MY POLL AND MY PARTNER JOE. WAS, d'ye see, a waterman, I earn'd an honest penny; None could of Fortune's favours brag My cot was snug, well fill'd my cag, I cheerfully did row; And, to complete this princely life, I roll'd in joys like these awhile, So lubberly, The press-gang came and press'd me. How could I all these pleasures leave, How with my wherry part? I never so took on to grieve, But when on board To foreign parts to go, I rued the moment I was born, From C I did my duty manfully While on the billows rolling; Could find my way, Blindfold, to the main-top bowling. Thus all the dangers of the main, Quicksands, and gales of wind I braved, in hopes to taste again The joys I left behind. In climes afar, The hottest war, Pour'd broadsides on the foe, At last it pleased his Majesty From foreign parts Came home for consolation. I rush'd, and found my friend and wife I bore my lot Tame, like a lubber-no! For, seeing I was fairly trick'd, Plump to the devil I fairly kick'd My Poll and my Partner Joe. SATURDAY NIGHT AT SEA. IS said we vent❜rous die-hards, when we Our friends should mourn, To bless their sight no more; But this is all a notion Bold Jack can't understand, No man's life's under his command; Let tempests howl, And billows roll, And dangers press: Of these in spite, there are some joys Us jolly tars to bless, For Saturday night still comes, my boys, To drink to Poll and Bess. One seaman hands the sails, another heaves the log, The purser swops Our pay for slops, The landlord sells us grog: Then each man to his station, To keep life's ship in trim: What argufies noration? Cheerly, my hearts! Boldly resolved to sink or swim; May ruin urge, And dangers press; Of these in spite, &c. For all the world, just like the ropes aboard ship, Each man's rigg'd out A vessel stout, To take for life a trip. The shrouds, the stays, the braces, Direct the sails, As on the sea of life he steers, Then let the storm Heaven's face deform, And dangers press; Of these in spite, &c. THE FLOWING CAN. SAILOR'S life's a life of woe, Bless'd with a smiling can of grog, If duty call, To fate's last verge he'll jog: He does it with a wish! Or to cat-head We sing a little, we laugh a little, If howling winds and roaring seas We headlong go, Now rise on mountains high: Spite of the gale, We hand the sail, Or take the needful reef, Or man the deck, To clear the wreck, To give the ship relief; Though perils threat around, We despise it to a man, We sing a little, &c. |