The prey being caught,

By example we're taught,
O’er the bowl the blithe chace to renew;

Then the full flowing glass,

To a favorite lass,
Is a chace we as nobly pursue.

Tantivy, tantivy, my boys, let's away, [day.
While the season invites to the sports of the

NHO' hurricanes rattle, theo teenpests appear,

We sailors have pleasure in store,
For the pride of our hearts is to hand, reef, and

steer, Weigh anchor, and bear off from shore. If contention of winds raise the waves mountains

O'er our quarters a heavy sea break, [high, At the reef tackle fall, we undauntedly ply,

Nor from danger e'er lumber-like sneak. But the storm gone a-stern, and the inain masts

erect, Then with messmates we cheerily sing, May our navy, for ever, old England protect,

Our laws, constitution, and King. Why lately, we espied, 'fore the jib right a-head,

A three-decker, trim, gallant, and gay, And thwart of her poop a Frenchensign was spread,

That the tri-colour'd stripes did display; Then by skill of our helmsman, the weather-gage

got, And soon as a-long side her we lay, We so pepper'd her hull, and her masts away

shot, That to strike she was forc’d to obey:

So we took her in tow, and to Plymouth direct, Where our crew did all manfully sing,

Thus our navy shall ever old England protect, Our laws, constitution, and King,

VIIE silent hour of midnight reigns,

And he whose heart is free from care,
Hears not the soul that deep complains,

Nor in its murmurs takes a share; The sighing winds, the trembling breeze,

A moment stay to hear my woes, Then softly flutter thro' the trees,

And leave the foliage to repose.

Seduc'd by flattery's silver tongue,
The tempter, man,

beheld and smil'd, And while the Syren sweetly sung,

My heart by simp'ring Love was guil'd: But left forlorn on earth's wild waste,

Shame's mourning daughter then was I, Shynn'd by the virtuous and the chaste,

Alone to weep, alone to sigh.

But ah! ye maids, some pity give
To her

whom softness led astray, And by a silent tear relieve

The breast where many sorrows lay.
And O! ye Fates, tho' hard is mine,

Return not evil on his head,
But all your kindly powers combine,

To measure blessings in its stead.



T early dawn, from humble cot,

Where dreams did ne'er with guilt affright, Poor Lima, cheerful at her lot,

To labour rose with true delight;
And as she milk'd her gentle goats,

Or at her distaff closely plied,
The lark and thrush, with thrilling notes,

Oft' to her woodbine window hied,
Te-wit, te-wit, good morrow,
Poor and content, can know no sorrow.

When shades of night o‘erwhelm'd the plain,

And dying embers scarce would glow: Poor Lima sought her cot again,

To sleep, which peace can only know: To give her wearied spirits rest,

The nightingale in plaintive strain, Perch'd on the hawthorn near her nest,

Lulld not to sweet repose in vain, Te-wit, te-wit, te wit, good night, Poor and content must dream delight.

S4Y, smiling, nymph, where is thy blest abode ?

In what kind climate is thy happy reigo? Or whiere thy pleasing influence is pour’d?

For long I've sought it, but have sought in vain.

Where e'er thou art 'tis thine to soften woes;

On thee alone man's happiness depends ; Without thee earthly riches are but foes,

'Tis thou, and only thou canst be his friend.

If thou art present, every thing is good;

The meanest cottage, or the coarsest fare, May vie with palaces or dainty food,

Or all the honours that e'er wealth can bear,

Then gracious heaven vouchsafe to hear my pray",

That whatsoever good to me thou'st lent; Or whatsoever be the ills I bear,

I learn in every state to be content,

H! the hours I have pass'd in the arms of

my dear, Can never be thought on but with a sad tear: Oh! forbear, Oh ! forbear, then, to mention her

name, It recalls to my mem’ry the cause of my pain,

How often to love me she fondly hath sworn, And when parted from me would near cease to

mourn, All hardships for me she would cheerfully bear, And at night, on my boson, forget all her care.

To some distant climate, together we'll roam, And forget all the hardships we meet with at home: Fate now be propitious, and grant me thine aid, Give me my Pastora, and I'm more than sepaid.



TOMMY, Tommy, brother Johnny's dying,

Pretty little Sally sits beside him crying, Mother's not at home, she's a market making, Pretty little Sally's in a dismal taking: Fatal day, fatal day of heavy inourning, Johnny's going fast, whence there's no returning.

O Tommy, Tommy, &c.

TO Gib. we steerd; the Gut

had made;
A floating castle hove in sight:
Each tar no coward heart betray'd,

For all were eager for the fight.
Three glasses wanting, one bare quarter,

When close upon her side we stood ;
And pour'd old Mars 'twixt wind and water,

That made her gulp the briny flood.

The battle now commenc'd, and borne

With zealous ardour by each crew;
The decks bestrew'd with bodies shorn,

And trickling gore of erimson hue.
Hark! hear the murmurs of the wounded;

Death stares each hero in the face;
Where many noble hearts lie grounded,

While others ev'ry post embrace.

Tom at the gun with portfire stood,

Quickly to fire the thund'ring piece; A ruthless ball dispers’d his blood,

And laid the shatter'd tar in peace.

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