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THE NANCY.

MAYHAP you have heard, how that, 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'er wants to know it, I'll tell 'em for why;

One, through dangers and storms, brings me safely ashore,

T'other welcomes me home, when each danger is

o'er;

Both smoothing the ups and the downs of this life; For my ship's call'd 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 rigg'd out and so lovely 'tan't easy to trace Which is reddest her top-knot, her shoes, or her face:

While the neighbours, to see her, forget all their

cares,

And are pleas'd she is 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 any how well, but she looks best in stays. Scudding, trying, or tacking, 'tis all one to she; Mounting high, or low sunk in the trough of the

sea;

She has sav'd me from many hard squeaks for my

life,

So I call'd her the Nancy, for 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 flow'r, She outsails the whole tote by a knot in an hour, Then they both sait so cheerful through life's varying breeze,

All hearts with such pilots must be at their ease; Thus I've two kind protectors to watch me thro life,

My good ship the Nancy, and Nancy my wife.

Then these hands from protecting them whe shall debar?

Ne'er ingratitude lark'd in the heart of a tar;
Why ev'ry thing female from peril to save
Is the noblest distinction that honours 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.

*********

LET FAME SOUND THE TRUMPET.

LET Fame sound the trumpet, and cry, to the war!
Let glory re-echo the strain;

The full tide of honour may flow from the scar,
And heroes may smile on their pain,

The treasures of autumn let Bacchus display,
And stagger about with his bowl;

On science let Sol beam the lustre of day,
And wisdom give light to the soul.

Let India unfold her rich gems to the view,
Each virtue, each joy to improve;

O give me the friend that I know to be true,
And the fair that I tenderly love!

What's glory but pride? a vain bubble is fame,
And riot the pleasure of wine:

What's riches but trouble? and title's a name :
But friendship and love are divine.

DOWN IN A VALLEY.

DON'T you remember a poor peasant's daughter,
In neat russet gown, and apron so blue:
Who won the affections of many that sought her,
Down in a valley where sweet violets grew?
The blush on her cheek was modesty's dawning,
Her lips were untainted, the rose's sweetest hue;
Unclouded by sorrow, she pass'd night and morn-
ing,

Down in a valley where sweet violets grew.

The soft matchless beauties dame nature had given, Were pure as the chrystalline drops of the dew; Which painted sweet innocence, mild as the Hea

ven,

Down in a valley where sweet violets grew.

But, ah! hapless sorrow soon frost-nipp'd her beauty,

She droop'd as a blossom, when robb'd of its hue;

For love was forc'd to yield to filial duty,

Down in a valley where sweet violets grew.

JOHN BULL'S WOODEN HORSES.

Tune.. Meg of Wapping.'

LITTLE Boney don't like us..no matter, who

cares?

Pull away, pull away, so jolly,

The little Powder Monkey may give himself airs,
But that's all sheer nonsense and folly;

He brags and he writes bulletins all so wise,
And what they may be I've no notion,
Except they're a log of palavering lies,
Pull away, pull away, I say,

But he can't gull the lads of the ocean..

He says wooden horses our ships they all be,
Pull away as you read in the papers,

But they ar'n't to be rode by such jockies as he,
Because he an't up to their capers.

His commerce we stop, and his colonies win,
Tho' of them and his ships he discourses,
Then his ships he sends out and we bring 'em in,
Pull away, pull away, I say

What d'ye think of John Bull's wooden horses?

Boney so plays his cards, every brother's a king,

Pull away, pull away, so brave, boys,

But such kings are like cards, for in each suit you bring,

For every king there's a knave, boys.

But these knaves for their odd tricks will get their desarts,

And if Boney in Britain should try land,

We'll stand up for Georgey our own king of hearts, Pull away, pull away,

say,

In honour of cur snug little Island.

HENRY.

SWEET weeping willow, friend of tears,
Still trembling in a breeze of sighs,
On one who ev'ry leaf reveres,

Shed sympathy which never dies.
Ah! willow, willow, willow tree,
Ah! weeping willow, weep with me.
Beneath the dread and yawning wave,
Ah! wave, alas! untrue, unkind;
Brave Henry found an early grave,
And left this heart no joy behind.
Ah! willow, willow, willow tree,
Ah weeping willow, weep with me:

The eyes he prais'd, must ever weep,

The rose must soon this cheek forsake,
This voice with sighs must now grow deep,
The heart he priz'd, for him must break,
Ah! willow, willow, willow tree,
Ah! weeping willow, weep with me! .
My Henry's fate, my Henry's truth,
In memory shall ever bloom;
But while they blossom still in youth,
I wither for his hapless doom.
Ah! willow, willow, willow tree,
Ah! weeping willow, weep with me.

THE DREAM.

As Strephon and Anna one evening were roving, To a small shady grove they repair;

Where Strephon in accents, mild, rapt'rous and loving:

Address'd thus his beautiful fair:

"My Anna, my charmer, when last I reclin'd "On my pillow, and thought of my love; "Methought that our hearts were most fondly en"twin'd,

"And gladness sat smiling above.

"On the wings of the morning most swiftly we flew "To fam'd Gretna, o'er mountain and vale; "With Aurora's dim light we brush'd off the Dew, "And flew with the breath of the gale.

"Our hands were united in Hymen's strong band, "To be cut ne'er asunder again;

"Then Bagpipe and Fiddle resound thro' the land, "And we foot it away on the plain.

"The lads and the lasses melodiously sing, "To the Violin's musical sounds;

"With loud acclamations of joy the plains ring,

"And pleasure in each bosom abounds.

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