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Blung'd me and three poor sailors:more,
Headlong within the foaming ocean!
For me---it may be only fancy---
To snatch me from the arms of Nancy. Scarce the foul hurricane was clear’d,
Scarce winds and waves had ceasd to rattle, Ere a bold enemy appear’d,
And, dauntless, we prepar'd for battle. And now, while some friend or wife,
Like lightning rushid on ev'ry fancy, To Providence I trusted life,
Put up a pray’r---and thought on Nancy. At last, 'twas in the month of May,
The crew, it being lovely weather, At thrce, A. M. discover'd day,
And England's chalky cliffs together; At seven, up Channel how we bore,
While hopes and fears rushid on my fancy; At twelve I gaily jump'd ashore,
And to my throbbing heart press'd Nancy.
* * * * * *
THE BARBER'S SHOP.
'TWAS Saturday night, six went the clock,
Spruce was the barber's shop; Wigs decorated ev'ry block,
From scratch to Tyburn top.
Smil'd to receive the suds,
To grace their Sunday's duds.
Spoken. ] And there was Smash, the glazier; and Sink, the plumber; and Light, the tallow-chandler; and Blow, the bellows-maker; and Thrash, the Farmer; and Blind, the upholsterer; and Bother, the lawyer ; and Bury, the undertaker; and Smother, the dustman; and those labourers of different descriptions,
Who on Saturday night,
Get shay'd fit for church on the Sunday;
The better to sin on a Monday.
You're summon’d to the chair:
Above board all, and fair.
How's wife, and cats, and dogs ?
That's well and how goes hogs ?
Spoken. ] I say, lawyer, the tonser here is a keen hand at a razor ; he'll shave you as close as you shave your clients, ha, ha, ha, and then he gives one such a twist you see, though nobody affronts un, he always takes one by the nose, ha, ha, ha, yes, but the worst on't be, that he somtimes shavesee and bleedsee for the same money, ha, ha, ha. Yaw! yaw! zounds, you have killed me! Killed you! killed you! I almost cut my thumb off through your lanthern jaw. Look, look, the butcher do blecd like a pig, ha, ha, ha.
Thus the laugh grows loud,
Wło get shav'd fit for church on Sunday;
The better to sin on the Monday.
They roast and baste the cook,
And the schoolmastez bring to booker
And many a random point they Kit,
To give the sallies birth,
By noise and vacant mirth.
Spoken. ] And how diddy come on about the elec. tion? Why, we brought in the squire. A little bribery, I suppose, hey.? Oh, no, no, no bribery at all; I'll tell you how it were: the squire says to I, and about seventeen more neighbours, I'll bet ev'ry one of you fifty guineas that I be'nt returned for your borough; so we said done ; so when we came to consider what a foolish job we had made on't, Icod we were obliged to bring un in, for fear of loosing our money, ha, ha, ha, don'tee zee, don'tee zee, ha, ha, ha.
Thus the laugh goes round,
Who get shav'd fit for church on Sunday;
The better to sin on a Monday.
WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
And mony a widow mourning;
Where lang I'd been a lodger,
A poor and honest sodger.
My hand unstain’d wi' plunder;
I thought upon the banks o’ Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy,
That caught my youthful fancy.
Where early life I sported;
Where Nancy aft I courted:
Down by her mother's dwelling!
That in my een was swelling. Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,
That's dearest to thy bosom ;
And fain wad be thy lodger;
Take pity on a sodger.
And lovelier was than ever;
Forget him shall I never :
Ye freely shall partake it,
You're welcome for the sake o't.
Syne pale like ony lilly,
Art thou mine ain dear Willie ?
By whom true love's regarded,
True lovers be rewarded.
And find thee still true-hearted ;
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair, we'se ne'er be parted.
A mailin plenish'd fairly:
Thou’rt welcome to it dearly.
The farmer ploughs the manor;
The sodger's wealth is honour; The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger; Remember he's his country's stay,
In day and hour of danger.
THE HISTORY OF THE WAR. "TWAS all how and about and concerning the war,
And all the glory of Britain's bold navy; And all our fine brushes, and what 'twas all for, That the whistle of fame has sung out sea and
shore, For when british bull dogs begin for to roar, The prettiest shall soon cry peccavi. For the war, e how it happened, and what 'twas
about, That's nothing to we, tars must do as they're
bid; So, all I can tell you, the war once broke out,
They told us to lick'em, and lick'em we did. As for order and such, you don't get that from me, I shall just as they come speak of actions that's
past, So they do us but honour as lords of the sea, It don't matter a damn, which come first or which last: