Well, man's but man,-that's all I say;
So in this plight,

If I can't fight,

For certain I can't run away."

So, as if Old Nick was in it,
Something happen'd ev'ry minute;

Till at last poor I! they dous'd my glims;
Tol de rol, de rol de ri!

So says I,

"Why, I've lost my eyes and limbs : Well, the sails of life by time are furl'd. "Twas fate's decree,

That I mayn't see

The treach'ry of this wicked world."

Things grew worser still, and worser; Fortune, I had cause to curse her; Coming home, I found I'd lost my wife: Tol de rol, de rol de ri!

So says I,-
"I'd rather lost my life;

But we're all mortal-she was old:
Then why take on?

If so be she's gone.

I ne'er again shall hear her scold."

Now laid up in Greenwich quarter,
Chatham chest my right by charter,
Being old, I've lost all but my tongue;
Tol de rol, de rol de ri!

So says I,

""Twas not so when I was young; But then," says I again, "you dunce! Be fear afar

From ev'ry tar,—

Damme ! a man can die but once."

DEAR NANCY, ADIEU.

UNFURLED were the sails, bearing William afar From the shore where his Nancy had lingered in view;

While the tears for the fate of her generous tar

From her bosom escaped, as she cried, "Love, adieu !" Endeared to the spot by sweet sympathy's tie,

Where last her fond William had vowed to be true, O'er the ocean's expanse she would range with her eye, As the waves gently murmured," Dear Nancy, adieu!"

Three years have elapsed and the beach Nancy sought, As a vessel appeared with her streamers displayed; ""Tis my_love," she exclaimed, but sad tidings were brought,

Which struck with despair the affectionate maid ! — For who can describe her keen pangs when she found That her tar, to his country and king ever true, Had fallen, alas! but by victory crowned,

While the crew, wrapped in grief, sighed, "Brave
William, adieu!"

The portrait from Nancy which hung from his neck,
To his messmate he gave with a heartrending sigh,
Then, raising himself on the blood streaming deck,
While softness ineffable beam'd from his eye,
A wish he expressed that his true love might have
The pledge he received of affection so true;
In death he embraced it, then sunk to his grave,
And his last falt'ring accents breathed, "Nancy,
adieu !"

CRIPPLED JACK.

WITH shatter'd limbs Jack came from sea,
'Cause how he stood the tether;

With heart as firm as oaken tree,

That stands the wind and weather:

What though his timbers they are gone,
And he's a slave to tipple,
No better sailor e'er was born,
Than Jack the honour'd cripple.

A grape-shot lopt his starboard wing,
That chill'd not his endeavour;
But while he fought for England's king,
His daylights clos'd for ever.
Though lame and blind, and but one arm,
To raise the magic tipple,
He's gain'd in war the noble palm,
For Jack's an honour'd cripple.
With rudder gone, and rigging torn,
A wreck in port he's towing;
Yet while he bled at ev'ry pore,
His dauntless heart was glowing.
One joy on earth alone he craves,
Which is the magic tipple:
And when at last pale death he braves,
He'll die an honour'd cripple.

HOW PLEASANT A SAILOR'S LIFE PASSES.

How pleasant a sailor's life passes,

Who roams o'er the wat'ry main !
No treasure he ever amasses,

But cheerfully spends all his gain.
We're strangers to party and faction,
To honour and honesty true;
And would not commit a bad action,
For power or profit in view.

CHORUS.

Then why should we quarrel for riches,
Or any such glittering toy?

A light heart and thin pair of breeches
Goes through the world, my brave boy.

The world is a beautiful garden,

Enrich'd with the blessings of life,
The toiler with plenty rewarding,
Where plenty too often breeds strife.
When terrible tempests assail us,

And mountainous billows affright;
No grandeur or wealth can avail us,
But skilful industry steers right.

Then why should, &c.

The courtier's more subject to dangers
Who rules at the helm of the state,
Than we who're to politics strangers,
Thus escape the snares laid for the great.
The various blessings of nature,

In different nations we try :
No mortal than us can be greater
Who merrily live till we die.

Then why should, &c.

THOUGH FATE, MY GIRL, MAY BID US PART.

[THOMAS MOORE.]

THOUGH fate, my girl, may bid us part,
Our souls it cannot, shall not sever;
The heart will seek its kindred heart,
And cling to it as close as ever.

But must we, must we part indeed?
Is all our dream of rapture over?
And does not Julia's bosom bleed
To leave so dear, so fond a lover?

Does she too mourn ?-Perhaps she may,
Perhaps she weeps our blisses fleeting.
But why is Julia's eye so gay,

If Julia's heart, like mine, is beating?

I oft-have lov'd the brilliant glow

Of rapture in her blue eye streaming-
But can the bosom bleed with woe

While joy is in the glances beaming?

No, no! yet, love, I will not chide,
Although your heart were fond of roving,
Nor that, nor all the world beside,

Could keep your faithful boy from loving.

You'll soon be distant from his eye,

And with you all that's worth possessing;
Oh! then it will be sweet to die,
When life has lost its only blessing.

JACK'S GRATITUDE.

[CHARLES DIBDIN.]

I'VE sail'd round the world without fear or dismay; I've seen the wind foul, and I've seen the wind fair; I've been wounded, and shipwreck'd, and trick'd of my pay;

But a brave British sailor should never despair.

When in a French prison I chanc'd for to lie,

With no light from the heavens, and scarce any air, In a dungeon instead of in battle to die,

Was dismal I own, but I did not despair.

But, Lord! this is nothing-my poor upper works
Got shatter'd, and I was oblig'd to repair;
I've been shot by the French, and a slave 'mongst the
Turks;

But a brave British sailor should never despair.

But for all these misfortunes, I'd yet cut a dash, Laid snug up my timbers, and never known care, If the agent had not run away with the cash,

And so many brave fellows plung'd into despair.