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Meantime each wife, to honour true,
Labour'd in her vocation,
Young tars to guard the nation:
Success each sailor busies; They took an Acapulco-man,
And brought their wives the tizzies.
And now was crown'd each sailor's joys,
The foe had cried peccavi;
Had launch'd a growing navy.
And shout, with smiling phizzes,
Who freights his tars with tizzies.
NOW SAFE MOOR'D.
OW safe moor'd, with bowl before us,
Messmates, heave a hand with me;, Lend a brother sailor chorus,
While he sings our lives at sea.
O'er the wide wave-swelling ocean,
Toss'd aloft or humbled low, As to fear, 'tis all a notion
When our time's come, we must go.
A HISTORY OF THE WAR.
WAS all how and about and concerning
And the glory of Britain's bold navy; And the different brushes, and what 'twas
all for, That the whistle of Fame had sung out sea and shore; For when British bull-dogs begin for to roar,
French, and Spaniards, and Dutch cry peccavi.
For the war how it happen'd, and what 'twas about, That's nothing to we—tars must do what they're
bid; So all I can tell you, the war once broke out,
They told us to lick 'em, and lick 'em we did. As to order and such, you don't get that from me; I shall, just as they come, speak of actions that's
past : So they did us but honour, as lords of the sea, It don't matter a damn which came first or which
Why, now, there was Howe and the glorious first of June; then there was Jarvis, when he beat the Spaniards fifteen to twenty-seven; Duncan with his hard blows with the Dutch; Nelson, and the Nile; but, lud ! 'tis nonsense to tell you about the grand affairs. Our great-grandchildren and their greatgrandchildren will read about it, you know, in almanacks and things, just as people read of the hard frost and the fire of London. It is the neat little brushes that I intends to talk to you about. There was Pellew and the Hamphin: don't you remember pegging away at that seventy-four, just for all the world like two school-boys licking a great hulking fellow? Then there was Fawkener: who would not have died like Fawkener ? And then there was Cooke, in the East Indies—he fell nobly, too: damme if I would not as soon be Cooke as Fawkener. But avast! avast! there was another brave fellowindeed, there was plenty of brave fellows, if that was all—but I mean Hood, in the Mars; just saw the Hercules strike, and died. Hollo ! zounds, I shall be swabbing my bows if I go on at this rate; staywhat was there else? Oh, there was the brush with the La Pomone; and then, you know, Sir Sidney, he did some neat things; and then there was Trollope, in the Glutton; and there was, you know, there was—damme if I know what there was, but
'Twas all how, &c. As to me, I ain't learn’d, for I can't read or write:
But what's writing or reading, or any such arts ? To find their due praise, for their country that fight, We must read from our mem'ries what's writ on
our hearts. Not that heroes e'er brag, or for flattery sue
True brav'ry was never yet known to be vain; And the thanks and the honours, so nobly their due,
By deeds, not by words, gallant Britons obtain.
Why, what could be so glorious, you know, as Pellew, when he took the Cleopatra, boarded her, and struck her colours ? Then there was Saumarez, off Cherbourg, took the Reunion, killed and wounded a hundred and twenty, without the loss of a single British seaman. Both knighted and barrowknighted; that's right: some sense to fight for a country like this. In short, we worked them; we took Neptune, and Fortune, and Victory; but for the matter of that, we had all this on our side before. Then we took Liberty—that was just bringing coals to Newcastle, you know; Glory, ditto repeated; after that we took Immortality, but they did not care much about that; and then, at last, we took their Constitution—that was nonsense—we had a good constitution of our own. Then we took Resistance, and Freedom, and Fame, and Concord ;-damme! we took almost everything from them but the palaver, and that they are welcome to. Well, then we took all the Saints from the Spaniards, and then we took from the Dutch–I don't know what the devil we took from the Dutch, with their cursed hard names, but
'Twas all how and about and concerning the war,
And the glory of Britain's bold navy; And the different brushes, and what 'twas all for, That the whistle of Fame has sung out sea and shore: For when British bull-dogs begin for to roar,
The prettiest shall soon cry peccavi.
THE SAILOR'S BRING-UP.
HAT chance, my face set to the weather,
That if so be as I
We all of us must die.
And, since each subject in the nation
One common lot must share,
Of how, or when, or where?
Let every heart be sound;
We all are outward bound.
Just hear the chaplain's story, glowing
With all that's good and wise;
The scuppers are his eyes.
And then he'll preach and pray,
Come, sport the grog, &c.
Now, we'd a chaplain, rum and jolly,
And holy, too, though free, That said all grieving is a folly;
And said besides, says he, “ That tar, though he may love droll stories
Of fun and gig and sport, In's king, and wife, and friend who glories, Will find in heaven a port !” Then sport the grog,
A messmate now,
should breakers catch him, And gasping should he lay, To whimper, or from death to snatch him,
Pray which is the best way?