Aye, and chaunted old ballads so pretty, 'Till I married and then I declare, Lord my vife put an end to my ditty. My heart is as tender as vax, And her scolding oft makes me to sob, sir, As a low one, and calls me a snob sir, To escape her terrible den, To be sure sirs, I thought to make vone day, At nine pins I play'd, sirs, right snugly, Then she tipt me a terrible scowl, And swore she with us would be playing, At the tailor she then threw the bowl, Who knock'd down, 'mong the nine pins was laying. The glasses and pots flew about, A row was dish'd up with the gravy, And poor I, for to finish the rout, Struck my colours and cried out peccavi. GIVE ME THE GALLANT BRITISH TAR, THE sun, that on my native isle Spares the sweet blushing maid it warms, Whilst you, that drive your panting flocks I do not, like the savage grace The Frenchman's gabble splits my head, THE YORKSHIREMAN. BY the side of a bridge which stands over a brook, I went with the stream as I studied my book, I never yet bought a pig in a poke, For to give every one his due, Though oft I have dealt wi' Yorkshire folk, I was pretty well lik'd by each village maid, For my father had addled a vast in trade, And seeing that I didn't want for brass, But though I delight in a Yorkshire lass, To London by father I was sent, But fashion's too dear, I came back as I went, My kind relations would soon ha' found out THE GENIUS OF BRITAIN. YE British sons, awake to glory, Hark! hark! what myriads round you rise; Shall Bonaparte, mischief breeding, To arms! to arms! ye brave, March on, march on, all hearts resclv'd Now, the threaten'd storm is rolling, And shall we bascly view the ruin, With crimes and blood his hands imbruing? To arms! to arms! &c. With luxury and pride surrounded, As beasts of burden he would-loads us, O Liberty! can we resign thee, Too long the world has wept, bewailing To arms! to arms! &c. THE GALLEY SLAVE. OH, think on my fate! once I freedom enjoy'd, But pleasure is fled! even hope is destroy'd, I was ta'en by the foe, 'twas the fiat of fate, When thought brings to my mind my once happy estate, I sigh! while I tug at the oar. Hard, hard, is my fate! Oh how galling my chain! My life's steer'd by misery's chart; And though 'gainst my tyrants I scorn to complain, Tears gush forth to ease my full heart. I disdain e'en to shrink, tho' I feel the sharp lash; Yet my breast bleeds for her I adore, While around me the unfeeling billows wilt dash How fortune deceives! I had pleasure in tow, woe And, dear Anna! I hurried from you, Our shallop was boarded, and I borne away, To behold my dear Anna no more, But despair wastes my spirits, my form feels decay-He sigh'd--and expir'd at the car. STEADY SHE GOES. THE British tar no peril knows; And sweetly rocks him to his sleep, While the steersman sings, Steady she goes--all's well. While on the main-top yard he springs, He asks--but it no letter brings From bonny Kate, he loves so true; Then sighs he for his native dell, Yet to hope he clings, When the steersman sings Steady she goes--all's well. The storm is pass'd--the battle's o'er, While the steersman sings Steady she goes--all's well. |