Then just as it comes, take the bad with the good; One man's spoon's made of silver, another's of wood: What's poison for one man's another man's balm ; Some are safe in a storm, and some lost in a calm; Some are rolling in riches, some not worth a souse: To-day we eat beef, and to-morrow lob's scouse Thus the good, &c. Langolee. WHEN I took my departure from Dublin's sweet town, And for England's own self through the seas I did plough, For four long days I was toss'd up and down, Like a quid of chew'd hay in the throat of a cow. While a fraid off the deck in the ocean to slip, sir,, I clung, like a cat, a fast hold for to keep, sir, Round about the big post that grows out of the ship, sir, Oh! I never thought more to sing Langolee. Thus standing stock-still all the while I was moving, Till Ireland's dear coast I saw clear out of sight; Myself, the next day-a true Irishman proving When leaving the ship, on the shore for to light; As the board they put out was too narrow to quarter, The first step I took, I was in such a totter, But as sharp cold and hunger I never yet knew more, And my stomach & bowels did grumble & growl, I thought the best way to get each in good humour, Was to take out the wrinkles of both, by my soul. So I went to a house where roast meat they provide, sir, With a whirligig, which up the chimney I spied, sir, Which grinds all their smoke into powder beside, sir: "Tis as true as I'm now singing Langolec. Then I went to the landlord of all the stage-coaches, That set sail for London each night in the week, To whom I obnoxiously paid my approaches, ·-- As a birth aboard one I was come for to seek:But as for the inside, I'd not cash in my casket; Says I, with your leave, I make bold, sir, to ask it; When the coach is gone off, pray what time goes the basket? For there I can ride, and sing Langolee. When making his mouth up, The basket, says he, sir, Goes after the coach a full hour or two; Very well, sir, says I, that's the thing then for me, sir; But the devil a word that he told me was true. For though one went before, and the other behind, sir, They set off cheek-by jowl at the very same time, sir; So the same day at night, I set out by moonshine, sir, All alone, by myself, singing Langolee. O, long life to the moon, for a brave noble creature, That serves us with lamp-light each night in the dark, While the sun only shines in the day, which by nature Needs no light at all, as you all may remark. But as for the moon-by my soul I'll be bound, sir, It would save the whole nation a great many pound, sir, To subscribe for to light him up all the year round, sir, Or I'll never sing more about Langolee, Tom Bowling. HERE a sheer hulk lies poor Tom Bowling, Tom never from his word departed, His virtues were so rare, His friends were many, and true-hearted, And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, Thus death, who kings and tars dispatches, The Chambermaid. WHEN clouds obscure the ev'ning sky, And rain in torrents pour, The inn with joy, the trav'llers spy, Tis there I stand to please them all, I smile, and run, whene'er they call, But when appears the dawn of day, They take their leaves, and onward stray, And when that horrid bore, the bill, Thus, happy, might I pass my life, Then fortune's gifts in vain she sheds, The Traveller's Song. A TRAVELLER full forty years I have been, But never went over to France; All cities, and most market-towns have been in, In fashion still find a continual change, The world, though 'tis round, as about it we go, The traveller, braving a bleak wintry day, Well seated and serv'd, his refreshment how sweet, That whatever maxims are followed, the best |