No, lads! in spite of every railer, Will prove not only the best sailor, Then sport the grog, &c. Mercy is nature in a tar, And best becomes the brave; He'll rush where death and danger jar, You'll hear from every one you meet They're drubb'd; we've nabb'd the Russian fleet, And saved, perhaps, the world. Then sport the grog, &c. HARK! THE BOATSWAIN. JARK! the boatswain hoarsely bawling— By topsail sheets and haulyards stand, boys; Down top-gallants, down be hauling; Down your stay-sails-hand, boys-hand, boys! Now set the braces Don't make wry faces But the lee topsail sheet let go. Starboard here, larboard there; Turn your quid, take a swear—yo, yo, yo! As the tide flows, so time passes;— A full broadside pour To those girls on shore Who let sailors take them in tow. Starboard here, &c. Though the tempest swells the billows, Heave the lead, sound the bowl, Mark above water thus we go. Starboard here, &c. THE IRISH SAILOR. H! to hand, reef, and steer, is the thing sailors prize! When we'd toast Bet and Poll on some shammock, I'd hand round the glass, take a reef in my eyes, Sing the perils of tars, that lead such happy lives, Wid their foes and their friends, and their sweethearts and wives! You'd be charm'd to the life, were it not for your fears, 149 Then though shot-holes and leaks leave wide open Death's doors, And the chances against you are various, Storms are all gig and fun-but for breakers and shores; Fights are safe-were they not so precarious. Sing the perils, &c. Why, one day, as I tumbled down plump from the shrouds, As neat as a bird or a fairy, "Where the devil did you come from?" cried one"from the clouds?" "Did I come from?-Arrah fait! Tipperary." Then that time when we sail'd wid the wind in our mouth, Old Boreas to keep to his tether, Fait! the compass I cunningly nail'd to the south, WHAT IF THE SAILOR BOLDLY GOES? HAT if the sailor boldly goes, To distant climates bound Braves wind from every point that blows The varying compass round? No longer when compell'd to rove, To make him rich amends, As the needle true, he finds his love, His country, and his friends. Thus every danger life endures, Pleasure that waits at home: He braves the storm, that calm to prove As the needle true to find his love, NELSON AND WARREN. SAY my heart, why here's your works! They'll lose both their army and navy. So of thirteen large ships he left Mounseer but two, Just to tell the Direct'ry the story. Then of England, and England's brave tars, let us sing, Let's be loyal to honour, to truth, and the king, To destroy, burn, and sink, his orders were; So you see the despatches was easily stow'd, So "ship to ship" was next the word; Master Brueys, how sweet they did sarve him; For when a bold Briton sits down to his bird, He pretty well knows how to carve him : Thus with one of his precious limbs shot away, Bold Nelson know'd well how to nick 'em; So as for the French, 'tis as much as to say, We can tie up one hand, and then lick 'em. Then of England, &c. But with France 'tis all up, they are meeting their fate; They've thrown down their basket of crockery; And vengeance like this will o'ertake, soon or late, All who make of religion a mockery. Then of England, that wonderful country, sing, But while we're about it, let's loudly blend While Fame shall sing out the glad news with a smile, Speak our valorous acts from the mouth of the Nile, All the way to the banks of the Shannon. Then of England, &c. |