean flew furious and fast
The sun hath ridden into the sky
The surge hoarsely murm'ring, young Fanny's grief

mocking

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The tar's a jolly tar that can hand, reef, and steer
The tear fell gently from her eye
The topsails shiver in the wind
The wind blew hard, the sea ran high
The wind was hush'd, the fleecy wave
The wind was hush'd, the storm was over
The Yarmouth roads are right a-head
This here's what I does-I, d'ye see, forms a notion
This life is like a troubled sea
Though laid up in port, I am not outward bound
Though mountains high the billows roll
Three fishers went sailing out into the west
Three happy years had Ben the sailor
Through winds and waves in days that are no more.
Thursday in the morn, the nineteenth of May
Tight lads hare I sail'd with, but none e'er so sightly
'Tis said that love, the more 'tis tried
'Tis said we vent'rous die-hards, when we leave the

shore
To all you ladies now at land
To ask would you come for to go
Toll for the brave
Tom Tackle was noble, was true to his word
Tom Truelove woo'd the sweetest fair
'Twas all how and about and concerning the war
'Twas in the good ship Rover
'Twas in Trafalgar's Bay
'Twas on a very stormy day, far southward of the Cape
'Twas one morn when the wind from the northward

blew keenly
'Twas post meridian, half-past four
'Twas Saturday night, the twinkling stars
'Twas when the seas were roaring
Two real tars, whom duty call'd
Up from a loblolly-boy none was so cute
Up the Mediterranin
We be three poor mariners
We tars are all for fun and glee
What argufies pride and ambition
What chance, my face set to the weather
What if the sailor boldly goes
What though I've no fortune to offer
When a boy, Harry Bluff left his friends and his home
When Britain first, at Heaven's command
When in the storm on Albion's coast
When in war on the

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When last honest Jack, of whose fate I now sing
When last in the Dreadful your honour set sail
When lightnings pierce the pitchy sky
When my money was spent that I gain'd in the wars
When once the din of war's begun
When Steerwell heard me first impart
When the anchor's weigh’d, and the ship's unmoor’
When 'tis night, and the mid-watch is come
When to weigh the boatswain's calling
When Vulcan forged the bolts of Jove
While up the shrouds the sailor goes
Whoever saw a noble sight
Why, Jack, my fine fellow, here's glorious news
Why, Tom, thou art a seaman; and may every wind
Why should the sailor take a wife
Why, what's that to you, if my eyes I'm a.wiping
Wouldst know, my lad, why every tar
Would you hear a sad story of woe
Ye free-born sons, Britannia's boast
Ye gentlemen of England
Ye mariners of England
Yet though I've no fortune to offer
You ask how it comes that I sing about Nancy
Your finikin sirs may in finery appear
Your Molly has never been false, she declares :
Your slack-jaw belay, if you ask Jack's opinion

ocean we meet the proud foe
When last from the Straits we had fairly cast anchor

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CHISWICK PRESS :-WHITTINGHAM AND WILKINS,

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