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WAS the pride of all the Thames,

My name was Natty Jerry,
The best of smarts and flashy dames

I've carried in my whorry;
For then no mortal soul like me

So merrily did jog it,
I loved my wife and friend, d’ye see,

And won the prize of Dogget.
In coat and badge, so neat and spruce,

I row'd all blithe and merry,
And every waterman did use

To call me Happy Jerry.

But times soon changed, I went to sea,

My wife and friend betray'd me, And in my absence treacherously

Some pretty frolics play'd me: Return’d, I used them like a man,

But still ’twas so provoking,
I could not 'joy my very can,

Nor even fancy smoking ;
In tarnish'd badge and coat so queer,

No longer blithe and merry,
Old friends now pass’d me with a sneer,

And call'd me Dismal Jerry.

At sea as with a dangerous wound

I lay under the surgeons,
Two friends each help I wanted found

In every emergence:

Soon after my sweet friend and wife

Into this mess had brought me,
These two kind friends who saved 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, prithee, look not sadly..
Few words are best I seized their hands,

My grateful heart grew merry,
And now, in love and friendship’s bands,

I'm once more Happy Jerry.


JIVE ear to me, both high and low,
And, while you mourn hard Fate's


Lament a tale, right full of woe,
Of comely Ned that died at sea.
His father was a commodore,

His king and country served had he;
But now his tears in torrents pour

For comely Ned that died at sea.

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 gay,

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, ʼmidst of all our glee, We from our hearts chant once a-year

For comely Ned that died at sea.


OM TRUELOVE woo'd the sweetest

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 tolld, 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 :
The moment comes-behold the foe-

Thanks, generous friend, he cried;
The second broadside laid him low-

He named 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.


F 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 bound there,
Give 'em sea-room, good fellowship, grog, and

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 every

thing 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 fellow-creature,

Well then, damme, if Jack cares who.

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.


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