A SAILOR's life's a life, d'ye see,
That drudges late and early:
What matter's that when he's at sea,
'Tis grog that makes him cheerly:
For, blest with that, no care he knows,
His heart's with courage stor'd; 21
"Tis all the same what wind then blows,
When smiling grog's on board.
Tho' many a stormy night he braves,
Yet fear cannot his courage check;
Undaunted views the dashing waves,
And boldly still he stands on deck:
What fear can e'er a sailor feel,.
Who ploughs the foaming hoard;:
He fears not rocks that rub the keel,
When smiling grog's on board.
The sails are set, the cann goes round,
The helm at watch is shifted;
The lead is heav'd, the bank is found,
The ship by seas is drifted:
What dangers now await the crew,
She's turning out the freight she's stor'd,
Yet, highly pleas'd the merry few,
When smiling grog's on board.
The ship, she works, the helm's a-lee,
The sea beats o'er the weather bow,
The pump's at task, the leak is free,
She rights, my boys, just now:
With eager stretch the sails are clear,
She's near the port well stor'd ;
Drink now, my hearts, the shore is near.
For smiling grog's on board..
HENRY'S COTTAGE MAID.
AH! where can fly my soul's true love,
Sad I wander this lone grove;
Sighs and tears for him I shed,
Henry is from Laura fled:
Thy love to me thou didst impart,
Thy love soon won my virgin heart ;
But, dearest Henry, thou'st betray'd
Thy love with thy poor cottage maid.
Through the vale my grief appears,
Sighing sad with pearly tears;
Oft thy image is my theme,
As I wander on the green
See from my cheek the colour flies,
And love's sweet hope within me dies;:
For, oh! dear Henry, thou'st betray'd
Thy love, with thy poor cottage maid..
BE QUICK, FOR I'M IN HASTE..
AS 'cross the fields the other morn,.
I tripp'd so blithe and gay,
The 'squire with his dog and gun,
By chance came by that way:
Whither so fast, sweet maid, he cry'd,
And caught me round the waist,
Pray stop awhile-" Dear Sir," said I,
"I can't, for I'm in haste."
You must not go as yet, cry'd he,
For I have much to say ;-
Come, sit you down, and let us chat,
Upon the new-mown hay:
I've lov'd you long, and oft have wish'd Those ruby lips to taste,
I'll have a kiss "Well, then," said I, "Be quick, for I'm in haste."
Just as I spoke I saw young Hodge
Come thro' a neighbouring gate;
He caught my hand, and cry'd, "Dear girl,,
I fear I've made you wait :.
But here's the ring, come, let's to church,
The joys of love to taste"
I left the squire, and laughing cry'd,
"You see, Sir, I'm in haste."
THE HAPPY FARMER.
Sung by Mr. Denman.
WHEN the bonny grey morning just peeps thro' the skies,
The lark, mounting, tunes his sweet lay;
With a mind unincumber'd with care I arise,
My spirits, light, airy, and gay.
I take up my gun, honest Tray, my old friend;
Wags his tail, and jumps joyfully round;
To the woods then, together, we joyfully bend,
'Tis there health and pleasure are found.
I snuff the fresh air, bid defiance to care,
And happy as mortal can be,
From the toils of the great, from ambition and state, "Tis my pride and my boast to be free.
At noon I delighted range o'er the rich soil,
And Labour's rough children regale,
With a cup of good home-brew'd I sweeten their toil,
And laugh at their joke and their tale.
And whether the ripe waving corn I behold,
Or the innocent flocks meet my sight,
Or the orchard, whose fruits are just turning to gold,
Still, still, health and pleasure unite.
"I snuff the fresh air, &c..
At eve to my humble roof cot I return,
When oh! what new sources of bliss,
My children rush out, while their little hearts burn,
Each striving to gain the first kiss.
My Dolly appears with a smile on her face,
Good humour presides at our board;
What more than health, plenty, good humour and peace,
Can the wealth of the Indies afford?
I retire to sweet rest, content fills my breast,
As happy as mortal can be,
From the toils of the great, from ambition and state, 'Tis my pride and my boast to be free.
COME, listen awhile, I will make you to smile,
With a story that's certainly true,
At a place of renown, a few miles from town,
This comical theme we'll pursue.
Tol de rol.
The 'squire's fine lady had brought him a babe,
A jolly plump boy I declare,
His eyes and his nose, daddy's own we suppose,
For so all the gossips did swear.
Tol de rol.
To christen the child, the folks were all wild,
So they hastily sent for the vicar;
The vicar soon came, or he'd been much to blame,
As he guess'd there was plenty of liquor.
Tol de rol.
The room it was full, not a soul that was dull,
There was plenty of punch and of claret,
The gossips' tongues clack'd, as the glasses they
smack'd,
'Twas enough for to stun you to hear it.
Tol de rol.
The lady and 'squire were flaming with ire,
What name they should give the young Don;
The lady said Matt, the 'stuire said Patt,
But the uncle would have him call'd John.
Tol de rol.
But the lady said, "Fie! I ne'er will comply,
My child shall be christen'd like that,
They will joke on his name, and it would be a shame,
To have him call'd little Jack Sprat.
Tol de rol.
While their bellies they fill, the parson sat still,
To see the punch flowing amain;
Such a fine noble bowl, 'tis true by my soul,
"Twas like a pond on a plain.
But as the tide sunk, they grew most of them drunk,
And the vicar just open'd his book;
The nurse let him fall in, Lord, how he did grin,
For he swam like a fish in a brook.
Madam ery', "O my child, will be certainly spoil'd, Such a thing before was ne'er heard on,'
But the parson said, "No, it ought to be so,
For this is the river of Jordan.
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