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Though poor, some will take her in tow, to defend

her, And again, some are all for the rich; As to I, so she's young, her heart honest and tender,

Why then, damme, if Jack cares which.

Why now, if they go for to talk about living,

My eyes—why a little will serve:
Let each a small part of his pittance be giving,

And who in this nation can starve?
Content’s all the thing—rough or calm be the weather,

The wind on the beam or the bow,
So honestly he can splice both ends together,

Why then, damme, if Jack cares how.

And then for a bring-up, d’ye see, about dying,

On which such racket they keep,
What argufies if in a churchyard you're lying,

Or find out your grave in the deep ?
Of one thing we're certain, whatever our calling,

Death will bring us all up—and what then ?-
So his conscience's tackle will bear overhauling,

Why then, damme, if Jack cares when.



HY should the sailor take a wife,

Since he was born to roam, And lead at sea a wand'ring life,

Far from his friends and home ? When fate comes riding

the gale, And dreadful hurricanes assail

The tar's astonish'd ear,
How could he resolution form,
How, whistling, mock the roaring storm,

But for his Nancy dear?

For battle should the ship be clear’d,

As death when all is still,.
Save from some tar a murmuring's heard,

Who sighs, and makes his will: “My watch, my 'bacco pouch I give To Tom for her, should I not live,

To my fond heart so near.”
Nor could he smile, the fight grown hot,
And, whistling, mock the flying shot,

But for his Nancy dear.

When hissing flames now reach the sky,

Now in the ocean dip,
And, as to climb the shrouds they fly,

Grasp the devoted ship;-
How, whi

a yawning watery grave
(Sole chance from fire the crew to save)

Threats, could he calm appear ?
How quit the vessel scarce afloat-
How, whistling, board the crowded boat,

But for his Nancy dear ?

When shipwreck'd many leagues from home,

The remnant of the crew
Bewail some Dick, or Jack, or Tom,

Whom well they loved and knew :
And, while by strangers kindly fed,
Who, as they hear the story, spread

Their hospitable cheer-
How could he on such misery think,
Yet, whistling, put about the drink,

But for his Nancy dear?
And last, when hungry, faint, and sore,

Through dạnger and delay,
Forced, hard extreme! from door to door

To beg his vagrant way;
But see, his toils are all forgot;
Hark, hark! within her humble cot,

In accents sweet and clear,
She sings the subject of her pain,
He, whistling, echoes back the strain

He taught his Nancy dear.



HEN once the din of war's begun

That heroes so delight in, Armies are conquer'd, cities won,

By bloodshed and brave fighting. The trumpet sounds! the columns march,

Friends from dear friends are sunder'd; Prepared is the triumphal arch,

And the fall’n foe are plunder'd.
All this, I own, deserves a name,
And truly in the rolls of fame

Pourtrays a marking feature:
Yet give me bravery from the heart,
From self divested, and apart,

Exceeding mortal nature,
That rushes through devouring waves,
And, like a guardian angel, saves

A sinking fellow-creature.

In equal balance to maintain

The barriers of each nation,
Thus ever did stern Fate ordain

Slaughter should thin creation.
The trumpet sounds ! his native land

Each tries to save from slavery;
While in the contest, hand in hand,

Walk clemency and bravery.
All this, I own, deserves a name,
And stands in the records of fame,

A truly marking feature:
Yet give me bravery from the heart,
From self divested, and apart-
Type of celestial nature,

That rushes, &c.


F ever a sailor was fond of good sport

'Mongst the girls, why that sailor was I; Of all sizes and sorts, I'd a wife at each

port; But when that I saw'd Polly Ply, I hail'd her my lovely, and gov'd her a kiss,

And swore to bring up once for all, And from that time Black Barnaby spliced us to this,

I've been constant and true to my Poll.

And yet now all sorts of temptations I've stood,

For I afterwards sail'd round the world,
And a queer set we saw of the devil's own brood,

Wherever our sails were unfurld:
Some with faces like charcoal, and others like chalk,

All ready one's heart to o’erhaul, “ Don't you go to love me, my good girl," said I,

“ walk;

I've sworn to be constant to Poll."

I met with a squaw out at India beyond,

All in glass and tobacco-pipes drest; What a dear, pretty monster! so kind and so fond,

That I ne'er was a moment at rest; With her bobs at her nose, and her quaw, quaw, quaw,

All the world like a Bartlemy doll, Says I, “ You, Miss Copperskin, just hold your jaw;

I've sworn to be constant to Poll.”

Then one near Sumatra, just under the line,

As fond as a witch in a play,
I loves you, says she, and just only be mine,

Or by poison I'll take you away. “ Curse your kindness,” says I, “but you can't

frighten me, You don't catch a gudgeon this haul, If I do take your ratsbane, why then, do you see,

I shall die true and constant to Poll.”

But I’scaped from them all, tawny, lily, and black,

And merrily weather'd each storm, And, my neighbours to please, full of wonders came

back, But, what's better, I'm grown pretty warm.

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