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DIBDIN'S SELECTED SONGS.

[]

A COLLECTION OF SONGS, SELECTED FROM THE WORKS OF Mr. DIBDIN.

IF TO BE MERRY'S TO BE WISE, TO BE WISE IS TO BE MERRY.

VOLUME II.

LONDON, PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR: AND SOLD BY HIM AT HIS WAREHOUSE, NO. 411, STRAND, OPPOSITE THE ADELPHI.

PREFACE.

[][]

I CANNOT reſiſt the inclination this opportunity gives me of noticing how ſincerely I rejoice that the tongue of malignity, which has ſo opened againſt me on the ſubject of theſe ſongs, is likely to be com⯑pletely ſilenced.

Let it however be underſtood that, for any pri⯑vate uneaſineſs the ſaucy ſlander ever gave me, for any fear I entertained leſt it ſhould depreciate me in the opinion of the judicious and the worthy, for any perſonal enmity I feel towards the miſerable fools, who are puniſhed enough by the gnawings of their own rancour:—for any of theſe, or ſimilar conſidera⯑tions, I ſhould have ſuffered the noiſome ſnuff to linger, till it became choaked in its own fetid dregs: but it has annoyed the public, and therefore it is my duty to put on the extinguiſher.

[] The hiſtory of this buſineſs is very ſimple and ſelf-evident. I ſtarted in life with ſome popularity, and therefore became an object of envy. Thoſe who were galled at my ſucceſs, endeavoured to cruſh me. They knew they could not do ſo honeſtly, and there⯑fore they attempted it by villany. Public indigna⯑tion, however, ſo aſtoniſhed the reptiles, that they were glad to ſlink into their filthy lurking places for ſafety.

From that time onward, till within theſe three years—being connected with managers and muſic-ſhops, and working for mere hire—I lived pretty free from calumny. Throwing off every kind of yoke, however, and ſtanding upon my own foundation—at which time I pledged myſelf that my productions ſhould not, even in the minuteſt degree, receive aſ⯑ſiſtance from either manager, author, or compoſer—the vipers began again to rear their heads; and many—to the reproach of manhood, and the diſhonour of human nature—are the wanton and wicked proofs that they are only ſcotehed, not killed.

[vii] This will be clearly evident if we notice that the medium through which they have attempted to emit their poiſon is a revival of the ſame ſlander which was originally levelled againſt my reputation, and which only ſhews that they have more wickedneſs than cun⯑ning. They fancy that, could they induce a general belief that I impoſed upon the world the productions of ſome other perſon, as my own, I ſhould be held as a man void of faith or honour; but what proper indignation muſt fill every heart if it could be brought home to conviction that the principles of this perſon, of whom I am ſuppoſed to be merely the agent, are deteſted, and his memory execrated!

Could this be maintained, it would cut two ways. It would hold me up, both profeſſionally and morally, as an impoſtor, and ſtimulate the public not only to damn my works, but my character. Poor, ſhallow-ſighted idiots! They indeed know nothing of the na⯑ture of public generoſity. They have never ex⯑perienced that it conſtantly follows laudable induſtry; that it ever encourages thoſe endeavours which aim at conveying reaſonable pleaſure and uſeful inſtruc⯑ſion; [viii] and that whom it protects, it raiſes far above the reach of malice or detraction. They only know, fallen as they are, that it is a bliſs they dare not hope to enjoy, becauſe they are unworthy to poſſeſs it.

Having ſpoken of managers and muſic-ſhops, it may not be improper to notice, that in ſeparating myſelf from public connections, I am not actuated by any thing captious or capricious. I have no wiſh to cavil at men who have made bargains with me to their advantage. I cannot blame them for taking care of their intereſt, nor do I believe they blame me for taking care of mine: but, on the contrary—particu⯑larly thoſe with whom I have been moſt connected—wiſh well to my purſuits, and would lend my exertions every advantage in their power. Nor is there any thing wonderful in this; for it is a poor compliment to human integrity to ſuppoſe that it is not very na⯑tural in us to aſſiſt thoſe from whom we have received aſſiſtance.

Putting out of the queſtion the raſcality of my ſlanderers, I ſhall next examine whether there is any⯑thing [ix] like probability in their ſlander; premiſing, that I ſhould not have condeſcended ſo far but for the only circumſtance in all this buſineſs that gives me any thing like pain; and it is, that many men of ſtrict honour, and cordial good wiſhes towards me, have, even in my preſence, apparently given into ſomething like a belief of what has been urged againſt me.

Such a leaven is there in the compoſition of man, and ſo captivating is a novel opinion, that I am afraid, ſhould there be any malignity in it, there are very few who may not, under particular circumſtances, ſuffer a momentary ſuſpenſion of their integrity, to indulge an abſurd curioſity. I declare I have had ſuch queſtions aſked me, by even kind and worthy friends, that had I not known an anxious ſolicitude had for an inſtant obſcured probability, and outran re⯑flection, I muſt, for the ſake of my honour, have ſpit in their faces.

Nor is this language too ſtrong. In what way can the beſt friend make me amends for having in⯑dulgel, even for a ſingle moment, a belief that I am [x] the wretch theſe execrable villains would fain deſcribe me? But my only revenge on thoſe who have been thus betrayed from their duty as men, and tricked out of their charity as chriſtians, ſhall be to ſhew upon how unſubſtantial a foundation they have grounded their belief.

To go into this examination then. What is there in all we know of Mr. BICKERSTAFF to give the fainteſt colour to probability that he has written my ſongs, and that I always have been, and now am, his intimate friend? Is it becauſe whatever he has written and whatever I have written are of a totally different complexion? Does he write my ſea ſongs, becauſe thoſe in his Thomas and Sally are, taken technically, the abſurdeſt nonſenſe that ever diſgraced paper? Does the ſpirit of my poetry bear the cha⯑racteriſtic of his, becauſe his was ſtudy and mine is in⯑tuition? Becauſe he was timid, and I am bold? Be⯑cauſe what I write is temporary, and for the mo⯑ment, when he was the tardieſt and moſt tedious of all writers? Did he, or could he, write any thing but ſongs? Do I write any thing but ballads? Have [xi] I not uniformly rejected all aſſiſtance?—nay the aſ⯑ſiſtance of much better poets than he—and did he not court aſſiſtance from any body who would lend it him? Were not the ſuggeſtions of GOLDSMITH, KELLY, GARRICK, nay even SHUTER, and many others, caught at by him with avidity?

But did not theſe plain and ſelf-evident facts laugh the aſſertion to ſcorn, is it likely that a man, as he was, of the moſt offenſive and inſufferable vanity, who never allowed the ſmalleſt ſpark of merit to his friends—no, not even in the moment they were lend⯑ing advantage to his productions—is it probable that ſuch a man, notwithſtanding the merited obloquy a diſcerning and virtuous public has properly heaped on his head, would not manifeſt in ſome way his title to a ſhare in my popularity? Or, to take it the other way, what ſtrange inconſiſtency, or what ſingular atrocity, has ſo marked my public career as to make me appear on one ſide ſuch a fool, and on the other ſuch a knave, as to riſk being firſt diſcovered, and afterwards betrayed, by the man of all others the moſt capable of ſuch conduct?

[xii] Again, what are the faſcinating qualities in Mr. BICKERSTAFF that ſhould induce me to imitate him as a man, and riſk public benevolence for private in⯑famy? Am I impelled by gratitude in return for his driving hard bargains with me; of his taking ad⯑vantage of my inexperience, and rewarding me with a trifle, for labours by which he got large ſums of money; for being continually unfaithful to his en⯑gagements, or for running away in my debt? Am I enamoured of that inſincerity for which he was re⯑markable and notorious?—for that profligacy and immorality which characteriſed his opinions?—for that ſupercilious hauteur through which he would affront his friends?—or the puſillanimity which terri⯑fied him into begging their pardon! The climax of this paragraph I will not ſtain my paper with. My heart does not tell me that any ſingle diſpaſſionate man upon earth will accuſe me of an inclination to emulate the above qualities, and I flatter myſelf I ſhall not eaſily be ſuſpected of pre-eminence in iniquity. And now let my calumniaters, with their uſual truth and conſiſtency, aſſert that this is a panegyric on Mr. BICKERSTAFF, and that he wrote it!

[xiii] But this dare not now be ventured. The public indignation is once more rouſed, and woe to thoſe who have provoked it! My cauſe is become the cauſe of every honeſt man in the kingdom. Every man's honour, every man's character, and every man's intereſt is involved in it. It is not now a queſ⯑tion whether, in common with hundreds of high diſtinction, brilliant talents, and unſpotted honour, I ſhall, with indifference and contempt, ſee the lie of the day levelled at me, but it is a queſtion whether, as an innocent man, I ſhall be protected by ſociety, or, as a perjurer, driven from it.

This ſlander became at length ſo rank, ſo ſhame⯑leſs, and was ſo univerſally diffuſed, that, in juſtice to myſelf as a man and a citizen, I have appealed to the laws of my country. Diſdaining to proceed other⯑wiſe than by indictment, I have been granted a rule to ſhew cauſe why an information ſhould not be filed againſt the perſon who has thought proper to libel me; and, to obtain that rule, I have ſworn ‘"that I have not, at any time, ſeen Mr. BICKERSTAFF, nor had any [xiv] correſpondence with him, ſince he abſconded, and that I know not whether he be alive or dead."’

The matter is therefore now brought to a moſt ſerious and ſolemn point. My reputation is in the hands of the public, and every man of virtue and ho⯑nour muſt pronounce for me, that no one, but an un⯑principled villain, will hereafter dare to mention my name coupled with any inſinuation of the nature I complain of, unleſs he ſhall not only accuſe me, but convict me, of perjury.

I have written this preface at the ſolicitation and for the ſatisfaction of thoſe many friends whoſe warm and kind anxiety ſhall be remembered by me while my heart feels that gratitude which is its ſweeteſt and deareſt ſenſation. In the courſe of it I have carefully ſtudied not to anticipate nor prejudge any thing before the court. I have only given an unqualified contradiction of what has been alledged againſt me, and maintained my poſition by ſuch probable circumſtances as ſug⯑geſted themſelves. This it was particularly my duty [xv] to do, on bringing out theſe ſongs; but I have not preſumed to teach, or dictate. The ſubject is open to liberal diſcuſſion. It is here at iſſue, as well as at the King's-bench; and I am neither aſhamed nor afraid of what may be the deciſion in either place.

[] DIBDIN's SELECTED SONGS.

BALLAD.
IN THE WHIM OF THE MOMENT.

I vow I thought you, at firſt ſight,
A moppet, a baboon, a fright,
Or ſome hobgoblin of the night,
That guilty creatures waken;

With noſe and chin like ram's horns curl'd,
And brows in furrowed wrinkles furl'd,
Well 'tis amazing in this world
How one may be miſtaken.

II.

For now I ſee with half an eye
You are not old, nor made awry,
Nor do your ſhambling trotters ply,
As if by palſy ſhaken:

[2]

You're young as Ganemede and fair,

Narciſſus had not ſuch an air,

Well 'tis amazing I declare

How one may be miſtaken.

BALLAD.

Once on a time to mighty Jove
Complaints came from afar,
From men of unſucceſsful love,
Miſcarriages in war:

In law the want of equity,
Of mirth at city feaſts,
Of pathos in their poetry,
And of good works in prieſts.

II.

So loud and clam'rous were theſe clods,
That Jove, ne'er left at reſt,
Conven'd a ſynod of the gods,
And Bacchus 'mongſt the reſt:

He, merry wag, knew what on earth
Thus caus'd them to repine,
[3] And inſtant ſent them genuine mirth,
Caſk'd up in tons of wine.

III.

The lover drank and eas'd his care,
Heroes grew high in fame,
A comely paunch mark'd each Lord Mayor,
And lawyers juſt became.

Bards ſung divine, prieſts put up prayers,
For ſuch a bleſſing given,
And Bacchus to this day declares
There's no ſuch drink in heaven.

BALLAD.

WHEN laſt in the Dreadful your honour ſet ſail,
On Newfoundland banks, there came on a hard gale,
There was thunder, red lightning, and cold whiſtling hail,
Enough the old gemman to ſcare;

[4]

One who threaten'd your life, daſh'd below by a wave,

Your own hand I ſaw ſnatch from a watery grave;

And you ſaid 'twas well done, for that ſtill with the brave

The nobleſt of glory's to ſpare.

II.

When yard arm and yard arm long ſide of a foe,
When the blood from the ſcuppers rain'd on us below,
When crippled enough to be taken in tow,
To ſtrike we ſaw mounſeer prepare;

If a broadſide below, or a volley above,
The men were all ready to give her for love,
How oft has your honour cry'd not a hand move,
A hero's true glory's to ſpare.

SONG.

FAR from ſtrife and love's alarms,
With joyous heart, and mind at eaſe,
Time was when with reſiſtleſs charms
Bacchus knew the way to pleaſe.

[5]

When while the merry glee went round,

Gaily I ſaw each minute paſs,

Nor ever had I heard a ſound

Like the ſweet tinkling of the glaſs.

My flaſk now broke, and ſpilt my wine,
For Cupid Bacchus' joys I quit,
The myrtle kills the blighted vine,
And love, turn'd fate, cries out ſubmit.

BALLAD.

I went to ſea with heavy heart,
Of her I lov'd the ſcorn,
Yet from my thoughts did ne'er depart
Her image, night or morn:

Storms lour'd, waves roll'd, and lightning flew,
Yet did I wiſh to live,
Still willing, for my poor heart was true,
To forget and to forgive.

II.

The firſt word, when on Engliſh ground,
I ſpoke was her falſe name,
[6] And ſoon upon enquiry found
—For ſcandal flies—her ſhame:

She lov'd a youth, before the wind
Who cut and let her drive;
Avaſt cried I, 'twere now too kind
To forget and to forgive.

III.

While of theſe thoughts my mind was full,
While adverſe hopes and fears,
Like winds did this and that way pull,
She came to me in tears.

Down went my colours, and I ſwore
For her alone I'd live,
Kiſs'd her, and promis'd o'er and o'er,
To forget and to forgive.

BALLAD.

[7]

THE boatſwain calls, the wind is fair,
The anchor heaving,
Our ſweethearts leaving,
We to duty muſt repair,
Where our ſtations well we know:

Caſt off halliards from the cleets,
Stand by well, clear all the ſheets;
Come my boys,
Your handſpikes poiſe,
And give one general huzza:
Yet ſighing as you pull away,
For the tears aſhore that flow,
To the windlaſs let us go,
With yo heave ho!

II.

The anchor coming now apeak,
Leſt the ſhip, ſtriving,
Be on it driving,
That we the tap'ring yards muſt ſeek,
And back the foretop-ſail well we know:

A pleaſing duty! from aloft
We faintly ſee thoſe charms where oft,
[8] When returning,
With paſſion burning,
We fondly gaze, thoſe eyes that ſeem
In parting with big tears to ſtream;
But come, leſt ours as faſt ſhould flow,
To the windlaſs once more go,
With yo heave ho!

III.

Now the ſhip is under weigh,
The breeze ſo willing
The canvaſs filling,
The preſt triangle cracks the ſtay,
So taught to haul the ſheet we know:

And now in trim we gaily ſail,
The maſſy beam receives the gale,
While freed from duty
To his beauty,
Left on the leſs'ning ſhore afar,
A fervent ſigh heaves every tar,
To thank thoſe tears for him that flow,
That from his true love he ſhould go,
With yo heave ho!

BALLAD.
IN THE LONG ODDS.

[9]

AND did you hear what ſad diſtaſter
Poor Peg of Mapledown befel?
For love that ſtouteſt hearts can maſter.
Alas! that thoſe who love ſo well,

In ſorrow's train
Should mourn in vain:
Her ſtory does ſuch grief impel,
That woe is me the while I tell.

II.

She loved a youth of honeſt kindred;
At church behold the happy pair;
And aſk what 'twas their bliſs that hindred,
For he was young, and ſhe was fair:

Accurs'd be wars,
And party jars,
Why muſt the handſome danger ſhare?
Alas! it fills me with deſpair.

[10]III.

Onward to his liege lord's dwelling
A rebel rout had cut their way;
What ſhrieks enſued! and what a yelling!
For he a true man muſt away;

He ſwore the fight
Would end ere night,
And he'd return with garlands gay,
Sweet trophies for his wedding day.

IV.

Night came, and ſaw the youth returning;
Accurſed be war's deſtructive knife;
She ran to claſp, with paſſion burning,
Her wedded lord—deprived of life!

Oh! cruel ſpight!
What! not one night,
Is not her tale with miſery rife?
At once a maiden and a wife.

BALLAD.
IN THE LONG ODDS.

[11]

A ſailor and an honeſt heart,
Like ſhip and helm, are ne'er apart;
For how ſhould one ſtem wind and tide
If tother ſhould refuſe to guide?
With that ſhe freely cuts the waves.

And ſo the tar,
When claſhing waves around him jar,
Conſults his heart, and dangers braves
Where duty calls; nor aſks for more
Than grog aboard, and girl aſhore.

II.

'Tis not a thouſand leagues from home
More horrid that the billows foam;
'Tis not that gentler is the breeze
In channel than in diſtant ſeas;
Danger ſurrounds him far and near:

But honeſt tar,
Though winds and water round him jar,
Conſults his heart, and ſcorns to fear,
[12] The riſks he runs endears him more
To grog on board, and girl aſhore.

III.

'Tis not that in the hotteſt fight
The murd'rous ball will ſooner light
On that than any other ſpot,
To face the cannon is his lot;
He muſt of danger have his ſhare:

But honeſt tar,
Though fire, and winds, and water jar,
Conſults his heart, and ſhakes off care:
And when the battle's heat is o'er,
In grog aboard, drinks girl aſhore.

BALLAD.
IN HARVEST HOME.

WOUNDS, here's ſuch a coil! I am none of your poor
Petty varlets, who flatter, and cringe, and procure;
I'm a freeman, a nabob, a king on his throne,
For I've chattles, and goods, and ſtrong beer of my own:

[13]

Beſides, 'tis a rule that good fellows ne'er fail

To let any thing wait but the generous ale.

II.

My intereſt I love; thee I love too, good wife,
But ſtill I love better a jovial life;
And for thee, or my lady, with duty devout,
I'll run to Old Nick, when the dobbin's drank out.

But, 'tis always a rule that good fellows ne'er fail

To let any thing wait, but the generous ale.

BALLAD.
IN HARVEST HOME.

Arrah Pat, did you leave your poor Unah to mourn?
Fait and troth, my dear jewel,
Now was it not cruel?
Oh come back again, or you'll never return
To chear me when I'm broken hearted.

Straight forward I look when around me ſo gay
I'd a pleaſure in toiling
While Patrick was ſmiling,
[14] The ſun ſnined, though 'twas cloudy, the while we made hay,
For den Pat and I had not parted.

II.

Each bird while it's ſinging may ſhut up its throat:
I won't look at the thiſtle,
Where goldfinches whiſtle,
For though they all ſhun me, I don't hear a note,
How can I, while thus broken hearted?

The cows may courant it, the ſheep friſk and play,
Lambs and kidlings be dancing,
And ſkipping, and prancing,
For though they're before me, they're all gone away,
Since Patrick and Unah are parted.

SONG.
IN HARVEST HOME.

AWAY, pale fear and ghaſtly terror!
Fly, at a parent's voice away!
Correcting every youthful error,
She deigns to bid, and I obey:

[15]

And oh, my heart! thou murmur'ſt treaſon,

Perturb'd and frighten'd thus, to move;

This ſacrifice I make to reaſon,

Lie ſtill, poor flutt'rer, and approve!

BALLAD.
IN HARVEST HOME.

THOUGH I am humble, mean, and poor,
Yet faith am I diſarning;
And one may ſee the ſun ſhine ſure
Without the help of learning.

This little maxim, for my ſake,
I pray you be believing,
The trueſt pleaſures that we take
Are thoſe that we are giving.

II.

Is there a wretch, with all his pelf,
So poor as a rich miſer?
Sure does not he defraud himſelf?
No maxim can be wiſer.

[16]

He who is bleſt for his own ſake,

Fait is himſelf deceiving;

The trueſt pleaſures that we take,

Are thoſe that we are giving.

BALLAD.
IN THE ISLANDERS.

TRULY friend Gil thou chooſeſt well,
Taking a helpmate homely,
For often times ſad tales they tell,
Of wives who are too comely:

But cheer thee Perez, and be gay,
From furniſhed brows exempted,
For how can ſhe e'er go aſtray
Who never will be tempted?

II.

For thieves do never rob the poor,
A pebble's not a jewel,
Fruits do not bloſſom on a moor,
Fire burns not without fuel:

[17]

Up with thy heart then Gil, be gay,

From furniſhed brows exempted,

Thy wife can never go aſtray,

For ſhe will ne'er be tempted.

BALLAD.
IN THE ISLANDERS.

AH let not an inſtant of life paſs in vain,
The moments eſcape us, and age brings on pain,
Life's too precious, too fugitive joy,
The flowers which yeſterday Zephyr diſcloſed,
Droop'd their head on their ſtalks before Phoebus repos'd,
Thus one ſingle day ſerves to form and deſtroy.

II.Then think not of ought but the moment that flies,
To learn to be happy's to learn to be wiſe,
Seize pleaſure while pleaſure's our own,
Fear nothing, thou'rt mine, 'tis allotted above,
Chance but obeyed fate, and bleſt with thy love,
I envy no king on his throne.

BALLAD.
IN THE ISLANDERS.

[18]

THIS life's a day's journey, we riſe in the morn,
The ſun, trees, and flowers our proſpect adorn,
When perhaps we have ſcarcely been ſet out an hour,
But ſlap we're o'ertaken, and ſouſed in a ſhower:

To ſhelter then quickly, and ſee now 'tis o'er,
And in pretty good ſpirits we ſet out once more,
Now up hill, now down, now even, and now
We are cover'd with duſt, and now popp'd in a ſlough.

II.

Thus we jog on till dinner, now wet and now dry,
And now we've a low'ring, and now a clear ſky,
With the fire, the good landlord, the wine, and the cheer,
Now refreſh'd we ſet forward to end our career:

But the roads are uneven, we trip, are bemired,
And jolted, and joſtled, and tumbled, and tired,
Yet we keep a good heart, and our ſpirits are light,
In hopes we ſhall meet with a good inn at night.

BALLAD.

[19]

FORGIVE me if thus I preſuming
Come hither your heart to ſurpriſe,
Smile, ſmile, and my hopes re-illumine:
But my pardon I read in your eyes:

No impoſtor the paſſion I own is,
And heaven what delight could I be
As truly to you an Adonis,
As you are a Venus to me.

II.

The gods who ſo often delighted
In borrowed forms, ſome fair nymph to purſue
Might confeſs they were never excited
By an object ſo charming as you.

No impoſtor, &c.

BALLAD.

[20]

Our Jupiter has near his throne
Two veſſels which he fills,
The one with benefits alone,
The other crams with ills:

From the good veſſel, health, content,
Plenty and bliſs he gives,
While from the evil forth are ſent
Gout, ſtone, and ſcolding wives.

II.

Thus to mankind with heedful care,
In juſt proportion weighed,
The lot to each, each beſt can bear,
By Jove's decree's conveyed:

Unleſs his patience when to rub,
Juno the devil drives,
Then headlong from the left hand tub,
Go troops of ſcolding wives.

III.

Oft this complaint on me, like air,
From men ſtill paſſed away,
[21] Till that ſame type of Juno there
Let looſe her tongue to day:

But now entreating Jove I'll go,
To chequer not their lives
With any other ſpot of woe,
Who're plagued with ſcolding wives.

BALLAD.
IN THE ODDITIES.

CELIA's an angel, by her face
The roſe and lily's ſhamed,
The treſſes of love's queen, for grace,
With her's can ne'er be named:

The gods, cried one, that face with care
Formed in their beſt of humours,
What pity 'tis both face and hair
Were bought at the perfumer's:

II.

Celia has ſworn to love till death;
For words ſo full of bliſs,
[22] I could have longed, but for her breath,
To ſteal an ardent kiſs;

Rapture itſelf is poor and cold,
To joy that ſhe diſcovers,
What pity ſhe the ſame has told
To fifty other lovers.

III.

Celia is young, behold her mein,
Alert from top to toe,
My aunt ſays ſhe was juſt fifteen
Some thirty years ago:

Thus youth and beauty's beſt delights
Sweet Celia are adorning,
For ſhe a Venus is at nights,
A ſybil in the morning.

BALLAD.

[23]

THE wind blew hard, the ſea ran high,
The dingy ſcud drove croſs the ſky,
All was ſafe laſhed, the bowl was ſlung,
When careleſs thus Ned Haulyard ſung:

A ſailor's life's the life for me,
He takes his duty merrily,
If winds can whiſtle, he can ſing;
Still faithful to his friend and king,
He gets belov'd by all the ſhip,
And toaſts his girl, and drinks his flip.

II.

Down topſails boys, the gale comes on,
To ſtrike top-gallant yards they run,
And now to hand the ſail prepared,
Ned cheerful ſings upon the yard:

A ſailor's life, &c.

III.

A leak, a leak!—come lads be bold,
There's five foot water in the hold,
[24] Eager on deck ſee Haulyard jump,
And hark while working at the pump:

A ſailor's life, &c.

IV.

And ſee! the veſſel nought can ſave,
She ſtrikes and finds a wat'ry grave!
Yet Ned preſerved, with a few more,
Sings as he treads a foreign ſhore:

A ſailor's life, &c.

And now—unnumbered perils paſt,
On land as well as ſea—at laſt
In tatters to his Poll and home
See honeſt Haulyard ſinging come:

A ſailor's life, &c.

VI.

Yet for poor Haulyard what diſgrace,
Poll ſwears ſhe never ſaw his face;
He damns her for a faithleſs ſhe,
And ſinging goes again to ſea:

A ſailor's life, &c.

WELCH BALLAD.

[25]

I pray when your ſweetheart pouts,
And fleers, and flouts,
And glours, and glouts,
Ne'er mind the purſing of her prow,
But pout again I pray you now,

Is it not true that females fex,
Plague, and perplex
The other ſex,
With whimſies in their heads that grow,
And fantiſies I pray you now?

II.

Rack poor men's powels, prains, and hearts,
Do not their arts,
And whims, and ſtarts,
Plue tiffles in their heads that crow,
And jealouſies I pray you now?

Then mind not nonſenſe of the fair,
But change your air,
And ſhake off care;
[26] Nor to their tricks and fancies pow,
But let them ko I pray you now.

BALLAD.

IF, my hearty, you'd not like a lubber appear,
You muſt very well know how to hand, reef, and ſteer,
Yet a better manoeuvre 'mongſt ſeamen is found,
'Tis the tight little maxim to know how to ſound:

Which a ſailor can tell from a bay to a ſhoal,

But the beſt ſort of ſounding is ſounding the bowl.

II.

I've ſounded at land, and I've ſounded at ſea,
I've ſounded a-weather, and ſounded a-lee,
I've ſounded my quine at the randivoo houſe,
And I've ſounded my pouch without finding a ſouſe:

What then, we've a brother in each honeſt ſoul,

And ſailors can ne'er want for ſounding the bowl.

III.

All men try for ſoundings wherever they ſteer,
Your nabobs for ſoundings ſtrive hard in Cape Clear,
[27] And there is not a ſoul, from the devil to the pope,
That could live but for ſounding the Cape of Good Hope:

No fear then nor danger our hearts ſhall controul,

Though at ſea, we're in ſoundings while ſounding the bowl.

BALLAD.

In which of all thy various joys,
The tongue of fame that ſo employs,
Didſt thou beſt taſte—ſay, mighty Jove,
The pure, unmixed delights of love?

Not with Europa:—there recourſe
Thou boldly had'ſt to brutal force;
Her wiſhes took with thee no part,
She gave her perſon, not her heart.

II.

Not with the beauteous Theban dame,
When thou aſſumedeſt her huſband's name;
[28] For, though ingenious was the whim,
She knew not thee, but thought of him.

Not then when in a glitt'ring ſhower
Thou viſit'ſt Danae in the tower;
The gold prevailed 'tis true, and ſhe
Yielded to intereſt, not to thee.

III.

Nor Semele, whom to obey
Thou cam'ſt in terrible array,
She, proud one, yielded not to love,
But to ambition, and to Jove:

No, 'twas Mnenoſyne, ſweet fair,
Thy joys indeed were perfect there;
Joys hadſt thou not, no bard had ſung,
For thence the immortal ſiſters ſprung.

BALLAD.

[29]

LIKE a very gallant will I compliment all:
I muſt leer at and ogle the pretty,
Tell the ſhort ones they're neat, and majeſtic the tall
And call all the homely ones witty.

Thus agreeable falſehood ſtill paſſing for truth,
I ſhall tickle their vanity ſnugly,
Talk of prudence to age, and of pleaſure to youth,
And conſole with a fortune the ugly.

II.

To the pale I'll on delicate lilies begin,
To the florid I'll hold forth on roſes,
Call ſquinting a leer, find a ſmile in a grin,
And proportion where chins kiſs with noſes:

Thus agreeable falſehood ſtill paſſing for truth,
I'll their vanity tickle ſo ſnugly,
That I'll pleaſe tall and ſhort, fat and lean, ageand youth,
And reconcile even the ugly.

BALLAD.

[30]

IF tars of their money are laviſh,
I ſay brother take this wipe from me,
'Tis becauſe we're not muck-worms, nor ſlaviſh,
Like lubbers who ne'er go to ſea:

What's cunning, and ſuch quivication,
And them ſly manoeuvres to we,
To be roguiſh is no valuation
To hearties who plough the ſalt ſea.

II.

As for cheating—light weights, and ſhort meaſures,
And corruption, and bribery, d'ye ſee,
Theſe never embitter the pleaſures
Of good fellows who plough the ſalt ſea.

You've aſhore actions, writs, ceſſeraries,
And a regiment of counſel to fee,
Jack knows not of ſuch like vagaries—
We never truſt lawyers at ſea.

[31]III.

'Tis ſaid that with grog and our laſſes,
Becauſe jolly ſailors are free,
That money we ſquander like aſſes,
Which like horſes we earn'd when at ſea:

But let them ſay this, that, or tother,
In one thing they're forced to agree,
Honeſt hearts find a friend and a brother
In each worthy that ploughs the ſalt ſea.

GLEE.

WOULD ye know where freedom dwells,
Where jovial hearts carouſe and ſing,
Haunt theſe grots, explore theſe cells,
Here every ſubject is a king!

Sprightly mirth inhabits here,
And joy that knows no liſtleſs pauſe;
For how ſhould we dull ſorrow fear
Who ſquare our lives by pleaſure's laws?

[32]

What's fortune!—is it chance or worth?

Peaſant and prince their race muſt run—

Nor is there that poor ſpot on earth

But's cheriſhed by the genial ſun.

BALLAD.
IN THE ISLANDERS.

An infant defenceleſs, of ſuccour bereft,
On this rude barren wild was I thrown,
My ſole ray of comfort I had not been left,
To brood o'er my ſorrows alone:

To ſee cataracts falling, and hear lions roar,
Or the awful loud war on the deep,
Is the fate poor Flametta was born to deplore,
Which ſhe oft would wiſh kinder, and weep.

II.

To all this aſſemblage of horrors enured,
What yet greater ills could one prove,
Could one think for a heart which had ſo much en⯑dured,
Fate ſhould ſtore up a torment like love.

[33]

'Tis too much, I've decided, and who ſhall relate

When her and her miſeries ſleep,

The tale of Flametta, will ſure wiſh her fate,

Poor wretch, had been kinder, and weep.

BALLAD.

DEVOTED to Celia, and bleſt in her arms,
How I thrill'd with delight as I ran o'er her charms,
When methought on each grace as I gaz'd with ſur⯑priſe,
For pre-eminence pleaded her mouth and her eyes:

Like counſel this opened, and tother replied,

Appealing to me as a judge to decide.

II.

Her mouth opening ſweetly, thus ſaid with a ſmile,
' 'Tis I who the torments of lovers beguile;
' I can ſpeak, I can ſing, I can vent the fond ſigh,
' And vain may eyes promiſe, if I ſhould deny:

' Then while rows of pearls vermeil lips ſweetly hide,

' On our different charms 'twere not hard to decide.'

[34]III.

With ineffable ſweetneſs, while looking me through,
Her eyes careleſs cried—'Why I can ſpeak too;
' And in ſuch charming language, ſo made to controul,
' That of ſenſible lovers it goes to the ſoul:

' Mouths may fib, but while eyes to the heart are the guide,

' Twere no difficult taſk on our charms to decide.'

VI.

Tranſported with rapture, I cried with an oath
' Charming eyes, charming mouth, I'm in love with you both;
' To expreſs your ſweet influence no language has terms,
' One makes me a promiſe which tother confirms:

' Your words and your looks are my joy and my pride,

' On your different claims then how can I decide?'

BALLAD.

[35]

To a ſlight common wound it is ſome diminution,
Diverting its throbbing, to ſmile at the ſmart,
But where's the firm mind can boaſt ſuch reſolution,
In the face to wear ſmiles when the wound's in the heart?

The wand'rings and errors of folly are treaſon,
And ſhould be condemned as diſloyal to love,
But reverence is due to the errors of reaſon,
Which, though they're a weakneſs, we're forced to approve.

III.

Then pray ceaſe to jeſt, were my griefs ſuperficial,
Unconcerned, like yourſelf Sir, I merry might be,
But ſuch cruel jeſts can but prove prejudicial,
And though paſtime to you, may be mortal to me.

Yet let me not wrong you by any rude mention,
Or word that the fairneſs of candour might blot,
But gratefully juſt, may alone the intention
In my memory be cheriſhed, the action forgot.

BALLAD.

[36]

Curs'd be the ſordid wretch of yore,
Who from the bowels of the earth
Firſt drew crude heaps of ſhining ore,
Stamp'd the rude maſs, and gave it worth:

Ere yet diſtinctions and degrees
In lovers' wiſhes bore a part,
Truly to love was then to pleaſe,
And heart was made the price of heart:

II.

Henceforth ye lovers nothing hope,
Your fire is dead, your ardour cold;
Love has no influence, power, or ſcope,
But that which it derives from gold.

Long may ye languiſh, long expect,
Vows laviſh—wiſhes, ſighs employ,
A brittle temple to erect,
Which gold can in an hour deſtroy.

BALLAD.

[37]

Propitious gods that rule our fate,
Whoſe ears are tired with idle prayers,
To baniſh ills that men create,
And chaſe imaginary cares.

And firſt they aſk in rank and power,
A fate from every care exempt:
Vain hope!—ambition laſts its hour,
Then dwindles into juſt contempt.

II.

Next reputation in the field,
Renown, and to be great in ſtory:—
I all ſuch horrid honours yield,
No brother's blood ſhall buy my glory.

A ſumptuous palace, gorgeous board,
A train of followers next they crave:
Poor fools! his gueſts retir'd, the lord
Is but a ſolitary ſlave.

III.

Next to their memories they'd erect
A ſtatue, laſting fame to give:—
[38] I aſk but reaſon, and expect
My little pleaſures while I live.

Happy in honours, power, wealth,
If you but grant my fond deſire,
A blameleſs heart, unſhaken health,
My friends, my bottle, and my lyre.

BALLAD.

SUCH love as holy hermits bear
The ſhrine where they put up their prayer,
As love the feather'd race the air,
Or ſportive fiſh the ſea:

Such as in breaſts of Seraphs ſpring,
When on the expanſe of heaven they wing,
To greet that power by whom they ſing,
Such love I bear to thee.

II.

Such thankful love as warm muſt glow
In thoſe who ſunk in night and ſnow,
[39] When welcome beams firſt faintly ſhew
The long-loſt ſun they ſee:

As pleaſure youth, comfort the old,
Virtue the good, or fame the bold,
As health the ſick, or miſers gold,
Such love I bear to thee.

BALLAD.

COME liſten a while, 'twill do your heart good,
While I ſing of Clorinda and bold Robin Hood:
The damſel as handſome as handſome can be,
Who has many a pound, and plenty of geer,
Than whoſe father no lord ever kept better cheer.

Who now goes to marry a mate of high blood,
And all out of ſpight to this bold Robin Hood:
Tadderer too, tadderer tee, tadderer, radderer, tandoree

II.

This Robin, as ſhall be related anon,
With brave William Scarlet, and bold Little John,
All outlaws, as daring as daring can be,
[40] Makes this wide-ſkirted foreſt betimes in the morn
Reſound far and near with the bugle horn:

When ſtraight out of fear all that live near the wood
Run and lock up their daughters from bold Robin Hood.
Tadderer too, &c.

III

How this Robin full fifty bold foreſters ſlew,
How the pindar of Wakefield made one of his crew,
As deſperate a crew as deſperate can be,
How the butcher he trick'd, bid the bold tinker ſtand,
Made the biſhop ſay maſs, and fought Arther of Bland,

Are wrote and ſet down in true language and good,
In the life and adventures of bold Robin Hood:
Tadderer too, &c.

IV.

But the beſt joke of all is the comical tale,
How he reſcued the ſweetheart of Allen a Dale,
An action as daring as daring can be;
It happened her parents would force her to church,
With intention poor Allen to leave in the lurch,

When twenty ſtout fellows all firm men and good,
Ruſh'd in, and were headed by bold Robin Hood.
Tadderer too, &c

[41]V.

But to come to Clorinda, and finiſh my tale,
The ſecond edition of Allen a Dale,
With us he'd fain play, but too cunning are we,
Him, John, and his Scarlet we all laugh to ſcorn,
His merry men all and his bugle horn:

Let him come then, he'll find us all ſtout men and good,
Fit to drub all ſuch outlaws as bold Robin Hood.
Tadderer too, &c.

BALLAD.

Give round the word diſmount, diſmount,
While echoed by the ſprightly horn,
The toils and pleaſures we recount
Of this ſweet health inſpiring morn.

'Twas glorious ſport, none e'er did lag,
Nor drew amiſs, nor made a ſtand,
But all as firmly kept their pace,
As had Acteon been the ſtag,
And we had hunted by command
Of the goddeſs of the chaſe.

[42]II.

The hounds were out and ſnuffed the air,
And ſcarce had reach'd th' appointed ſpot,
But pleas'd they heard a layer, a layer,
And preſently drew on the ſlot.

Twas glorious ſport, &c.

III.

And now o'er yonder plain he fleets,
The deep-mouth'd hounds begin to bawl;
And echo note for note repeats,
While ſprightly horns reſound a call.

Twas glorious ſport, &c.

IV.

And now the ſtag has loſt his pace,
And while war-hauneh the huntſman cries,
His boſom ſwells, tears wet his face,
He pants, he ſtruggles, and he dies.

'Twas glorious ſport, &c,

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

[43]

WOULD you hear a ſad ſtory of woe,
That tears from a ſtone might provoke,
'Tis concerning a tar you muſt know,
As honeſt as e'er biſcuit broke:

His name was Ben Block, of all men
The moſt true, the moſt kind, the moſt brave,
But harſh treated by fortune, for Ben
In his prime found a watery grave.

II.

His place no one ever knew more;
His heart was all kindneſs and love;
Though on duty an eagle he'd ſoar,
His nature had moſt of the dove:

He lov'd a fair maiden named Kate,
His father to intereſt a ſlave,
Sent him far from his love where hard fate
Plunged him deep in a watery grave.

[44]III

A curſe on all ſlanderous tongues,
A falſe friend his mild nature abuſed,
And ſweet Kate of the vileſt of wrongs,
To poiſon Ben's pleaſure, accuſed;

That ſhe never had truly been kind,
That falſe were the tokens ſhe gave,
That ſhe ſcorn'd him, and wiſh'd he might find,
In the ocean a watery grave.

IV.

Too ſure from this cankerous elf,
The venom accompliſhed its end;
Ben, all truth all honour himſelf,
Suſpected no fraud in his friend:

On the yard, while ſuſpended in air,
A looſe to his ſorrows he gave,
Take thy wiſh, he cried, falſe cruel fair;
And plung'd in a watery grave.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

[45]

To aſk would you come for to go
How a true-hearted tar you'd diſcern,
He's as honeſt a fellow I'd have you to know
As e'er ſtept between ſtem and ſtern:

Let furious winds the veſſel waft,
In his ſtation amidſhips, or ſore, or aft,
He can pull away,
Caſt off, belay,
Aloft, alow,
Avaſt, yo ho!
And hand, reef, and ſteer,
Know each halliard and jeer,
And of duty every rig;
But his joy and delight
Is, on Saturday night,
A drop of the creature to ſwig.

II.

The firſt voyage I made to ſea,
One day as I hove the lead,
The main top gallant maſt went by the lee,
For it blew off the devil's head;

[46]Tumble up there, bear a hand, turn to,
While I, the foremoſt of the crew,
Soon could pull away,
Caſt off, belay,
Aloft, alow,
Avaſt, yo ho!
And hand, reef, and ſteer,
Know each halliard and jeer,
And of duty every rig;
But my joy and delight
Was, on Saturday night,
A drop of the creature to ſwig.

III.

There was Kit with a caſt in his eye,
And Tom with the timber toe,
And ſhambling Will, for he hobbled awry,
All wounded a fighting the foe:

Three lads though crazy grown and crank,
As true as ever bumbo drank,
For they'd pull away,
Caſt off, belay,
Aloft, alow,
Avaſt, yo ho!
And hand, reef, and ſteer,
Know each halliard and jeer,
[47] And of duty every rig;
But their joy and delight
Was, on Saturday night,
A drop of the creature to ſwig.

IV.

Then over life's ocean I'll jog,
Let the ſtorm or the Spaniards come on,
So but ſea room I get, and a ſkin full of grog,
I fear neither devil nor don:

For I'm the man that's ſpract and daft,
In my ſtation amidſhips, or fore, or aft,
I can pull away,
Caſt off, belay,
Aloft, alow,
Avaſt, yo ho!
And hand, reef, and ſteer,
Know each halliard and jeer,
And of duty every rig,
But my joy and delight
Is, on Saturday night,
A drop of the creature to ſwig.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

[48]

EXCEPT the folks that's faſt aſleep,
All nature now is waking,
Aurora at the world a peep
Is in her nightcap taking:

Hark all the tory rory boys,
Making a devil of a noiſe,
To cure the headach of laſt night
The paceable king's ſubjects fright,
And helter ſkelter come apace
To enjoy the pleaſures of the chaſe.

II.

How ſweet to be, as on we ruſh,
By the pig-tail entangling,
Amidſt a lovely torny buſh,
Or on a tree left dangling!

Ah muſha gra than wine or love
The joy of hunting's far above;
Can either Cupid or the bowl
Such pleaſures give? ah by my ſoul!
[49] Briars and torns may ſcratch your face,
Still great's the pleaſure of the chaſe.

III

Then when our mettle's at its pitch,
While tally-ho we're bawling,
Safe landed in a muddy ditch
To be genteelly ſprawling:

Ah muſha gra than wine or love
The joy of hunting's far above;
Can either Cupid or the bowl
Such pleaſure give? Ah by my ſoul!
Let muddy ditches waſh your face,
Still great's the pleaſure of the chaſe.

IV.

Then dripping like a drowning rat,
At night you would not think it,
What glorious wine, if it were not
We're too fatigued to drink it:

Ah bodder not of love and war,
The joy of hunting's greater ſar;
Hark echo, in melodious tones,
Hollas, and whiſtles, and ſings, and groans,
[50] While many a broken ſconce and face
Proclaim the pleaſures of the chaſe.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

WE bipeds, made up of frail clay,
Alas are the children of ſorrow.
And though briſh and merry to-day,
We all may be wretched to-morrow:

For ſunſhine's ſucceeded by rain,
Then fearful of life's ſtormy weather,
Leſt pleaſure ſhould only bring pain,
Let us all be unhappy together.

II.

I grant the beſt bleſſing we know
Is a friend, for true friendſhip's a treaſure,
And yet, leſt your friend prove a foe,
Oh taſte not the dangerous pleaſure:

[51]

Thus friendſhip's a flimſy affair,

Thus riches and health are a bubble,

Thus there's nothing delightful but care,

Nor any thing pleaſing but trouble.

III.

If a mortal would point out that life
Which on earth could be neareſt to heaven,
Let him, thanking his ſtars, chuſe a wife
To whom truth and honour are given:

But honour and truth are ſo rare,
And horns, when they're cutting, ſo tingle,
That, with all my reſpect to the fair,
I'd adviſe him to ſigh and live ſingle.

IV.

It appears from theſe premiſes plain
That wiſdom is nothing but folly,
That pleaſure's a term that means pain,
And that joy is your true melancholy;

That all thoſe who laugh ought to cry,
That 'tis fine friſk and fun to be grieving,
And that ſince we muſt all of us die,
We ſhould taſte no enjoyment while living:

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

[52]

PATRICK O'Row is my name,
My calling's the trade of a boxer,
I'm a devil of a fellow for ſame,
Why I'm bottom like any game cock ſir;

Oh I tips 'em ſo tight
Left and right,
And to blind 'em ſo well I knows how;
To the ſpine of the back I am blood,
Ah honey 'twould do your heart good
To be lathered by Patrick O'Row.

II.

I preſently knocks down my men,
Your ſervant, ſays I, pray call again,
Then I cloſe up their peepers, and then
I wiſh you good night Mr. Galaghan:

Were alive Maſter Slack,
On his back
I'd lay him as flat as he's now;
[53] 'Tis my waſhing, my lodging, and food,
Ah honey 'twould do your heart good
To be lathered by Patrick O'Row.

III.

There's Johnſon, and George, and Big Ben,
Three bruiſers that well can rally you,
Though they thumped the three Birmingham men,
Says I, my lads little I value you:

Mendoza and Ward
Can ſtrike hard,
And to ſtop and put in well know how;
Nay they're every taef of 'em blood,
Yet honey 'twould do them all good
To be lathered by Patrick O'Row.

IV.

Wid a handful of fellows like theſe
Britania what glory I'd bring her to;
Let the Spaniards come on when they pleaſe,
Devil burn me we'd teach them a ting or two:

Wid a phalanx of fiſts
In our liſts,
So nately we'd bodder their glow;
[54] We'd preſently try if they're blood,
Ah honey 'twould do their pride good
To be lathered by Patrick O'Row.

Come all ye tight lads who would earn
True fame, in a poſſee gather ye,
How your country you'd ſerve would ye learn,
Juſt only come here till I lather you:

Oh I'll make you ſo tight
Left and right,
And each knock-me-down argument know;
Come here then, and try if you're blood,
Devil burn me 'twill do your hearts good
To be lathered by Patrick O'Row.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

[55]

ADIEU, adieu, my only life,
My honour calls me from thee,
Remember thou'rt a ſoldier's wife,
Thoſe tears but ill become thee:

What though by duty I am called,
Where thund'ring cannons rattle,
Where valour's ſelf might ſtand appalled,
When on the wings of thy dear love
To heaven above
The fervent oriſons are flown,
The tender prayer
Thou put'ſt up there
Shall call a guardian angel down,
To watch me in the battle.

II.

My ſafety thy fair truth ſhall be,
As ſword and buckler ſerving,
[56] My life ſhall be more dear to me,
Becauſe of thy preſerving:

Let peril come, let horror threat,
Let thundering cannons rattle,
I'll fearleſs ſeek the conflict's heat,
Aſſured when on the wings of love
To heaven above, &c.

III.

Enough, with that benignant ſmile
Some kindred God inſpired thee,
Who knew thy boſom void of guile,
Who wondered and admired thee:

I go, aſſured, my life adieu,
Though thundering cannons rattle,
Though murdering carnage ſtalk in view,
When on the wings of thy true love
To heaven above, &c.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS

[57]

I be one of they ſailors who thinks 'tis no lie
That for every wherefore of life there's a why,
That be fortune's ſtrange weather, a calm or a ſquall,
Our births good or bad are chalked out for us all;

That the ſtays and the braces of life will be found
To be ſome of 'em rotten and ſome of 'em ſound,
That the good we ſhould cheriſh, the bad never ſeek,
For death will too ſoon bring each anchor a-peak.

II.

When aſtride on the yard, the top-lifts they let go,
And I com'd, like a ſhot, plump among 'em below,
Why I cotch'd at a halliard, and jump'd upon deck,
And ſo broke my fall, to ſave breaking my neck:

Juſt like your philoſophers, for all their jaw,
Who, leſs than a rope, gladly catch at a ſtraw;
Thus the good we ſhould cheriſh, the bad never ſeek,
For death will too ſoon bring each anchor a-peak.

[58]III.

Why now that there cruiſe that we made off the banks,
Where I pepper'd the foe, and got ſhot for my thanks,
What then ſhe ſoon ſtruck, and though crippled on ſhore,
And laid up to refit, I had ſhiners galore:

At length live and looking, I tried the falſe main,
And to get more prize money, got ſhot at again:
Thus the good we ſhould cheriſh, the bad never ſeek,
For death will too ſoon bring each anchor a-peak.

IV.

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 lobs-ſcouſe:
Thus the good we ſhould cheriſh, the bad never ſeek,
For death will too ſoon bring each anchor apeak.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

[59]

THE ſun's deſcending in the wave,
I go, I go, my fate to brave:
Ghoſts of dead yncas now appear,
Shriek as ye come
Cold from the tomb,
And ſee if Moniaco knows to fear.

Oh ſun my ſire!
Lend me all thy noble fire:
Illia Moniaco to thy tomb,
Oh Atabalipa ſoon ſhall come;
Cover me with ſcars,
Nought can controul
The dauntleſs ſoul,
That ſhall live among its kindred ſtars.

II.

What is't to die? to leave this clay,
And breathe in everlaſting day,
[60] For robes celeſtial ſhake off duſt,
Among the bleſt
From care to reſt,
And emulate the virtues of the juſt:

Then ſun, my ſire,
Lend me all thy noble fire,
Illia Moniaco, &c.

III.

Adieu ye friends, vain world adieu,
Bliſs is for me, but woe for you;
While I, new born, ſhall go to find
The upper heaven,
You ſhall be driven,
Like ſcattered chaff, before falfe fortune's wind,

Now ſun, my fire,
I feel, I feel thy noble fire!
Illia Moniaco, &c.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

[61]

I was the pride of all the Thames,
My name was natty Jerry,
The beſt of ſmarts and flaſhy dames
I've carried in my wherry:

For then no mortal ſoul like me
So merrily did jog it,
I lov'd my wife and friend, d'ye ſee,
And won the prize of Dogget:

In coat and badge, ſo neat and ſpruce,
I row'd all blithe and merry,
And every waterman did uſe
To call me happy Jerry:

II.

But times ſoon changed, I went to ſea,
My wife and friend betrayed me,
And in my abſence treacherouſly
Some pretty frolics played me:

[62]

Return'd, I uſed them like a man,

But ſtill 'twas ſo provoking,

I could not joy my very can,

Nor even fancy ſmoaking:

In tarniſh'd badge, and coat ſo queer,
No longer blithe and merry,
Old friends now paſſed me with a ſneer,
And called me diſmal Jerry.

III.

At ſea, as with a dangerous wound
I lay under the ſurgeons,
Two friends each help I wanted found
In every emergence:

Soon after my ſweet friend and wife
Into this meſs had brought me,
Theſe two kind friends who ſav'd my life
In my misfortunes ſought me.

We're come, cried they, that once again
In coat and badge ſo merry,
Your kind old friends the watermen
May hail you happy Jerry.

[63]IV.

I'm Peggy, once your ſoul's deſire,
To whom you prov'd a rover,
Who ſince that time in man's attire
Have ſought you the world over,

And I, cried t'other, am that Jack
When boys you uſed ſo badly,
Though now the beſt friend to your back,
Then prithee look not ſadly;

Few words are beſt, I ſeiz'd their hands,
My grateful heart grew merry,
And now in love and friendſhip's bands
I'm once more happy Jerry.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

BOLD Jack the ſailor, here I come,
Pray how d'ye like my nib,
My trowſers wide, my trampers rum,
My nab, and flowing jib;

[64]

I ſails the ſeas from end to end,

And leads a joyous life,

In every meſs I finds a friend,

In every port a wife.

II.

I've heard them talk of conſtancy,
Of grief, and ſuch like fun,
I've conſtant been to ten, cried I,
But never grieved for one:

The flowing ſails we tars unbend,
To lead a jovial life,
In every meſs to find a friend,
In every port a wife.

III

I've a ſpanking wife at Portſmouth gates,
A pigmy at Goree,
An orange-tawny up the ſtraits,
A black at St. Lucie:

Thus whatſomedever courſe I bend,
I leads a jovial life,
In every meſs I find a friend,
In every port a wife.

[65]IV.

Will Gaft by Death was ta'en aback,
I came to bring the news,
Poll wimper'd ſore, but what did Jack?
Why, ſtood in William's ſhoes:

She cut, I chaſed, but in the end
She loved me as her life,
And ſo ſhe got an honeſt friend
And I a loving wife.

Thus be we ſailors all the go,
On fortune's ſea we rub,
We works, and loves, and fights the foe,
And drinks the generous bub:

Storms that the maſt to ſplinters rend,
Can't ſhake our jovial life,
In every meſs we finds a friend,
In every port a wife.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

[66]

LET bucks and let bloods to praiſe London agree,
Oh the joys of the country my jewel for me;
Where ſweet is the flower that the May-buſh adorns,
And how charming to gather it but for the thorns:

Where we walk o'er the mountains, with health our cheeks glowing,
As warm as a toaſt honey when it 'ent ſnowing,
Where nature to ſmile when ſhe joyful inclines,
And the ſun charms us all the year round when it ſhines:

Oh the mountains, and vallies, and buſhes,
The pigs, and the ſcreech-owls, and thruſhes,
Let bloods and let bucks to praiſe London agree,
Oh the joys of the country my jewel for me!

II.

There twelve hours on a ſtretch we in angling delight,
As patient as Jobs, though we get ne'er a bite,
There we pop at the wild ducks, and frighten the crows,
While ſo lovely the icicles hang to our cloaths;

[67]

There wid aunts, and wid couſins, and grandmothers talking,

We're caught in the rain as we're all out a walking,

While the muſlins and gauzes cling round each fair ſhe,

That they look all like Venuſes ſprung from the ſea.

Oh the mountains, &c.

III.

Then how ſweet in the dog days to take the freſh air,
Where, to ſave you expence, the duſt powders your hair:
Thus pleaſures, like ſnow-balls, encreaſe as they roll,
And tire you to death—not forgetting the bowl;

Where in mirth and good fellowſhip always delighting,
We agree, that is when we're not ſquabbling and fight⯑ing,
Den wid toaſts and pint bumpers we bodder the head,
Juſt to ſee who moſt gracefully ſtaggers to bed.

Oh the mountains, &c.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

[68]

HARK the din of diſtant war,
How noble is the clangor,
Pale death aſcend his ebon car,
Clad in terrific anger:

A doubtful fate the ſoldier tries
Who joins the gallant quarrel:
Perhaps on the cold ground he lies,
No wife no friend to cloſe his eyes,
Though nobly mourn'd,
Perhaps, return'd,
He's crown'd with victory's laurel.

II.

How many who, diſdaining fear,
Ruſh on the deſperate duty,
Shall claim the tribute of the tear
That dims the eye of beauty?

A doubtful fate, &c.

[69]III.

What nobler fate can fortune give?
Renown ſhall tell our ſtory
If we ſhould fall, but if we live,
We live our country's glory.

'Tis true a doubtful fate, &c.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

IF the beauty of truth unadorn'd is ſeen beſt,
The man that is drunk of fair truth is the teſt;
For liquor man's natural temper aſſumes,
While every thing artful flies off with the fumes;

The vizor of life is pull'd off by the bowl,
And the face of a drunkard exhibits his ſoul:
Then beware all who are in raſcality ſunk,
You'll all be detected if once you get drunk.

[70]II.

If contempt of all danger true courage e'er gave,
The man that is drunk as a lion is brave;
For, like any Caeſar he'll riot and ſtorm,
And talk of great feats he's too weak to perform;

He'll utter big oaths, know not what to be at,
Thump his head with his fiſt, but there's nothing in that:
Then beware braggadociaes, in cowardice ſunk—
You'll all be detected if once you get drunk.

III

If ſtrong ipſe dixit true wiſdom implies,
The man that is drunk is like Solomon wiſe;
For of cocks and of bulls he'll tell many a tale,
And ſwear to the truth of 'em rather than fail.

He'll reconcile oppoſites, prove falſe is true,
Vouch he does no [...] know what of he does not know who;
Then beware all ye varlets in falſity ſunk,
You'll all be detected if once you get drank.

II.

Come on, let us drink then, right conſcious the bowl
In each roſy cheek though it light up the ſoul,
[71] Can nothing of worldly deformity ſhew,
Nor prove that we ought but with honeſty glow.

'Tis the ordeal of truth, and of gen'rous delight,
Which, to keep us all honeſt we'll try every night,
Proving ſtill by our acts in no meanneſs we're ſunk,
But true honeſt friends whether ſober or drunk.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

THE wind was huſh'd, the ſtorm was over,
Unfurl'd was every flowing ſail,
From toil releaſed, when Dick of Dover
Went with his meſsmates to regale;

All danger's o'er, cried he, my neat hearts,
Drown care then in the ſmiling can,
Come bear a hand, let's toaſt our ſweethearts,
And firſt I'll give my buxom Nan.

II.

She's none of thoſe that's a [...]ways gigging,
And ſtem and ſtern made up of art;
[72] One knows a veſſel by her rigging,
Such ever ſlight a conſtant heart:

With ſtraw hat and pink ſtreamers flowing,
How oft to meet me has ſhe ran:
While for dear life would I be rowing,
To meet with ſmiles my buxom Nan.

III.

Jack Jollyboat went to the Indies,
To ſee him ſtare when he came back,
The girls were ſo all off the hinges,
His Poll was quite unknown to Jack:

Tant maſted all, to ſee who's talleſt,
Breaſt works, top gant-ſails, and a fan;
Meſsmate, cried I, more ſail than ballaſt,
Ah ſtill give me my buxom Nan.

IV.

None on life's ſea can ſail more quicker,
To ſhew her love, or ſerve a friend,
But hold, I'm preaching o'er my liquor,
This one word then, and there's an end:

Of all the wenches whatſomedever,
I ſay, then find me out who can
[73] One half ſo tight, ſo kind, ſo clever,
Sweet, trim, and neat as buxom Nan.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

LOVELY woman, pride of nature,
Good, and ſweet, and kind, and fair,
Than man a higher ſtile of creature,
Perfect as celeſtials are:

See Myra come, like ſtately Juno,
Ever fair and ever young,
Completely like, as I and you know,
For Myra, like Juno, has a tongue.

II.

Young Celia's charms that beam ſo ſweetly,
To paint ah what can words avail,
She's Venus' ſelf, and ſo completely,
That Celia is, like Venus, frail.

[74]

To woo the charming Gloriana,

Audacity would ſtand afraid;

She chaſte and icy as Diana,

And, like Diana, an old maid.

III.

Thus women boaſt a near relation,
'Tis plain to the celeſtial race,
Thus we of their divine creation
A family reſemblance trace:

If then ſome faults of this complexion
Like ſpots upon that ſun, their fame,
Ruſt this ſame model of perfection,
The ſtars, not women, are to blame.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

[75]

Two real tars, whom duty called
To watch in the foretop,
Thus one another overhaul'd,
And took a cheering drop:

I ſay Will Hatchway, cried Tom Tow,
Of conduct what's your ſort,
As through the voyage of life you go,
To bring you ſafe to port?

II.

Cried Jack, you lubber don't you know?
Our paſſions cloſe to reef,
To ſteer where honour points the prow,
To hand a friend relief:

Theſe anchors get but in your power,
My life for't that's your ſort;
The bower, the ſheet, and the beſt bower
Shall bring you up in port.

[76]III.

Why then you're out, and there's an end,
Tom cried out blunt and rough,
Be good, be honeſt, ſerve a friend,
Be maxims well enough;

Who ſwabs his bows at other's woe,
That tar's for me your ſort,
His veſſel right a head ſhall go
To find a joyful port.

IV.

Let ſtorms of life upon me preſs,
Misfortunes make me reel,
Why, dam'me what's my own diſtreſs?
For others let me feel:

Ay, ay, if bound with a freſh gale
To heaven, this is your ſort,
A handkerchief's the beſt wet ſail
To bring you ſafe to port.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

[77]

I'M daſhing Dick the duſtman,
None my calling can degrade,
For I am not the firſt man
Who had driv'n a dirty trade:

Duſt ho! duſt ho! I rings my bell and cries,
My tricks, if you would find 'em,
Pretty early you muſt riſe,
For watch me ſtill
Howe'er you will
I bears off many a prize,
And when I wants to blind 'em
I throws duſt in their eyes.

II.

Why what's your man of honour?
And what's your madam fame?
A jilt when he has won her
That proves a dirty name:

Victory! victory! each draws his ſword and cries,
In the midſt of ſlaughter find him,
[78] See where the ſavage flies,
He ſpares no life,
Nor friend, nor wife,
Where'er he finds a prize,
Till death at laſt, to blind him,
Throws duſt in his eyes.

III.

The lawyer, the phyſician,
And e'en the learn'd divine,
Each drives, in his condition,
As black a trade as mine:

Fees ho! fees ho! each draws his purſe and cries,
Their conſciences can't bind 'em,
The wretched patient dies,
All prayers fail,
While in a jail
The ruin'd client lies,
Unleſs you throw to blind 'em
Gold duſt in their eyes.

IV.

And ſo d'ye ſee men buſtle
To ſee who's dirty firſt,
And one another huſtle,
And all to raiſe the duſt:

[79]Duſt ho! duſt ho! each draws his purſe and cries,
And he old Nick behind him
Will take, to mount up tries,
All ſcrambling go,
Both friend and foe,
To bear away ſome prize,
And each throws duſt to blind him
Plump in his neighbour's eyes.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

IF bold and brave thou can'ſt not bear
Thyſelf from all thou lov'ſt to tear,
If, while winds war, and billows roll,
A ſpark of fear invade thy ſoul,
If thou'rt appall'd when cannons roar,
I prithee meſſmate ſtay aſhore,

There, like a lubber,
Whine and blubber,
Still for thy eaſe and ſafety buſ [...],
[80] Nor dare to come
Where honeſt Tom,
And Ned, and Nick,
And Ben, and Phil,
And Jack, and Dick,
And Bob, and Bill,
All weathers ſing, and drink the ſwizzy.

II.

If, ſhould'ſt thou loſe a limb in fight,
She who made up thy heart's delight,
Poor recompence that thou art kind,
Shall prove inconſtant as the wind,
If ſuch hard fortune thou'ſt deplore,
I prithee meſſmate ſtay aſhore:

There like a lubber, &c.

III

If pris'ner in a foreign land,
No friend, no money at command,
That man thou truſted hadſt alone
All knowledge of thee ſhould diſown;
If this ſhould vex thee to the core,
I prithee meſſmate ſtay aſhore.

There like a lubber, &c.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

[81]

WHY don't you know me by my ſcars?
I'm ſoldier Dick come from the wars;
Where many a head without a hat
Crowds honour's bed—but what of that?

Beat drums, play fifes, 'tis glory calls,
What argufies who ſtands or falls;
Lord what ſhould one be ſorry for?
Life's but the fortune of the war:
Then rich or poor, or well or ſick,
Still laugh and ſing ſhall ſoldier Dick.

II.

I uſed to look two ways at once,
A bullet hit me on the ſconce,
And dowſh'd my eye d'ye think I'd wince?
Why lord I've never ſquinted ſince.

Beat drums, &c.

[82]III.

Some diſtant keep from war's alarms,
For fear of wooden legs and arms,
While others die ſafe in their beds
Who all their lives had wooden heads.

Beat drums, &c.

IV.

Thus gout or fever, ſword or ſhot,
Or ſomething ſends us all to pot:
That we're to die then do not grieve,
But let's be merry while we live.

Beat drums, &c.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

[83]

AVERT yon omen, gracious heaven,
The ugly ſcud,
By riſing winds reſiſtleſs driven,
Kiſſes the flood.

How hard the lot for ſailors caſt,
That they ſhould roam
For years, to periſh thus at laſt
In ſight of home!

For if the coming gale we mourn,
A tempeſt grows,
Our veſſel's ſhatter'd ſo, and torn,
That down ſhe goes!

II.

The tempeſt comes, while meteors red
Portentous fly;
And now we touch old ocean's bed,
Now reach the ſky!

[84]

On ſable wings, in gloomy flight,

Fiends ſeem to wait,

To ſnatch us in this dreadful night,

Dark as our fate:

Unleſs ſome kind, ſome pitying pow'r
Should interpoſe,
She labours ſo, within this hour
Down ſhe goes.

III.

But ſee, on roſy pinions borne,
O'er the mad deep,
Reluctant beams the ſorr'wing morn,
With us to weep:

Deceitful ſorrow, cheerleſs light,
Dreadful to think,
The morn is ris'n, in endleſs night
Our hopes to ſink!

She ſplits! ſhe parts!—through ſluices driven,
The water flows;
Adieu ye friends, have mercy heaven!
For down ſhe goes!

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

[85]

GOOD people attend to my lay,
I ſing of a late inundation,
That had like to have carried away
All the wigs and long robes in the nation:

While thinking of no harm at all,
But a few wretched people's undoing,
Father Thames enter'd Weſtminſter hall,
Threatening all law and juſtice with ruin.

But let not their terrors theſe lawyers confound,

The old proverb decrees they can never be drown'd.

II.

Of the fright, univerſal it ſpread,
Conception can ne'er form a notion,
Wigs briſtled upright on each head,
And counſellors ſtood without mo [...]ion:

The tide that for no man will ſtay,
While the clamour grew louder and louder,
[86] From every tie-wig waſh'd away
Common ſenſe, with the curls and the powder.

But why thus ſhould water theſe lawyers confound,

When the proverb decrees they can never be drown'd?

III

Cries one they're found out in their tricks,
No wonder they put ſuch deſpair on,
They fancy the Thames is the Styx,
And each old crazy waterman Charon:

That they'll ſoon before Minos be brought,
Where nought avails twiſting and turning,
And where they'll, in this caſe, be taught
That drowning's an alias for burning.

Yet at no rate ſhould water theſe lawyers confound,

They may burn to be ſure, but they cannot be drown'd.

IV.

And now by the current preſs'd hard,
Each ſcrambles to enter ſome boat in,
While ſcatter'd all o'er palace-yard,
Wigs, briefs, and long robes are ſeen floating;

In this chaos of juſtice, thieves, clerks,
Jews, counſel the boats are all trimming,
[87] While a ſailor cries dam'me theſe ſharks
Are your fineſt of fiſhes for ſwimming.

Then why ſhould their terrors theſe lawyers confound,

When, whatever awaits them, they cannot be drown'd?

At length ſafe arrived from the ſtorm,
Without fate or fortune once thanking,
They ſwore that the city, next term,
They'd indite for the Thames not embanking;

That the wind that blew nobody good
Was an ill one—thus parted theſe brothers,
And themſelves ſcarce eſcaped from the flood,
Went home to brew miſchief for others,

And furniſh a laugh for the public all round,

That they ſhould fear water who cannot be drown'd.

RONDEAU.
IN THE WAGS.

[88]

ONE Negro, wi my banjer,
Me from Jenny come,
Wid cunning yiei
Me ſavez ſpy
De buckra world one hum,
As troo a ſtreet a ſtranger
Me my banjer ſtrum.

My miſſy for one black dog about the houſe me kick,
Him ſay my naſſy tawny face enough to make him ſick;
But when my maſſa he go out, ſhe then no longer rail,
For firſt me let the captain in, and then me tell no tale:

So aunt Quaſhy ſay,
Do tabby, brown, or black, or white,
You ſee um in one night,
Every ſort of cat be gray.

One Negro, &c.

To fetch a lilly money back, you go to law they call,
The court and all the tie-wig ſoon ſtrip you ſhirt and all,
[89] The courtier call him friend him foe,
And fifty ſtory tell,
To-day ſay yes, to-morrow no,
And lie like any hell:
And ſo though Negro black for true,
He black in buckra country too.

One Negro, &c.

BALLAD.
IN THE ODDITIES.

BARDS call themſelves a heav'nly race,
Topers find heaven in wine,
We truly boaſt, who love the chaſe,
An origin divine.

The deities all hunters are:
Great Jove, who ſpends his life
In hunting of the willing fair,
Is hunted by his wife.

Then come and wake the drowſy morn,
While the ſwift game we follow;
[90] The feather'd throng and tuneful horn
Shall join the hunter's hollow.

II.

Gay Bacchus, on his tun, that hack,
Toaſts for view hollows gives,
While Mercury, with his Bow-ſtreet pack,
Scours heav'n to hunt for thieves;

Bold Mars, a blood hound, hunts for fame,
Nor, till its lateſt breath,
Will he e'er leave the panting game,
But comes in at the death.

Then come, &c.

III

Diana in her ſacred grove
Saw raſh Acteon near,
And though ſhe ſeemed to ſcorn his love,
She took him for her deer:

Yet vex'd to think this hint ſo ſly
On the fool ſhe could not paſs,
From his own hounds ſhe made him fly,
And kill'd him for an aſs.

Then come, &c.

[91]IV.

Great Juno, wretched reſtleſs fair,
On jealous fury bent,
Still in full cry is hunting care,
And ſtill on a wrong ſcent;

Indeed the fair oft mount their nag,
By the hunting mania ſtruck,
And if Acteon was a ſtag,
Poor Vulcan was a buck.

Then come, &c.

RONDEAU.
IN THE WAGS.

WHILE whim, and glee, and jeſt, and ſong,
Diſplay their charming treaſure,
Mingling in gay laughter's throng,
Come to the camp of pleaſure.

All human beings have their cares,
Life's made of joy and ſorrow;
[92] To balance life then our affairs
Should of our pleaſures borrow:

Youth's joy's ſeaſon, ſo is age,
Each temper, ſex, complexion,
In mirth may harmleſſly engage,
As well as in reflexion.
While whim, &c.

You who proudly roll in wealth;
You whoſe means are ſlender,
You whoſe lungs proclaim your health,
You whoſe frames are tender;

You who wear grave wiſdom's wigs,
You who deal in folly,
You who merry are as grigs,
You who are melancholy:—

While whim, &c.

Where's mongſt them all the cynic elf,
Of joy the open ſcorner,
But doff'd the ſage, and to himſelf
Took pleaſure in a corner?

In ſhort who ſets up to deſpiſe
Thoſe joys that mirth awaken,
[93] I will not rudely ſay he lies,
But ſurely he's miſtaken.

While whim, &c.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

SINCE by cutting of trotes all our glories encreafe,
Of war let us ſing, becaſe why it brings peace:
Of hacking and hewing, in front and in rear,
Of ſome kilt by the ſword, and ſome dying through fear.

Death alive! what ſweet ſlaught'ring, and cutting, and ſcars!
Is it honour you'd ſeek, won't you go to the wars?
Where death his long ſcythe bathes in gore to the hilt,
And whips heads from ſhoulders ſo clever,
And where ſhould you have the good luck to be kilt,
By my ſoul you'll be living for ever!

[94]II.

The army's drawn out, the confuſion's begun,
While our arms ſhine ſo bright that they dazzle the ſun,
Oh the glorious ſight! but the beſt of the joke,
The devil a ſoul are we ſeeing but ſmoak.

Death alive, &c.

III.

Like a Will o' th' Wiſp, while our boſoms it fires,
See glory lead on over buſhes and briars;
Paſs begone, hiccius doxius, juſt like cup and ball,
Now 'tis here, and now there, and now no where at all.

Death Alive! &c.

IV.

That war is delightful then who can deny,
To be living for ever, ah who whould not die?
Your fame's up from the moment it puts you to bed,
And you grow a great man by the loſs of your head!

Death Alive! &c.

SONG.
IN THE WAGS.

[95]

To be ſure
I'm not a connoiſeur,
Arrah will you now be eaſy:
I don't the op'ra know at all,
And then I have not heard them ſquall,
From Mingotti to Marcheſi!
Wid dere con amore,
Dere il mio cuore,
Dere amoroſa,
Dere tormentoſa,
Dere occhietti,
Si Furbetti,
Dere amante
Conſtante,
The padre,
The madre,
The bella,
Sorella,
The moglie, the figlio,
Et tutt' il famiglio:
The ſoft John Bull to take by the ears,
To whom this Babel proves the muſic of the ſpheres;
[96] And as they ſigh,
And pant, and die,
He joins the roar,
And cries out bravo and encore:

There was ſilver Lovatini,
And graceful Zamparini,
That bawling taef Morigi,
Who turn'd monkey to oblige ye;
The mellow Scotti,
The tender Pachierotti,
Manzoli, Guarducci,
Peretti, Tenducci,
And then, O cara,
The wonderful and ſurpriſing Madam Mara!
Who pretty well have ſack'd the pence,
And ſold the Englitch ſound for ſenſe.

To be ſure
I'm not a connoiſeur,
Arrah will you now be aeſy;
I don't the op'ra know at all,
And then I have not heard them ſquall,
From Mingotti to Marcheſi!
With dere con amore,
Dere il mio cuore,
Dere amoroſa,
Dere tormentoſa,
[97] Dere occhietti,
Si furbetti,
Dere amante,
Conſtante,
The padre,
The madre,
The bella,
Sorella,
The moglie, the figlio,
Et tutt' il famiglio.
The ſoft John Bull to take by the ears,
To whom this Babel proves the muſic of the ſpheres!
And as they go on with their dolce amare,
Their dolce cantare,
Viva l'amore!
Their trombetti ſonate
Canoni ſparate,
Lara lara la,
Boo, boo, boo,
Aſtoniſh'd John cries out bravo! encore!
And ſwears all Engliſh muſic's a vile bore.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

[98]

THE tar's a jolly tar that can hand, reef, and ſteer,
That can nimbly caſt off and belay,
Who in darkeſt of nights finds each halliard and jeer,
And dead reck'ning knows well and lee way;

But the tar to pleaſe me
More jolly muſt be,
He muſt laugh at the waves as they roar;
He muſt rattle,
And in battle
Brave danger and dying,
Though bullets are flying,
And fifty things more:
Singing, quaffing,
Dancing, laughing,
Take it cherrily,
And merrily,
And all for the ſake of his girl aſhore.

II.

The tar's a jolly tar who his rhino will ſpend,
Who up for a meſſmate will bring,
[99] For we ſailors all think he that's true to his friend
Will never be falſe to his king:

But the tar to pleaſe me
More jolly muſt be,
He muſt venture for money galore;
Acting duly,
Kind, and truly,
And nobly inherit
A generous ſpirit,
A prudent one more;
Singing, laughing,
Dancing, quaffing,
Take it cherrily,
And merrily,
And ſave up his caſh for his girl aſhore.

III.

The tar's a jolly tar who loves a beauty bright,
And at ſea often thinks of her charms,
Who toaſts her with glee on a Saturday night,
And wiſhes her moor'd in his arms:

But the tar to pleaſe me
More jolly muſt be,
Though teaz'd at each port by a ſ [...]ore,
He muſt, ſneering
At their leering,
[100] Never ſtudy to delight 'em,
But ſcorn 'em, and ſlight 'em,
Still true to the core;
Singing, laughing,
Dancing, quaffing,
Take it cherrily,
And merrily,
And conſtant return to his girl aſhore.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

SHENKIN was porn in Glamorganſhire,
Odds will her poor heart runs all upon Winny,
And her't kiſs, and her't luff, and her't call her her dear;
And make her cry Shinkin the tiffle is in you.

Her breath is as ſweet as a leek, or a coat's,
Her's like a plue mountain, ſo taper and thin,
Aif her putter and ſeece would but yield her ten croats,
To-morrow ſhould ſee Shenkin married to Win.

[101]II.

When the curate at eve on the crowty playt,
Oh te choys of her heart, Shenkin danced with his Winny,
And hur lufft and telighted ſo in the teer maid,
That ſhe patting hur, cried out the tiffle is in you.

You ſkip like the kits, and you pount like the coats,
To mollify ſure enough I ſhall bekin,
Aif your putter and ſeece wou'd but yield you ten croats,
To-morrow ſhould ſee Shenkin married to win.

III.

Ah if her coot urſhip, great Squire Ap Shones,
Could ſee how her's creefing, as ſure as a kinny,
His powels would yearn with her crunts and her croans,
Ah no he'd himſelf fall in love with ſweet Winny.

Thus Shenkin complain'd, as he drove home his goats,
While the ſpuire and his comrades from hunting came in,
He heard the fond tale, kindly paid the ten groats,
And the next morning ſaw Shenkin married to Win.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

[102]

FAR removed from noiſe and ſmoak,
Hark I hear the woodman's ſtroke,
Who dreams not, as he fells the oak,
What miſchief dire he brews:

How art ſhall ſhape his falling trees,
For aid of luxury and eaſe,
He weighs not matters ſuch as theſe,
But ſings, and hacks, and hews.

II.

Perhaps now fell'd by this bold man,
That tree ſhall form the ſpruce ſedan,
Or wheelbarrow, where oyſter Nan
So runs her vulgar rig;

The ſtage where boxers crowd in flocks,
Or elſe a quack's, perhaps the ſtocks,
Or poſts for ſings, or barber's blocks,
Where ſmiles the parſon's wig.

[103]III

Thou mak'ſt, bold peaſant, oh what grief,
The gibbet on which hangs the thief,
The ſeat where ſits the great Lord Chief,
The throne, the cobler's ſtall:

Thou pamper'ſt life in every ſtage,
Mak'ſt ſolly's whims, pride's equipage,
For children toys, crutches for age,
And coffins for us all.

IV.

Yet juſtice let us ſtill afford,
Theſe chairs, and this convivial board,
The bin that holds gay Bacchus' hoard,
Confeſs the woodman's ſtroke:

He made the preſs that bled the vine,
The butt that holds the generous wine,
The hall itſelf, where tiplers join
To crack the mirthful joke.

VAUXHALL BALLAD.

[104]

TIME was, for oh there was a time,
Sweet Phoebe by my ſide,
The ſofteſt verſe I ſung in rhime,
Where falling pools did glide:

But, Phoebe hence, I'm left alone,
Nor verſe nor rhime can pleaſe,
And pools ſtand ſtill to ſee me moan,
In whiſpers through the trees.

II.

The pride of laughing nature ſtood
In fertile heaths confeſſed,
When birds, in you impervious wood,
With Phoebe ſaw me bleſt.

But laughing nature's now in tears,
The heaths begin to mourn,
Birds hoot in my melodious ears,
For Phoebe's glad return.

[105]III.

To ſhun fierce ſol's meridian heat,
Upon you verdant green,
How oft, at cloſe of eve, I'd meet
Sweet Phoebe, beauty's queen:

But, loſt the ſunſhine of her charms,
The verdant green's all brown,
And I, with nothing in my arms,
Lie hard on beds of down.

IV.

Then come ſweet fair, and leave behind
All ſorrow, pain, and woe,
The birds ſhall ſmile, and the north wind
Like Boreas gently blow:

So ſhall the daiſy-mantling green,
The cowſlip-ſtudded brook,
In ſable robes all crimſon ſeen,
Refiect each azure look.

BALLAD.
IN THE WAGS.

[106]

HAVE you heard, my good neighbours, the wonderful news,
How the French are no longer to wear wooden ſhoes?
How the nobles their titles agree to forget?
And with cobler and prince 'tis hey fellow well met!

Sing kick down diſtinction, kick off wooden ſhoes,
Sing brotherly love betwixt Chriſtians and Jews,
Oh rare, O rare!
Yea and nay, thee and thou,
Is now
All the rage,
The year ninety's the date of the true golden age,
Let every French frizeur then die in deſpair,
For freedom's the word, and a ſtraight head of hair.

II.

The ſtage for this play, I had almoſt ſaid farce,
Was of all other places the grand field of Mars,
They erected their caſtle of liberty there,
Where Mongolfier went up in his caſtle of air.