The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
The sails their swelling bosom spread;
No longer must she stay on board-
They kiss’d, she sigh’d, he hung his head :
Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land,
“ Adieu !" she cried, and waved her lily hand.


DAVID GARRICK, born 1716, died 1779.

The music by DR. ARNE.
OME cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we

To add something more to this wonderful

To honour we call you, not press you like slaves,
For who are so free as the sons of the waves ?

Hearts of oak are our ships,
Gallant tars are our men,
We always are ready,
Steady, boys, steady,
We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.

We ne'er see our foes but we wish them to stay,
They never see us but they wish us away;
If they run, why we follow, or run them ashore,
For, if they won't fight us, we cannot do more.

Hearts of oak, &c.

They swear they'll invade us, these terrible foe They frighten our women, our children, our beaux,

But should their flat bottoms in darkness get o'er, Still Britons they'll find to receive them on shore.

Hearts of oak, &c.

Britannia triumphant, her ships sweep the sea,
Her standard is justice, her watchword, “ Be free."
Then cheer up, my lads ! with one heart let us sing
“Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, and king.”

Hearts of oak, &c.


THOMAS DIBDIN's “ English Fleet.Music by


HEN Vulcan forged the bolts of Jove

In Etna's roaring glow,
Neptune petition’d he might prove

Their use and power below;
But finding in the boundless deep
Their thunders did but idly sleep,
He with them arm'd Britannia's hand,
To guard from foes her native land.

Long may she hold the glorious right;

And when through circling flame
She darts her thunder in the fight,

May justice guide her aim !
And when opposed in future wars,
Her soldiers brave and gallant tars
Shall launch her fires from every hand
On every foe to Britain's land.

Thomas Dibdin's English Fleet." Music by

ESERTED by the waning moon,
When skies proclaim night's cheerless


On tower, or fort, or tented ground, The sentry walks his lonely round; And should a footstep haply stray Where caution marks the guarded way: “Who goes there? Stranger, quickly tell.” “A friend.” « The word ?“Good night.”

“ All's well.” Or sailing on the midnight deep, When weary messmates soundly sleep, The careful watch patrols the deck, To guard the ship from foes or wreck ; And while his thoughts oft homewards veer Some friendly voice salutes his ear“What cheer? Brother, quickly tell.” Above." « Below.“Good night.” “All's



THE ARETHUSA. By PRINCE HOARE, born 1754, died 1834. Music by SHIELD, in the Opera of The Lock and Key."

OME, all ye jolly sailors bold,

Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould,
While English glory I unfold-

Huzza to the Arethusa !

She is a frigate tight and brave
As ever stemm’d the dashing wave,

Her men are staunch

To their favourite launch,
And when the foe shall meet our fire
Sooner than strike we'll all expire

On board of the Arethusa.

'Twas with the spring fleet she went out,
The English Channel to cruise about,
When four French sail, in shore so about,

Bore down on the Arethusa.
The famed Belle Poule straight ahead did lie
The Arethusa secm'd to fly:

Not a sheet or a tack,

Or a brace did she slack; Though the Frenchmen laugh’d, and thought it stuff; But they knew not the handful of men how tough

On board of the Arethusa.

On deck five hundred men did dance,
The stoutest they could find in France;
We with two hundred did advance

On board of the Arethusa.
Our captain hail'd the Frenchman, “Ho !"
The Frenchman then cried out, “ Hollo!”

“ Bear down, d’ye see,

To our admiral's lee." “No, no!” says the Frenchman, “that can't be." " Then I must lug you along with me,”

Says the saucy Arethusa.

The fight was off the Frenchman's land;
We forced them back upon the strand;

For we fought till not a stick would stand

Of the gallant Arethusa.
And now we've driven the foe ashore,
Never to fight with Britons more,

Let each fill a glass

To his fav’rite lass,
A health to the captain and officers true,
And all that belong to the jovial crew

On board of the Arethusa.



'M a tough true-hearted sailor,

Careless and all that, d’ye see, Never at the times a railer

What is time or tide to me? All must wher ate shall will it,

Providence ordains it so: Every bullet has its billet

Man the boat, boys.-Yo, heave yo!

Life's at best a sea of trouble,

He who fears it is a dunce; Death to me's an empty bubble,

I can never die but once. Blood, if duty bids, I'll spill it;

Yet I have a tear for woe : Every bullet has its billet

Man the boat, boys.—Yo, heave yo!

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