Great Neptune, from the depths of Nile,

Survey'd the dread commotion ;
Well pleas'd to see his fav’rite isle

Still mistress of the ocean.
Then, whilst the social minutes pass,

To British courage true, boys,
To Nelson fill the sparkling glass,

And Nelson's noble crew, boys.

Twelcome mirth and harmless glee,

Wè ramble Minstrels, blithe and free;
With song the laughing hours beguile,
And wear a never fading smile.

Where'er we roam, we find a home,
And greeting to reward our toil.

We sing of Love, its hopes, its fears ;
Of perjur'd swains, and damsel's tears;
Of eyes that speak the heart's warm glow,
And sighs that tell the bosom's woe.

O’er hills and plains, we breathe our strains,
Through summer's heat and winter's snow,

No anxious griefs disturb our rest,
Nor busy cares annoy the breast,
Fearless we sink in soft repose,
While night her sable mantle throws:

With grateful lay, hail rising day,
That rosy Health and Peace bestows.



Contemning indolence and ease, In Albion's cause I courted dauger,

And vent'rous plough'd the stormy seas; I dreaded not the cannon's thunder,

Let bullets range their wonted scope, Or tempests split our bark asunder,

The tar's sheet-anchor still is Hope.

In hammock lull'd to sleep, or waking,

The mid-watch come, or slung the bowl, Or signal-guns, distress bespeaking,

Implore for aid, while tempests howl. Or when the battle's heat is raging,

With force superior Britons cope, The mind to placid ease 'assuaging,

The tar's sheet-anchor still is Hope.

Of all the words in the lexicon,

Not one to my poor thinking
Can make a man so wise a Don

As those in use for drinking;
To say he's drunk, so coarse the sound,

That Bacchus ask'd Apollo
To give some terms, in wit profound,
And he the phrase would follow.

With a fal, lal, fa, &c.

When When ladies drink, then they’re gay;

But to a toping gypsey.
Of vulgar rank, we sneering say,

Upon my soul she's tipsey.
When lords are bubb’d, they're in the sun,

And cits are mighty muddled,
But when a husband up is done,
The wife cries, deary's fuddled.

With a fal, lal, la, &c.

When Jack is grogg’d, he's shipp'd his beer,

He cries, your half seas over;
And bosky Damon roars, “ My dear,

* I'm prim'd just for a lover.'
And some are rocky, some are muzz'd,

And some disguis'd and mellow; But goddesses must now be buss'd, For I'm a merry fellow.

With a fal, lal, la, &c.

WHEN Britain on the foaming main,

Her native reign,
Bids her sons ber rights declare;
Soon as her fires have taught her foe

Again to know
Who their dauntless conquerors are.

The sailor's bosom swells with joy,
Beyond the glory to destroy,


He feels the pow'r to save; And, conqu’ring views a foe no more In him who sought his life before,

But lifts him from the wave.

Though seas are rolling mountains high,

Our boats we ply,
'Tis a fellow-creature falls
See him raise his hands in fear,

And wond'ring hear
The cheering voice that life recalls.

The sailor's bosom, &c.


Then leaning on his arm awhile,
I slily ask him with a smile,
I'm tired, pray will you carry me?
But, on the way, he ne'er would stay,
To whisper, Fanny, will you marry me?

VOME all ye jolly sailors bold,

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

Huzza to the Arethusa!
She's a frigate tight and brave,
As ever stemm'd the dashing wave:

it. Her men are staunch

Tu their fav’rite launch;
And when the foe shall meet our fire
Sooner than strike we'll all expire,

On board of the Are husa :

'Twas with he spring fleet she went out,
The English Channel to cruise about;
When four French sail, in show so stout,

Bre down on the Arethusa!
The fam'd Belle Poule straight a-head did lie;
The Arethusa seem'd to fly!

Not a sheet, or a tack,

Or a brace did she slack; Tho' the Frenchmen laugh'd, and thought it stuff; But they knew not the handfulof men, how tough,

On board of the Arethusa!

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