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The lawyer and the usurer,
That sit in gowns of fur,

In closets warm, can take no harm,
Abroad they need not stir;

When winter fierce with cold doth pierce,
And beats with hail and snow,
We are sure to endure,

When the stormy winds do blow.
We bring home costly merchandise,
And jewels of great price,
To serve our English gallantry,
With many a rare device;
To please our English gallantry,
Our pains we freely show,

$59. Song Neptune's raging Fury; or the For we toil and we moil,

gallant Seaman's Sufferings.

You gentlemen of England
That live at home at ease,
Ah, little do you think upon
The dangers of the seas;
Give ear unto the mariners,
And they will plainly show
[All] the cares, and the fears,
When the stormy winds do blow.
All you that will be seamen,

Must bear a valiant heart,
For when you come upon the seas
You must not think to start;
Nor once to be faint-hearted,

In hail, rain, blow, or snow,
Nor to think for to shrink

When the stormy winds do blow.
The bitter storms and tempests
Poor seamen do endure,

Both day and night, with many a fright,

We seldom rest secure ;

Our sleep it is disturbed

With visions strange to know,
And with dreams on the streams,
When the stormy winds do blow.
In claps of roaring thunder,

Which darkness doth enforce,
We often find our ship to stray
Beyond her wonted course:
Which causeth great distractions,
And sinks our hearts full low;
"Tis in vain to complain,
When the stormy winds do blow.
Sometimes in Neptune's bosom
Our ship is tost in waves,
And ev'ry man expecting
The sea to be their graves!
Then up aloft she mounteth,
And down again so low,
'Tis with waves, O with waves,
When the stormy winds do blow.
Then down again we fall to pray'r,
With all our might and thought,
When refuge all doth fail us,

'Tis that must bear us out;
To God we call for succour,
For he it is, we know,
That must aid us, and save us,
When the stormy winds do blow.

When the stormy winds do blow. We sometimes sail to th' Indies, To fetch home spices rare; Sometimes again, to France and Spain, For wines beyond compare; Whilst gallants are carousing,

In taverns on a row,

Then we sweep o'er the deep,
When the stormy winds do blow.
When tempests are blown over,

And greatest fears are past,
In weather fair, and temp'rate air,
We straight lie down to rest;
But when the billows tumble,
And waves do furious grow,
Then we rouse, up we rouse,
When the stormy winds do blow.

If enemies oppose us,

When England is at war

With any foreign nations,

We fear not wound nor scar;
Our roaring guns shall teach 'em
Our valor for to know,
Whilst they reel, in the keel,
When the stormy winds do blow.
We are no cowardly shrinkers,
But true Englishmen bred,
We'll ply our parts, like valiant hearts,
And never fly for dread;
We'll play our business nimbly
Whene'er we come or go,
With our mates, to the Straits,
When the stormy winds do blow.
Then courage, all brave mariners,
And never be dismay'd,
Whilst we have bold adventurers

We ne'er shall want a trade;
Our merchants will employ us,
To fetch them wealth, I know;
Then be bold, work for gold,

When the stormy winds do blow.
When we return in safety,
With wages for our pains,
The tapster and the vintner
Will help to share our gains:
We call for liquor roundly,
And pay before we go:
Then we'll roar on the shore,

When the stormy winds do blow.

$60. Song. GOLDSMITH.

THE wretch condemn'd with life to part
Still, still on hope relies;
And ev'ry pang that rends the heart,
Bids expectation rise.

Hope, like the glimmering taper's light,
Adorns and cheers the way;
And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray.

§ 61. Song. GOLDSMITH.

O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,
Still importunate and vain,
To former joys recurring ever,

And turning all the past to pain:

Thou, like the world, th' oppress'd oppressing,
Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe!
And he who wants each other blessing,
In thee must ever find a foe.

§ 62. Song. GENTLY touch the warbling lyre, Chloe seems inclin'd to rest; Fill her soul with fond desire,

Softest notes will soothe her breast: Pleasing dreams assist in love: Let them all propitious prove. On the mossy bank she lies

(Nature's verdant velvet bed), Beauteous flowers meet her eyes, Forming pillows for her head; Zephyrs waft their odours round, And indulging whispers sound.

§ 63. The same parodied. GENTLY stir and blow the fire, Lay the mutton down to roast, Dress it quickly, I desire,

In the dripping put a toast, That I hunger may remove; Mutton is the meat I love. On the dresser see it lie,

O! the charming white and red! Finer meat ne'er met my eye. On the sweetest grass it fed: Let the jack go swiftly round, Let me have it nicely brown'd. On the table spread the cloth,

Let the knives be sharp and clean : Pickles get, and salad both,

Let them each be fresh and green : With small beer, good ale, and wine, Oye Gods! how I shall dine!

§ 64. Song. SHAKSPEARE. UNDER the green-wood tree, Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat,

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§ 65. A Dirge. D'URFEY. SLEEP, sleep, poor youth! sleep, sleep in peace, Reliev'd from love, and mortal care; Whilst we, that pine in life's disease, Uncertain blest less happy are. Couch'd in the dark and silent grave, No ills of fate thou now canst fear; In vain would tyrant power enslave, Or scornful beauty be severe. Wars that do fatal storms disperse,

Far from thy happy mansion keep: Earthquakes that shake the universe,

Can't rock thee into sounder sleep. With all the charms of peace possest, Secure from life's tormentor, pain, Sleep, and indulge thyself with rest, Nor dream thou ere shalt rise again.

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$67. Song. The Fairies.

COME follow, follow me,
Ye fairy elves that be,
Light tripping o'er the green;
Come follow Mab, your queen:
Hand in hand we'll dance around,
For this place is fairy ground.

When mortals are at rest,
And snoring in their nest;
Unheard and unespied,
Through key-holes we do glide;
Over tables, stools, and shelves,
We trip it with our fairy elves.

And if the house be foul
With platter, dish, or bowl,
Up stairs we nimbly creep,
And find the sluts asleep;

Then we pinch their arms and thighs;
None us hears, and none us spies.

But if the house be swept,
And from uncleanness kept,
We praise the household maid,
And duly she is paid:
Every night before we go,
We drop a tester in her shoe.

Then o'er a mushroom's head
Our table-cloth we spread;
A grain of rye or wheat,
The diet that we eat;
Pearly drops of dew we drink,
In acorn cups fill'd to the brink.

The brains of nightingales,
With unctuous fat of snails,
Between two cockles stew'd,
Is meat that's easily chew'd;
Tails of worms, and marrow of mice,
Do make a dish that's wondrous nice!

The grasshopper, gnat, and fly,
Serve for our ministrelsy;
Grace said, we dance a while,
And so the time beguile :

And if the moon doth hide her head,

The glow-worm lights us home to bed.

O'er tops of dewy grass
So nimbly we do pass,
The young and tender stalk
Ne'er bends where we do walk;
Yet in the morning may be seen
Where we the night before have been.

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There the squire of the pad, and the knight of the post,

Find their pains no more balk'd, and their hopes no more cross'd. Derry down, &c.

Great claims are there made, and great secrets are known;

And the king, and the law, and the thief, has his own;

But my hearers cry out, What a deuce dost thou ail?

Put off thy reflections, and give us thy tale."
Derry down, &c.

'Twas there then, in civil respect to harsh laws, And for want of false witness to back a bad


A Norman, though late, was obliged to appear; And who to assist but a grave Cordelier!

Derry down, &c.

The squire whose good grace was to open the


Seem'd not in great haste that the show should begin;

Now fitted the halter, now travers'd the cart, And often took leave, but was loth to depart. Derry down, &c.

What frightens you thus, my good son? says the priest;

You murder'd, are sorry, and have been confess'd.

O father! my sorrow will scarce save my bacon; For 'twas not that I murder'd, but that I was


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The feast I propos'd to you, I cannot taste;
For this night, by our order, is mark'd for a fast.
Derry down, &c.

Then turning about to the hangman, he said:
Dispatch me, I pray thee, this troublesome


For thy cord and my cord both equally tie ;
And we live by the gold for which other men


Derry down, down, hey derry down.

§ 69. Song. Admiral Hosier's Ghost. GLOVER. It was written by the ingenious author of Leonidas, on the taking of Porto Bello from the Spaniards by Admiral Vernon, Nov. 22, 1739.-The case of Hosier, which is here so pathetically represented, was briefly this: In April, 1726, that commander was sent with a strong fleet to the West Indies, to block up the galleons in the ports of that country; or, should they presume to come out, to seize and carry them to England: he accordingly arrived at the Bastimentos, near Porto-Bello, but being restricted by his orders from obeying the dictates of his courage, lay inactive on that station until he became the jest of the Spaniards: he afterwards removed to Carthagena, and continued cruising in these seas till the far greater part of his men perished deplorably by the diseases of that unhealthy climate. This brave man, seeing his best officers and men thus daily swept away, his ships exposed to inevitable destruction, and himself made the sport of the enemy, is said to have died of a broken heart.

As near Porto-Bello lying

On the gently-swelling flood,
At midnight with streamers flying,
Our triumphant navy
There, while Vernon sate all-glorious
From the Spaniards' late defeat,
And his crews, with shouts victorious,
Drank success to England's fleet;
On a sudden, shrilly sounding,

Hideous yells and shrieks were
Then, each heart with fear confounding,
A sad troop of ghosts appear'd;
All in dreary hammocks shrouded,

Which for winding-sheets they wore,
And, with looks by sorrow clouded,
Frowning on that hostile shore.

On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre ;
When the shade of Hosier brave
His pale bands were seen to muster,

Rising from their wat'ry grave:
O'er the glimmering wave he hied him,
Where the Burford rear'd her sail,
With three thousand ghosts beside him,
And in groans did Vernon hail.
Heed, O heed, our fatal story!

I am Hosier's injur'd ghost;
You, who now have purchas'd glory
At this place where I was lost:
Though in Porto-Bello's ruin

You now triumph free from fears;
When you think of my undoing,

You will mix your joys with tears.

See these mournful spectres sweeping
Ghastly o'er this hated wave,
Whose wan cheeks are stain'd with weeping:
These were English captains brave.
Mark those numbers, pale and horrid,

Who were once my sailors bold;
Lo! each hangs his drooping forehead,
While his dismal tale is told.

I, by twenty sail attended,
Did the Spanish town affright;
Nothing then its wealth defended,
But my orders not to fight.
O! that in this rolling ocean

I had cast them with disdain;
And obey'd my heart's warm motion
To have quell'd the pride of Spain!
For resistance I could fear none,

But with twenty ships had done
What thou, brave and happy Vernon,
Hast achiev'd with six alone.
Then the Bastimentos never
Had our foul dishonor seen,
Nor the sea the sad receiver

Of this gallant train had been.
Thus like thee, proud Spain dismaying,
And her galleons leading home,
Though, condemn'd for disobeying,
I had met a traitor's doom:

To have fallen, my country crying,
"He has play'd an English part,"
Had been better far than dying
Of a griev'd and broken heart.
Unrepining at thy glory,

Thy successful arms we hail;
But remember our sad story,

And let Hosier's wrongs prevail.
Sent in this foul clime to languish,
Think what thousands fell in vain,
Wasted with disease and anguish,
Not in glorious battle slain.
Hence, with all train attending
From their oozy tombs below,
Through the hoary foam ascending,
Here I feel my constant woe:
Here, the Bastimentos viewing,


We recall our shameful doom,
And, our plaintive cries renewing,
Wander through the midnight gloom.
O'er the waves, for ever mourning,
Shall we roam depriv'd of rest,
If, to Britain's shores returning,

You neglect my just request:
After this proud foe subduing,

When your patriot friends you see,
Think on vengeance for my ruin,
And for England-sham'd in me.

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Fire, thunder, balls, bullets, were seen, heard,
and felt;

A sight that the heart of Bellona would melt!
The shrouds were all torn, and the decks fill'd
with blood,
And scores of dead bodies were thrown in the
The flood, from the days of old Noah and Seth,
Ne'er saw such a man as our brave captain Death.
At last the dread bullet came wing'd with his
Our brave captain dropp'd, and soon after his
Each officer fell, and a carnage was seen,
That soon dyed the waves to a crimson from
And Neptune rose up, and he took off his
And gave it a Triton to crown captain Death.
Thus fell the strong Terrible bravely and bold;
But sixteen survivers the tale can unfold!
The French were the victors, though much to
their cost,
For many brave French were with Englishmen
And thus says old Time, "From good queen


I ne'er saw the fellow of brave captain Death."

$71. Song. The Sea Fight in xcut. THURSDAY in the morn, the ides of May, Recorded for ever the famous ninety-two, Brave Russel did discern, by dawn of day, The lofty sails of France advancing now;

* Called the Vengeance.

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The great naval victory, intended to be celebrated by this excellent old song, was determined, after a running action of several days, off Cape La Hogue, on the coast of Normandy, the 22d of May, 1692, in favor of the English and Dutch combined fleets, consisting of 99 sail of the line, under the command of Admiral Russel, afterwards Earl of Orford, over a French squadron of about half that number, commanded by the Chevalier Tourville, whose ship Le Soleil Royal carried upwards of a hundred guns, and was esteemed the finest vessel in Europe. This last fleet was fitted out for the purpose of restoring King James the Second to his dominions; and that prince, together with the Duke of Berwick, and several great officers both of his own court and of the court of France, and even Tourville himself, beheld the final destruction of the French ships from an eminence on the shore. It is now certain that Russel had engaged to favor the scheme of his old master's restoration, on condition that the French took care to avoid him; but Tourville's impetuosity and rashness rendered the whole measure abortive: and the distressed and ill-fated monarch retired in a fit of despondency, to mourn his misfortunes, and recover his peace of mind, amid the solitary gloom of La Trappe.

This song was written in compliment to Mrs. Woffington.

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