And now 'tis to his ear conducted. "Zounds!" cried out Jack, "I know that phuBut then, such togs-they're all to pieces! Why, it can't be! my eyes it is

"Tis Poll a-bawling water-cresses!"

And now she's in his arms, while he
Bids her relate fortune's reverses;
The world finds faithless as the sea,

And loads false friends, in troops, with curses. "They took," cried she, " my very bed;

The sticks they seized, and sold in pieces; So, to get a bit of honest bread,

I cries, who'll buy my water-cresses ?"

"Still art thou rich, my girl," cried Jack,

"And still shalt taste each earthly pleasure; Thou'rt true, though rags are on thy back, And honor, Poll's a noble treasure. In this gay tog-shop rigg'd so neat,

Ill fortune from this moment ceases;" This said, he scattered in the street

Basket, and rags, and water-cresses.

NANCY.

You ask how it comes that I sing about Nancy
For ever, yet find something new;

As well may you ask why delight fills the fancy
When land first appears to the crew.
When, safe from the toils of the perilous ocean,
In each thanks of gratitude spring:

Feel this, and you'll have of my joy a faint notion
When with rapture of Nancy I sing.

You and I nature's beauties have seen the world over,
Yet never knew which to prefer;

Then why should you wonder that I am no rover,
Since I see all those beauties in her?

Why, you'll find about ships all you've known and been hearing,

On their different bearings to bring;

Though they all make their ports, they all vary in steering, So do I when of Nancy I sing.

Could a ship round the world, wind and weather permitting,
A thousand times go and come back,

The ocean's so spacious, 'twould never be hitting
For leagues upon leagues the same tack:

So her charms are so numerous, so various, so clever,
They produce in my mind such a string,

That, my tongue once let loose, I could sing on for ever,
And vary the oftener I sing.

Shall I tell you the secret? you've but to love truly,

Own a heart in the right place that's hung;

And just as the prow to the helm answers duly,
That heart will lend words to the tongue.

No art do I boast of, no skill I inherit,
Then do not of iny praises ring;

But to love and to nature allow all the merit
That taught me of Nancy to sing.

And I loves a warm heart, and a sweet honest mind,
Good as truth, and as lively as fancy;
As constant as honor, as tenderness kind;
In short, I loves Nature and Nancy.

I read in a song about Wenus, I thinka,

All rigged out with her Cupids and Graces: And how roses and lilies, carnations and pinks, Was made paint to daub over their faces.

They that loves it may take all such art for their painsFor mine 'tis another guess fancy;

Give me the rich health, flesh and blood, and blue veins,
That pays the sweet face of my Nancy.

Why, I went to the play, where they talked well at least,
As to act all their parts they were trying;
They were playing at soldiers, and playing at feast,
And some they was playing at dying.

Let 'em hang, drown, or starve, or take poison, d'ye see,
All just for their gig and their fancy;
What to them was but jest is right earnest to me,
For I live and I'd die for my Nancy.

Let the girls then, like so many Algerine Turks,
Dash away, a fine gay-painted galley,

With their jacks, and their pennants, and gingerbread works,

All for show, and just nothing for value

False colors throw out, decked by labor and art,

To take of pert coxcombs the fancy;

They are all for the person, I'm all for the heart-
In short, I'm for Nature and Nancy.

ANNA, ANNE, NAN, NANCE, OR NANCY, My love's a vessel trim and gay,

Rigged out with truth and stored by honor; As through life's sea she cuts her way, All eyes with rapture gaze upon her: Built every wondering heart to please—

The lucky shipwrights, Love and Fancy; From stem to stern she moves with ease, And at her launch they called her Nancy.

When bearing up against life's gales,

So well she stems the dangerous trouble, I call her Anna-as she sails,

Her form's so grand, her air's so noble. When o'er the trembling wave she flies That plays and sports as she advances, Well said, my Nan! I fondly cries,

As my full heart in concert dances.

In studding-sails before life's breeze
So sweetly gentle is her motion,
She's Anne-for, as she moves with ease,
She seems the queen of all the ocean.
But when on Sundays rigged in stays,
Like beauty gay, and light as fancy,
She wins my heart a thousand ways;
I then delight to call her Nancy.

When laying on a tack so neat,

The breeze her milk-white bosom filling,
She skims the yielding waves so fleet,
I call her Nance, my bosom thrilling.
Thus is she precious to my heart,

By whate'er name comes o'er my fancy;
Graceful or gay, grand, neat, or smart,
Cr Anna, Anne, Nan, Nance, or Nancy,

BROTHER JACK.

Ir the good old maxim's true,

That sons of Eve should all be brothers, Tars have it to their hearts in view, For their first good's the good of others; Nay, Jack such narrow love derides, 'Midst every danger still contented, He the whole family provides

With every good that Heaven invented;

And, leaving caution to the wind, Risks every chance to serve mankind.

Away to India, cries the fair;

To Beauty's voice obedient listen! The vessel cuts the yielding air,

And muslins wave, and diamonds glisten; Should winter, in its bleak array,

With chilling frosts and winds alarm her, Jack points the prow to Hudson's Bay,

And comely furs both deck and varm hor; And, gayly leaving care behind, Ransacks the world to serve mankin

Would cits the rich, voluptuous treat-
Amid the bustle and the hurry,
To make the bill of fare complete,
Jack brings the turtle and the curry;
He fetches tea for maiden aunts,

Finery and fashions for our spouses,
Feeds, clothes us, and supplies our wants,
And even furnishes our houses:
What thanks for those then shall we find,
Who thus adventure for mankind?

Then be the friendly toast we pass,

As honest hearts and Nature's freemen— Excluding daylight from the glass

Prosperity to English seamen !
On danger's brink who careless found,

For others make their lives a slavery;
The very wine that now goes round

We owe to their adventurous bravery. Then drink to those, with grateful mind, Who risk their lives to serve mankind.

THE MANES OF THE BRAVE.

Now that war has, in human distress, done its best;
Now that, glutted with mischief, fell slaughter's at rest;
Now that smiling content crowns the peasant's clean board,
And the industrious ploughshare takes place of the sword;
In this season what care o'er the fancy shall brood?
What sigh press for vent, or what tear shall intrude?
Ah! indulge and reflect on each glorious grave—
A sigh and a tear to the manes of the brave.

Now that loud acclamations expand through the air,
And the brows of the brave are adorned by the fair;
Now that bands of musicians so gayly advance,
In the concert to join or enliven the dance;
At one grateful idea the tumult shall end,
The soft flute the sad cadence alone shall suspend;
And, while fancy leads on to the cold hallowed grave,
Shall echo a sigh to the manes of the brave.

Proud award of those heroes for glory who burn,
Alike nobly honored the arch and the urn;

Surviving, or dying, such fame who achieve,
'Tis joy to regret, and 'tis pleasure to grieve.

Then our rapturous bosoms let gratitude swell,
While those sons of renown, who so gloriously fell,
Shall from heaven cheer those mourners who throng near

each grave,

And dry up their tears for the manes of the brave.

SAILOR'S JOURNAL.

'Twas post meridian, half past four, By signal I from Nancy parted,

At six she lingered on the shore,

With uplift hands and broken-hearted.

At seven, while taughtening the forestay,
I saw her faint, or else 'twas fancy;
At eight we all got under weigh,

And ba a long adieu to Nancy!

Night came, and now eight bells had rung,
While careless sailors, ever cheery,
On the mid watch so jovial sung,
With tempers labor can not weary.

I, little to their mirth inclined,

While tender thoughts rushed on my fancy, And my warm sighs increased the wind, Looked on the moon, and thought of Nancy!

Next morn a storm came on at four,

At six the elements in motion Plunged me and three poor sailors more Headlong within the foaming ocean. Poor wretches! they soon found their graves: For me-it may be only fancy

But love seemed to forbid the waves

To snatch me from the arms of Nancy!

Scarce the foul hurricane had cleared,

Scarce winds and waves had ceased to rattle, When a bold enemy appeared,

And, dauntless, we prepared for battle. And now, while some loved friend or wife Like lightning rushed on every fancy,

To Providence I trusted life,

Put up a prayer, and thought of Nancy!

At last 'twas in the month of May-
The crew, it being lovely weather,
At three, A. M., discovered day

And England's chalky cliffs together.
At seven up Channel how we bore,
While hopes and fears rushed on my fancy,
At twelve I gayly jumped ashore,

And to my throbbing heart pressed Nancy]

THE NANCY.

MAYHAP you have heard that as dear as their lives
All true-hearted tars love their ships and their wives;·
To their duty like pitch sticking close till they die,
And whoe'r wants to know it, I'll tell 'em for why:
One through dangers and storms brings me safely ashore,
Th' other welcomes me home when my danger is o'er;
Both smoothing the ups and the downs of this life,
For my ship's called the Nancy, and Nancy's my wife.

When Nancy my wife o'er the lawn scuds so neat
And so light, the proud grass scarcely yields to her feet,
So rigged out and so lovely, t'ent easy to trace
Which is reddest-her top-knight, her shoes, or her face;
While the neighbors to see her forget all their cares,
And are pleased that she's mine, though they wish she was
theirs.

Marvel not, then, to think of this joy of my life-
I my ship calls the Nancy, for Nancy's my wife.

As for Nancy my vessel, but see her in trim,
She seems through the ocean to fly, and not swim,
'Fore the wind, like a dolphin, she merrily plays,
She goes anyhow well, but she looks best in stays.
Scudding, trying, or tacking, 'tis all one to she,
Mountain-high, or sunk low in the trough of the sea;
She has saved me from many hard squeaks for my life,
So I called her the Nancy, 'cause Nancy's my wife.

When so sweet in the dance careless glides my heart's

queen,

She sets out, and sets in, far the best on the green;
So, of all the grand fleet, my gay vessel's the flower,
She outsails the whole tote by a knot in an hour.
Then they both sail so cheerful through life's varying
breeze,

All hearts with such pilots must be at their ease;
Thus I've two good protectors to watch me through life,
My good ship the Nancy, and Nancy my wife.

Then these hands from protecting them who shall debar
Ne'er ingratitude lurked in the heart of a tar;
Why, everything female from peril to save,
Is the noblest distinction that honors the brave.
While a rag, or a timber, or compass I boast,
I'll protect the dear creatures against a whole host
Still grateful to both to the end of my life-
My good ship the Nancy, and Nancy my wife.

BEN BLOCK.

WOULD you hear a sad story of wo,

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.

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 loved 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.

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 been truly kind;

That false were the tokens she gave;

That she scorned him, and wished he might find,
In the ocean a watery grave.
Too sure from this cankerous elf
The venom accomplished its end;
Ben, all truth and honor 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 plunged in a watery grave.

THE LADY'S DIARY.

LECTURED by Pa and Ma o'er night;
Monday, at ten, quite vexed and jealous;
Resolved in future to be right,

And never listen to the fellows:
Stitched half a wristband, read the text,
Received a note from Mrs. Racket-

I hate that woman-she sat next,

All church-time, to sweet Captain Clackit

Tuesday got scolded-did not care;
The toast was cold, 'twas past eleven;
I dreamt the Captain through the air
On Cupid's wings bore me to heaven.
Pouted and dined, dressed, looked divine,
Made an excuse—got Ma to back it;
Went to the play-what joy was mine!
Talked loud and laughed with Captain Clacki

Wednesday came down, no lark so gay;
The girl's quite altered, said my mother;
Cried dad, I recollect the day

When, dearee, thou wert such another.
Danced, drew a landscape, skimmed a play;
In the paper read that widow Flackit
To Gretna Green had run away-
The forward minx!-with Captain Clackit.

Thursday fell sick :-poor soui, she'll die!
Five doctors came, with lengthened faces;
Each felt my pulse :-Ah, me cried I,
Are these my promised loves and graces ?
Friday, grew worse-cried Ma, in pain,
Our day was fair-Heaven, do not black it:
Where's your complaint, love? In my brain.
What shall I give you? Captain Clackit.

Early next morn a nostrum came,

Worth all their cordials, balms, and spices-
A letter-I had been to blame :
The Captain's truth brought on a crisis.
Sunday, for fear of more delays,

Of a few clothes I made a packet,
And, Monday morn, stepped in a chaise,
And ran away with Captain Clackit.

RATIONAL VANITY.

MAN, poor forked animal, why art thou vain?
Of thy form that so matchless the Deity owns,
Where beauty, propertion, and symmetry reign,
Adding grace to distinction, and splendor to thrones!
While, by folly and fashion, this form so divine
Is abused 'till all figures fantastic it wears,
Till, worn by diseases and bloated by wine,
Men, the Deity's image, turn monkeys and bears.
A mass of remorse, of reflection, of pain,
Man, poor forked animal, why art thou vain?

Art vain of thy mind? still, the Deity there,
Where virtues angelic their natures impress,
Pale anguish to chase, smooth the brow of despair,
And with charity's hand dry the tear of distress.
While this generous mind, on beneficence bent,
Fair gratitude's height shall in vain strive to climb
And those lavished riches, so liberally meant,

'Stead of virtue rewarding shall sanctify crime. While philanthropy gives disappointment to gain, Man, poor restless animal, why art thou vain ?

Take the rational mean: If thou'rt proud of thy form,
Let health given by temperance glow in thy face:
Let simplicity's hand, as it decks every charm,
To decorum add neatness, to decency grace.
Then to temper thy mind neither tower nor stoop,
Nor with sordidness grovel, nor arrogance ride;
Be not niggard nor lavish, a churl nor a dupe,

But let prudence the hand of benevolence guide.
Thus in form and in heart shall the Deity reign;
Thus reason shall teach, and thus man shall be ra

EACH HIS OWN PILOT.

I was saying to Jack, as we talk'd t'other day
About lubbers and snivelling elves,

That if people in life did not steer the right way,
They had nothing to thank but themselves.

Now, when a man's caught by those mermaids the girls,
With their flatt'ring palaver and smiles,

He runs, while he's list'ning to their fal de rals,
Bamp ashore on the Scilly Isles.

Thus in steering in life, as in steering with us,
To one course in your conduct resort,-

In foul winds, leaving luff and no near, keep her thus:
In honor's line ready,

When fair, keep her steady,

And neither to starboard incline nor to port. If he's true in his dealings, life's wind to defy, And the helm has a trim and right scope, Not luffing, but keeping the ship full and by, He may weather the Cape of Good Hope. But if he steers wide in temptation's high sea, And to pleasure gives too much head way,

Hard a-port goes the helm, the ship's brought by the lee, And she founders in Botany Bay.

Thus in, &c.

In wedlock so many wrong courses are made,
They part convoy so oft and so fast,

Till so fond they are grown of that same Guinea-trade,
Cape Farewell is their anchorage at last.
Some men, I must own, to be dubb'd may be born;
But this, for the wives, I will say,

They seldom or ever bear down for Cape Horn
"T the husbands have showed them the way.
Thus in, &c.

inous spirits that through the world roll,
nad 'em aboard, Jack, with we,

hould make No Man's Land, and skulk through Lubber's Hole,

And at last be laid in the Red sea;

at fine honest fellows, to honor so dear, Shall in this world by nothing perplexed,

False Bay get to windward, bring up in Cape Clear, And bespeak a snug berth in the next. Thus in, &c.

MOORINGS.

I've heard," cried out one, "that you tars tack and tack, And at sea what strange hardships befell you; But I don't know what's mooring's." "What, don't you?" said Jack;

"Man you ear-tackle, then, and I'll tell you :Suppose you'd a daughter quite beautiful grown, And, in spite of her prayers and implorings,

Some scoundrel abused her, and you knocked him down, Why, d'ye see, he'd be safe at his moorings.

"In life's voyage should you trust a false friend with the helm,

The top-lifts of his heart all akimbo,

A tempest of treachery your bark will o'erwhelm,
And your moorings will soon be in limbo;

But if his heart's timbers bear up against pelf,
And he's just in his reckoning and scorings,

e'll for you keep a look-out the same as himself,
And you'll find in his friendship safe moorings.

"If wedlock's your port, and your mate, true and kind,
In all weathers will stick to her duty,

A calm of contentment shall beam in your mind,
Safe moored in the haven of beauty;

But if some frisky skiff, crank at every joint,
That listens to vows and adorings,

Shape your course how you will, still you'll make Cuckold's
Point,

To lay up a beacon at moorings.

"A glutton's safe moored, head and stern, by the gout, A drunkard's moored under the table,

In straws drowning men will Hope's anchor find out,
While a hair's a philosopher's cable:

Thus mankind are a ship, life a boisterous main,
Of Fate's billows where all hear the roarings,
Where for one calm of pleasure we've ten storms of pain,
Till death brings us all to our moorings."

THE LAST SHILLING.

As pensive one night in my garret I sate,
My last shilling produced on the table;
That advent'rer, cried I, might a hist❜ry relate,
If to think and to speak it were able.
Whether fancy or magic 'twas played me the freak,
The face seemed with life to be filling,

And cried, instantly speaking, or seeming to speak,
Pay attention to me thy last shilling.

I was once the last coin of the law a sad limb,
Who in cheating was ne'er known to falter;
'Till at length, brought to justice, the law cheated him,
And he paid me to buy him a halter:

A Jack Tar, all his rhino but me at an end,
With a pleasure so hearty and willing,
Though hungry himself, to a poor distressed friend,
Wished it hundreds, and gave his last shilling.

'Twas the wife of his messmate, whose glistening eye With pleasure ran o'er as she viewed me;

She changed me for bread as her child she heard cry,
And at parting with tears she bedewed me.
But I've other scenes known, riot leading the way,
Pale want their poor families chilling;

Where rakes, in their revels the piper to pay,

Have spurned me, their best friend and last shilling.

Though thyself hast been thoughtless, for profligates bail
But to-morrow all care shalt thou bury,

When my little history thou offerest for sale;
In the interim, spend me and be merry!
Never, never, cried I, thou'rt my Mentor, my muse,
And, grateful thy dictates fulfilling,

I'll hoard thee in my heart :-thus men counsel refuse, 'Till the lecture comes from the last shilling.

THE STANDING TOAST.

[The last Song written by Mr. Dibdin.]

THE moon on the ocean was dimmed by a ripple,
Affording a checkered delight,

The gay jolly tars passed the word for the tipple
And the toast-for 'twas Saturday night:
Some sweetheart or wife that he loved as his life,
Each drank, while he wished he could hail her;
But the standing toast that pleased the most
Was-The wind that blows, the ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor!

Some drank the king and his brave ships,

And some the constitution,

Some May our foes and all such rips

Own English resolution!

That fate might bless some Poll or Bess,

And that they soon might hail her:

But the standing toast, &c.

Some drank our queen, and some our land,
Our glorious land of freedom!
Some that our tars might never stand
For heroes brave to lead 'em!

That beauty in distress might find
Such friends as ne'er would fail her:
But the standing toast, &c.

THE ORIGIN OF NAVAL ARTILLERY.

WHEN Vulcan forged the bolts of Jove
In Etna's roaring glow,
Neptune petitioned he might prove
Their use and power below;
But finding in the boundless deep
Their thunders did but idly sleep,

He with them armed fair Freedom's hand,
To guard from foes her chosen land.

Long may she own the glorious right,
And when through circling flame
She darts her thunder in the fight,

May justice guide her aim!
And when opposed in future wars,
Her soldiers brave and gallant tars
Shall launch her fires from every hand
On every foe to Freedom's land.

ALL'S WELL.

BY T. DIBDIN.

DESERTED by the waning moon,

When skies proclaim night's cheerless noon,
On tower, fort, or tented ground,
The sentry walks his lonely round;

And should some footstep haply stray

Where caution marks the guarded way:

"Who goes there? Stranger, quickly tell!"

"A friend !"-" The word ?"-" Good-night! All's well!"

Or sailing on the midnight deep,

When weary messmates soundly sleep,

The careful watch patrols the deck,

To guard the ship from foes or wreck,

And while his thoughts oft homeward veer,
Some well-known voice salutes his ear:
"Who goes there? Brother, quickly tell !"
"Above! Below!"-"Good-night! All's well ""

WHO'LL SERVE?

BY T. DIBDIN.

"WHO'LL Serve with me ?" cried the sergeant aloud, Roll went the drum, and the fife played sweetly. "Here, master sergeant!" said I, from the crowd,

"Is a lad who will answer your purpose completely." My father was a corporal, and well he knew his trade; Of women, wine, and gunpowder, he never was afraid. He'd march, fight, left! right!

Front flank! centre rank!

Storm the trenches, court the wenches,
Loved the rattle of a battle;

Died in glory, lives in story!

And, like him, I found a soldier's life, if taken smooth and

rough,

A very merry, hey-down-derry, sort of life enough.”
"Hold up your head!" cried the sergeant at drill,
Roll went the drum, and the fife played loudly.
"Turn out your toes, sir !"-Says I, “Sir, I wi;'

For a nimble-wristed round rattan the sergeant flourished proudly.

My father died when corporal, but I ne'er turned my back,
Till promoted to a halbert, I was sergeant in a crack.
In sword and sash cut a dash;

Spurred and booted, next recruited,
Hob and Clob, awkward squad,

Then began my rattan !

When boys unwilling came to drilling.

Till made the colonel's orderly, then who but I so bluffy
Led a very merry, hey-down-derry, sort of life enough.
"Homeward, my lads!" cried the general-"huzza!”
Roll went the drum, and the fife played cheerly;
To quick time we footed, and sung all the way,

"Hey, for the pretty girls we all love dearly!"
My father lived with jolly boys in bustle, jars, and strife,
And, like him, being fond of noise, I mean to take a wife.
Soon as miss blushes y-i-s,
Rings, gloves, dears, loves,
Bells ringing, comrades singing,
Honeymoon finished soon;

Scolding, sighing, children crying!

Yet still a wedded life may prove, if taken smooth and