THE wind blew hard, the sea ran high,

The dingy scud drove 'cross the sky,
All was safe lash'd, the bowl was slung,

When careless thus Ned Haulyard sung:
A sailor's life's the life for me,
He takes his duty merrily;
If winds can whistle, he can sing ;
Still faithful to his friend and king;
He gets beloved by all the ship,
And toasts his girl, and drinks his flip.

Down topsails, boys, the gale comes on,
To strike top-gallant yards they run,
And now to hand the sail prepared,
Ned cheerful sings upon the yard,

A sailor's life, &c.

A leak! a leak !-come, lads, be bold,
There's five foot water in the hold;
Eager on deck see Haulyard jump,
And bark, while working at the pump,

A sailor's life, &c.

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And see! the vessel nought can save
She strikes, and finds a wat’ry grave!
Yet Ned preserved, with a few more,
Sings, as he treads a foreign shore,

A sailor's life, &c.

And now—unnumber'd perils past
On land, as well as sea—at last,
In tatters to his Poll and home
See honest Haulyard singing come,

A sailor's life, &c.

Yet for poor Haulyard what disgrace,
Poll swears she never saw his face !
He damns her for a faithless she,
And, singing, goes again to sea :

A sailor's life, &c.


YHE breeze was fresh, the ship in stays,

Each breaker hush'd, the shore a haze,
When Jack, no more on duty callid,

His true-love's tokens overhaul'd:
The broken gold, the braided hair,
The tender motto, writ so fair,
Upon his 'bacco-box he views,
Nancy the poet, Love the muse:

“ If you loves I as I loves you,
No pair so happy as we two."


The storm—that like a shapeless wreck
Had strew'd with rigging all the deck,
That tars for sharks had given a feast,
And left the ship a hulk—had ceased;
When Jack, as with his messmates dear
He red the grog, their hearts to cheer,

Took from his 'bacco box a quid,
And spelt, for comfort, on the lid,
“ If

loves I as I loves you, No pair so happy as we two.”

The battle that with horror grim
Had madly ravaged life and limb,
Had scuppers drench'd with human gore,
And widow'd many a wife-was o'er;
When Jack to bis companions dear
First paid the tribute of a tear;
Then, as his 'bacco-box he held,
Restored his comfort, as he spellid,

If you loves I as I loves you,
No pair so happy as we two.”

The voyage--that had been long and hard,
But that had yielded full reward;
That brought each sailor to his friend,
Happy and rich-was at an end :
When Jack, his toils and perils o'er,
Beheld his Nancy on the shore ;
He then the 'bacco-box display'd,
And cried, and seized the willing maid,

If you loves I as I loves you,
No pair so happy as we two.”


OME, all hands ahoy to the anchor,

From our friends and relations to go : Poll blubbers and cries, devil thank her,

She'll soon take another in tow.
This breeze, like the old one, will kick us

About on the boisterous main;
And one day, if Death should not trick us,

Perhaps we may come back again.
With a will-ho, then pull away, jolly boys,

At the mercy of fortune we go;
We're in for 't, then damme what folly, boys,

For to be down-hearted, yo ho !

Our Boatswain takes care of the rigging,

More 'specially when he gets drunk;
The bubstays supply him with swigging,

He the cable cuts up for old junk.
The studding-sail serves for his hammock,

With the clew-lines he bought him his call,
While ensigns and jacks in a mammock,
He sold to buy trinkets for Poll.

With a will-ho, &c.

Of the Purser this here is the maxim,

Slops, grog, and provision he sacks: How he'd look if you was but to ax him,

With the captain's clerk who 'tis goes snacks? Oh, he'd find it another guess story,

That would bring his bare back to the cat, If his Majesty's honour and glory Was only just told about that.

With a will-ho, &c.
Our Chaplain's both holy and godly,

And sets us for heaven agog;
Yet to my mind he looks rather oddly,

When he's swearing and drinking of grog: When he took on his knee Betty Bowser,

And talk'd of her beauty and charms, Cried I, Which is the way to heaven now, Sir ? Why, you dog, cried the Chaplain, her arms.

With a will-ho, &c. The Gunner's a devil of a bubber,

The Carfindo can't fish a mast,
The Surgeon's a lazy land lubber,

The Master can't steer if he's ast;
The Lieutenants conceit are all wrapp'd in,

The Mates scarcely merit their flip,
Nor is there a swab, but the Captain,
Knows the stem from the stern of the ship.

With a will-ho, &c.
Now, fore and aft having abused them,

Just but for my fancy and gig,
Could I find any one that ill-used them,

Damme, but I'd tickle his wig.
Jack never was known for a railer, —

'Twas fun every word that I spoke, And the sign of a true-hearted sailor Is to give and to take a good joke.

With a will-ho, &c.

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