Her rigging's tight for every tack,

Her plank without a starter;
The gallant Union is her jack,

Her sheathing Magna Charta.

How gallantly she bears her port,

The ocean's pride and dread;
The envied cap of liberty

Adorns her glorious head;
Her pride is commerce to increase,

In war she is no starter;
But may she anchor long in peace,

Secured by Magna Charta!


Thomas DIBDIN.

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EN BLOCK was a vet’ran of naval renown,

And renown was his only reward ;
For the Board still neglected his merits

to crown,
As no int’rest he held with my lord.
Yet as brave as old Benbow was sturdy old Ben,

And he'd laugh at the cannon’s loud roar, When the death-dealing broadside made worm's

meat of men, And the scuppers were streaming with gore.

Nor could a lieutenant's poor stipend provoke

The staunch tar to despise scanty grog ; For his biscuit he'd break, turn his quid, crack his joke,

And drown care in a jorum of grog.

Thus, year after year, in a subaltern state,

Poor Ben for his king fought and bled, Till time had unroof'd all the thatch from his pate,

And the hair from his temples had fled.

When on humbly saluting, with sinciput bare,

A First Lord of the Admiralty once, Quoth his lordship, “ Lieutenant, you've lost all your

hair, Since I last had a peep at your sconce." Why, my lord,” replied Ben, “it with truth may

be said, While a bald pate I long have stood under, There have so many captains walk'd over my head,

That to see me quite scalp'd 'twere no wonder."

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Music by SHIELD.


THEN Steerwell heard me first impart

Our brave commander's story, With ardent zeal, his youthful heart

Swell’d high for naval glory. Resolved to gain a valiant name,

For bold adventures eager, When first a little cabin-boy, on board the Fame,

He would hold on the jigger, While ten jolly tars, with musical Joe, Heave the anchor a-peak, singing, Yo, heave ho!

To hand top-gallant sail next he learn'd

With quickness, care, and spirit,

Whose gen'rous master then discern'd

And prized his dawning merit.
He taught him soon to reef and steer,

When storms convulsed the ocean,
Where shoals made skilful vet’rans fear,

Which mark'd him for promotion.
As none to the pilot e'er answer'd like he,
When he gave the command, hard-a-port, helm-

a-lee !
Luff, boys, luff, keep her near,

Clear the buoy, make the pier.
None to the pilot e'er answer'd like he,
When he gave the command, in the pool or at sea,

Hard a port, helm-a-lee !

And now,

For valour, skill, and worth renown'd,
The foe he oft defeated,

with fame and fortune crown'd,
Post-captain he is rated;
Who, should our injured country bleed,

Still bravely will defend her;
Now blest with peace, if beauty plead,

He'll prove his heart is tender;
Unawed, yet mild to high or low,

To poor or wealthy, friend or foe;
Wounded tars share his wealth ;

All the fleet drink his health,
Prized be such hearts, for aloft they will go,
Which always are ready compassion to show

To a brave conquer'd foe.




RAVE Oakum, Mainbrace, honest Jack,

Mat Midships, too, was there,
Who'd the compass box, knew every tack,

Could hand well, reef, and steer;
The glasses jingled, mirth went round,

We trollă a merry glee;
And while carousing on dry ground,

To our messmates drank at sea.

Sall Spriggins, who was there, d’ye mind,

And she was all my pride,
Said, while with tears her eyes were blind,

And we sat side by side,
“Dear Jack," said she, “my heart will break

When you are far from me.”
“ Lord, Sall,” says I, “a noggin take

To our messmates out at sea.

A thousand other toasts we gave,

With mirth our cabins ring;
“ May a Briton never be a slave !

The navy! George our king!”
At length (from toping I ne'er shrunk)

It somehow seem'd to me
I could see plainest when blind drunk,

To my messmates drink at sea.

Love of our isle my heart commands,

For Briton's fame I burn,
Where native freedom pipes all hands,

And steps from stem to stern;
From death or glory I'll ne'er shrink,

But douse life's colours free; Yet while at anchor here I'll drink

To my messmates out at sea.


ISTRESS me with those tears no more;

One kiss, my girl, and then adieu ! The last boat destined for the shore

Waits, dearest girl, alone for you. Soon, soon, before the light winds borne,

Shall I be sever'd from your sight; You left the lonely hours to mourn,

And weep through many a stormy night.

While far along the restless deep,

In trim array the ship shall steer, Your form remembrance still shall keep,

Your work affection still revere : And with the distance from your eyes,

My love for you shall be increased; As to the pole the needle flies,

And farthest off still varies least.

While round the bowl the jovial crew

Shall sing of triumphs on the main,

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