ET though I've no fortune to offer,

I've something to put on a par; Come, then, and accept of my proffer,

"Tis the kind honest heart of a tar.

Ne'er let such a trifle as this is,

Girls, be to my pleasure a bar,
You'll be rich, though 'tis only in kisses,

With the kind honest heart of a tar.

Besides, I'm none of your ninnies;

The next time I come from afar, I'll give you a lap full of guineas,

With the kind honest heart of a tar.

Your lords, with such fine baby faces,

That strut in a garter and star, Have they, under their tambour and laces,

The kind honest heart of a tar?

I've this here to say now, and mind it,

If love, that no hazard can mar,
You are seeking, you'll certainly find it

In the kind honest heart of a tar.


ND did you not hear of a jolly young

waterman, Who at Blackfriars' bridge used for to

ply? He feather’d his oars with such skill and dexterity,

Winning each heart, and delighting each eye. He look'd so neat, and he row'd so steadily, The maidens all flock'd to his boat so readily; And he eyed the young rogues with so charming an air, That this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.

What sights of fine folks he oft row'd in his wherry,

'Twas clean’d out so nice, and so painted withal : He was always first oars when the fine city ladies

In a party to Ranelagh went, or Vauxhall. And oftentimes would they be giggling and leering, But 'twas all one to Tom their gibing and jeering, For loving or liking he little did care, For this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.

And yet but to see how strangely things happen,

As he row'd along thinking of nothing at all, He was plied by a damsel so lovely and charming, That she smiled, and so straightway in love he

did fall. And would this young damsel but banish his sorrow, He'd wed her to-night, before to-morrow; Then how should this waterman ever know care, When he's married, and never in want of a fare?


HAT girl who fain would choose a mate

Should ne'er in fondness fail her,
May thank her lucky stars if fate

Should splice her to a sailor.
He braves the storm, the battle's heat,

The yellow boys to nail her; Diamonds, if diamonds she could eat,

Would seek her honest sailor.

If she'd be constant, still his heart

She's sure will never fail her;
For, though a thousand leagues apart,

Still faithful is her sailor.
If she be false, still he is kind,

And, absent, does bewail her;
Her trusting as he trusts the wind,

Still faithless to the sailor.

A butcher can provide her prog,

Three threads to drink, a tailor;
What's that to biscuit and to grog,

Procured her by her sailor ?
She who would such a mate refuse,

The devil sure must ail her;
Search round, and, if you're wise, you'll choose

To wed an honest sailor.


HEN last from the Straits we had fairly

cast anchor, I went, bonny Kitty to hail, With quintables stored, for our voyage

was a spanker, And bran new was every sail; But I knew well enough how, with words sweet as

honey, They trick us poor tars of our gold, And when the sly gipsies have finger'd the money,

The bag they poor Jack give to hold. So I chased her, d’ye see, my lads, under false colours,

Swore my riches were all at an end, That I'd sported away all my good-looking dollars,

And borrow'd my togs of a friend. O then, had you seen her! no longer “ my honey,"

'Twas varlet, audacious, and bold; [money, Begone from my sight! now you've spent all your

For Kitty the bag you may hold.
With that I took out double handfuls of shiners,

And scornfully bid her good bye; 'Twould have done your heart good, had you then

seen her fine airs, How she'd leer, and she'd sob, and she'd sigh. But I stood well the broadside; while jewel and honey

She call’d me, I put up the gold,
And bearing away, as I sack'd all the money,

Left the bag for Ma'am Kitty to hold.


F tars of their money are lavish,

I say, brother, take this from me, 'Tis because we're not muck-worms, nor

slavish, Like lubbers who ne'er go to sea. What's cunning, and such quivocation,

And them sly maneuvres to we? To be roguish is no valuation

To hearties who plough the salt sea.

As for cheating-light-weights and short measures,

And corruption, and brib'ry, d’ye see, They never embitter the pleasures

Of good fellows who plough the salt sea. You've ashore, actions, writs, cesseraries,

And regiments of counsel to fee; Jack knows not of such like vagaries

We never trust lawyers at sea.

'Tis said that, with grog and our lasses,

Because jolly sailors are free, Our money we squander like asses,

Which like horses we earn'd when at sea. But let them say this, that, or other,

In one thing they're forced to agree, Honest hearts find a friend and a brother

In each worthy that ploughs the salt sea.

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