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Then Freedom and Neptune have hitherto kept

tune,

In each saying, This shall be my land;

Should the army of England, or all they could bring, land,

We'd show 'em some play for the island!
We'll fight for our right to the island!
We'll give them enough of the island!
Frenchmen should just

Bite at the dust,

But not a bit more of the island.

Sailors are born for all Weathers.

ISAIL'D from the Downs in the Nancy,

My jib how she smack'd through the breeze, She's a vessel as tight to my fancy,

As ever sail'd on the salt seas:
Then adieu to the white cliffs of Britain;
Our girls and our dear native shore;
For if some hard rock we should split on,
We ne'er shou'd see them any more.

CHORUS.

But sailors are born for all weathers,
Great guns, let it blow high, blow low,
Our duty keeps us to our tethers,

And where the gale drives we must go.

When we enter'd the gut of Gibraltar,
I verily thought she'd have sunk!
For the wind so began for to alter,

She yaw'd just as though she was drunk.

The squall tore the main-sail to shivers,
Helm a-weather! the hoarse boatswain cries,
Brace the fore-sail athwart, see, she quivers,
As through the rough tempest she flies.

The storm came on thicker and faster,
As black just as pitch was the sky;
When truly a doleful disaster,

Befel three poor sailors and I;

Ben Buntline, Sam Shroud, and Dick Handsail,
By a blast that came furious and hard,
Just while we were furling the main-sail,
Were ev'ry soul swept from the yard.

Poor Ben, Sam, and Dick, cried Peccavi,
As for I, at the risk of my neck,

While they sunk down in peace to Old Davy,
Caught a rope, and so landed on deck.
Well, what would ye have, we were stranded,
And out of a fine jolly crew,

Of three hundred that sail'd, never landed
But I, and, I think, twenty-two.

After thus we at sea had miscarry'd,
Another-guess way set the wind,
For to England I came and got marry'd
To a lass that is comely and kind;
But whether for joy or vexation,

We know not for what we were born,
Perhaps I may find a kind station,
Perhaps I may touch at Cape Horn,

Sally in our Alley.

OF all the girls in our town,

There's none like pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley.
There's ne'er a lady in the land
Is halfso sweet as Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley.

Her father he makes cabbage-nets,
And in the streets doth cry them;
Her mother she sells laces long
To all who choose to buy them:
But sure such folks could ne'er beget
So sweet a girl as Sally,
She is the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley.

When Sally's by, I leave my work,
I love her so sincerely;

My master comes, like any Turk,
And bangs me most severely:
But let him bang his belly-full,
I'll bear it all for Sally,
She is the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley

Of all the days there's in the week,
I dearly love but one day,

And that's the day that comes between
A Saturday and Monday;

O then I'm drest all in my best,
To walk abroard with Sally,
She is the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley.

My master carries me to church;
And often I am blamed,
Because I leave him in the lurch,
As soon as text is named:

I leave the church in sermon-time,
And slink away with Sally,
She is the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley.

My master and the neighbours all
Make game of me and Sally,
And but for her I'd better be
A slave and row a galley:
But when my seven years are out,
O then I'll marry Sally;

O then I'll wed, and then we'll bed,
But not in our alley.

All on Board of a Man of War.

WOU'D you know, pretty Nan, how we pass our time,

While we sailors are toss'd on the sea?

Why, believe me, my girl, in each season and clime, True-hearted and merry we be,

Though tempests may blow, still unmindful of care, So the fiddles but strike up a bar,

Why we sing, and we dance, toast our sweethearts and swear,

All on board of a man of war.

Shou'd the foe bear in sight, and all hands call'd on deck,

Don't think jolly sailors are cow'd;

No-we'll teach them the old British flag to respect,
And bid them defiance aloud;

Then to it like lions perhaps we may go,
What then, do we whine at a scar?

No-we sing and we fight till we take her in tow,
All on board of a man of war.

As for this thing and that, which the lubbers on shore

Would fain make our lasses believe;

Why, d'ye see, it's palaver, my girl, nothing more,
So Nan, pretty Nan, do not grieve.
No danger can ever our courage affright,
Or shake the true-love of a tar;

In wherever steering, we still feel delight,
All on board of a man of war.

Rouse, rouse, jolly Sportsmen. ROUSE, rouse, jolly sportsmen, the hounds are all out,

The chase is begun, I declare;

Come up, and to horse, let us follow the route,
And join in the chase of the hare.

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