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JACK AT GREENWICH.
E 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 middle; And roast the pig, and toe the heel,
All going with the fiddle;
To chase the foe advancing,
And, damme, spoilt my dancing.
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. But just as I'd the knack on't got,
And did it pretty middling, I lost
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 call’d down my gun to man,
To tip it with the gravy, I gave three cheers, and took the can,
To drink the British Navy:
Or got it to my muzzle,
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. 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, or friend, or king in, 'Twill no easy thing, I think,
Damme, to spoil my singing.
THE SAILOR'S JOURNAL.
WAS 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 taughtening 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 inclin'd
While tender thoughts rush'd 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. 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 fancyBut love seem'd to forbid the waves
To snatch me from the arms of Nancy!
Scarce the foul hurricane had clear'd,
Scarce winds 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 light’ning 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
nd 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!
WEET is the ship that, under sail,
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,
A curious lesson teaches man;
Let seamanship do all it can ;
My faith and truth to lovely Nan.
When in the bilboes I was penn'd
And every creature from me ran;
None hail'd me, woman, child, or man;
I'd all the world in lovely Nan.
I love my duty, love my friend,
To mourn their loss who hazard ran;
By manners love to show the man;
First made me dote on lovely Nan.