SWEET is the ship that under sail,
Spreads her white bosom to the gale;

Sweet, oh! sweet's the flowing can:
Sweet to poise the lab'ring oar,
That tugs us to our native shore,

When the Boatswain pipes-- the barge to mani
Sweet sailing with a favöring breeze;
But oh! much sweeter than all these,

Is Jack's delight-his lovely Nan! The needle, faithful to the north, To shew of constancy the worth,

A curious lesson teaches man:
The needle time may rub, a squall
Capsize tlie binnacle and all,

Let seamanship do all it can;
My love, in worth, shall higher rise,
Nor time shall rust, nor squalls capsize,
· My faith and truth to lovely Nan.
When in the bilboes I was pennid,
For serving of a worthless friend,

And every creature from me ran:
No ship performing quarantine;
Was ever so deserted seen;

None hail'd me, woman,child, nor man:
But though false friendship's sails were furld
Though cut adrift by all the world,

I'd all the world in lovely Nan.
I love my duty, love my friend, .
Love truth and merit to defend,
• To moan their loss who bazard ran;
I love to take an honest part,
Love beauty, and a spotless heart,

By manners love to shew the man:
To sail through life, by lionour's breeze,
?Twas all along of loving these,
• First made me doat on lovely Nan.

THE TINKER. MY Daddy was a Tinker's son, And I'm his boy, 'tis ten to one, Here's pots to mend! was still his cry, Here's pots to mend! aloud bawl I. Have ye tin pots, kettles, or cans, Coppers to solder, or brass pans. Of wives my dad had near a score, And I have twice as many more : And what's as wonderful as true, My daddy was the Lord (upon my soul he. was)

the Lord knows who? Tan ran tan, tan ran tan tan,

For pot or can, oh! I'm your man. Once I in budget snug had got A barn-door capon and what not. Here's pots to mend! I cried along, Here's pots to mend! was still ny song. At village wake-oh! curse his throat, The cock crow'd out so loud a note, The folk in clusters flock'd around, They seiz'd my budget, ith it found The cock, a gammon, pease and beans, Besides a jolly Tinker (yes by the Lord) a tinker's

ways and means.

I Tan ran tan, &c.

Like dad, when I to quarters come, ,
For want of cash; the folks I hum.
Here's kettles to mend: bring me some beer,
The landlord cries, “you'll get none here!
You tink'ring dog, your tricks I know,
More beer, indeed! pay what you owe.”
In rage I squeeze him 'gainst the door,
And with his back rub of the score.
At his expence we drown all strife,
For which I prase the landlord (could do no less
• than praise) the landlord's wife.

Tan ran tan, &c. ,


OVER the sunny Hills I stray,

Tuning miny u rustic lay,
And sometimes in the shadowy vales
I sing of love and battle tales;
Merrily thus I spend my life,
Though poor, my breast is free from strife;

The blitle old harper cail'd am I,

In the Welsh vales 'mid mountains higt. Sometimes before a castle gate In song of battle I relate, Or how a Lord in Shepherd's 'guise, Sought favour in a Virgin's eye's, With rich and poor a welcome guest, No cares intrude upon my breast;

. The blithe old harper, &e, When Sol illumes the western sky, And evening zephyrs softly sigh, Oft' times on village green I play, While round me dance the rustics gay; And oft', when veil'd by sable night, The wandering Shepherds I delight;

The blithe old harper, &c.



YOUNG William was a seaman true,
The darling of the bonny crew,

For blithe he was, and kind;
And though no lagging lubber he, .
Right loth he was to go to sea,

Por Jane be left behind..
"And Jenny lov'd, but all by stealth,
Her father had much store'o wealth,

of Will he would not hear;

Till cruel chance at length reveald The passion they so long conceal'd, And William lost his dear.

A friendly voice poor William hailid, · A ruffian gang the youth assail'd,

'Twas done by cursed gold;
The tender in the offing stood,
The cutter skimm'd the yielding flood,

They hatch'd him in the hold.
She troubled walk'd the beach in haste,
And troubled look'd the wat'ry waste,

And by the floating wave,
A corps was wash'd upon the shore,
'Twas William! and with tears they bore

Iwo lovers to the grave,


BO, patter to lubbers, and swabs, d’ye see,

'Bout danger, and fear, and the like:
A tight water-boat, and good sea-room give me

And 'tant to a little I'll strike. Tho' the tempest top-gallant-mast smack smooth

should smite, And shiver each splinter of wood, Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bowse every

thing tight,
And under reef'd foresail we'll scud.
Avast, nor don't think me a milk-sop so soft,

To be taken for trifles a-back;
For they say, there's a Providence sits up aloft,

To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack.
Why, I heard the good chaplain palaver one day, :-

About souls, heaven, mercy, and such; And my timbers, what lingo he'd coil and belay!

Why, 'twas all one to me as high Dutch). But said he how a sparrow can't founder d’ye see,

Without orders that come down below, And many fine things that prov'd clearly to me,

That Providence takes us in tow; For, says he, do you mind me, let storms e'er so

oft, Take the top-sails of sailors a-back; There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,

To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack.

I said to our Poll (for d’ye see she would cry)

When last we weigh’d anchor for sea, What argufies sniv’ling, and piping your eye?

Why, what a damn'd fool you must be! Can't you see the world's wide and there's room for

us all, Both for seamen and lubbers ashore ; And if to old Davy I should go, my dear Poll,

Why you never will hear of me more. What then! all's a hazard--come don't be so soft;

Perhaps I may laughing come back; For, d've see, there's a cherub sits smiling aloft,

To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack. D'ye mind me, a sailor should be ev'ry inch on the

All as one to a piece of his ship; And with her brave the world, without off'ring to

flinch, From the moment the anchor's a-trip. As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and

ends, Nought's a trouble from duty that springs; For my heart is my Poll's ,and my rhino's my friend's

And as for my life 'tis the king's:
E'en when my time comes, ne’er believe me so soft,

As with grief to be taken a-back;
That same little cherub that sits up aloft,

Will look out a good birth for Poor Jack,


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