THE HONEST SAILOR'S SONG.
OME listen to my jovial song
Ye sons of stormy ocean,
Condemn me or commend me,
As fancy leads your notion:
Though songsters frequently may err,
Yet think me not a railer,
For though I am a shaggy dog
Yet I'm an honest sailor.
When rattling thunders shake the air
To fill the mind with horror,
And mariners dismay'd behold
The scene with dread and terror:
When dreadful waves mountaineous roll,
And tempests loud are howling,
A sailor, though a shaggy dog,
Should ne'er be heard a-growling.
But patience, sirs, a while excuse
The sad account I give you,
No dastard base am I, d'ye see,
Therefore will not deceive you :
For sailing's now in fashion grown
With every rank and station,
Since piracy and bartering are
The business of the nation.
There scuds a lady of eighteen,
With all her sails full spread, sirs,
Well rigg'd, d'ye see, from stem to stern,
And bearing right a-head, sirs;
But should some sprightly fopling buck
Attack her starboard quarter,
She'd soon abandon piracy
And heart for heart would barter.
The miser down his hatchets shuts
To all solicitations,
He values not the orphan's tears,
Or widow's lamentations;
But stupid as the boisterous main,
He steers right off, and leaves 'em ; Then to the devil steers his course,
Who down hell's gang-way heaves him.
The holy parson from aloft
Bawls out to Heaven for quarters,
To save a single sinking crew,
Implores both saints and martyrs ;
But stop his pay, and then you'll see
The ever zealous parson,
Will,-Bing like,-set his helm alee,
And sinners turn his back on.
The statesman, too, down folly's stream,
Glides on with sails unbended,
But founders oft on credit's coast,
'Ere half his voyage is ended.
Split on the rocks of mortgages
He's forc'd to steer abaft, sirs,
Whilst lawyers take the weather guage
And rake him fore and aft, sirs.
Thus all the world, as well as me,
Are sailors in their kind, sirs,
Some, fool-like, stem the sea of life,
Some drive before the wind, sirs:
One common harbour, though they seek,
Yet are their courses various;
Two founder, whilst one gains the port,
The channel's so precarious.
OLD ENGLAND FOR EVER! 1805.
Tho' the tempest of discord again gathers round And threatens to deluge our nation,
Yet true British courage this ne'er can confound, Unknown to the fears of invasion.
'Tis not Gallia's proud boast nor the menace of Spain Can e'er make true Englishmen fear them, Whilst our country stands firm and our tars rule the main,
They can ne'er suppose danger is near them.
See, the ensigns of liberty float in the air,
See, what loyalty glows in each bosom,
Round the standard of freedom, see, millions repair, And dare those who scarce dare to oppose 'em! 'Tis loyalty binds every rank to the cause,
With one heart and one hand we engage, sirs, To stand firm by our country, our king, and our laws, And defy this proud Bonaparte's rage, sirs.
Should this Corsican ape with his train of baboons
Ever hope here to land, he's mistaken,
Let them come in their diving-boats, or their balloons,
We'll assuredly smoke dry their bacon.
From the bleak barren Orkneys to distant Penzance,
Each heart glows with true emulation, [France
And spurns with contempt the proud blusterings of
And their damnable rage of invasion.
Thus these bog-trotting croakers, our Gallican foes,
Would contend with the sons of old freedom,
And at surly John Bull toss each impudent nose,
Who, indignant, refuses to heed them:
How unequal the means they propose for their end,
How mistaken their insolent chief, sirs,
Shall the frog-eating miscreants of Gallia pretend
To vie with the sons of roast beef, sirs?
May our Blakes and our Raleighs in memory long
May the spirit of union firm bind us,
May the French when a hint of invasion they give,
As prepar'd to receive them still find us.
'Tis the honour of England that calls us to arms,
To repel the proud foe we'll endeavour;
We'll shrink not in dangers, nor start at alarms,
But 'll fight for Old England for ever!
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