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In orange groves, and myrtle bow'rs, That breathe a gale of fragrance round,
I charm the fairy footed hours,
With my lov'd lute's romantic'sound;
Or crowns of living laurel weave,
For those that win the race at eve.
The shephefd's horn, at break of day,
The canzonet and roundelay,
Sung in the silent greenwood shade;
These simple joys that never fail,
Shall bind me to my native vale.
CEASE, rude Boreas, blust'ring railer!
Sing the dangers of the sea.
When the distant whirlwinds rise,
Hark! the boatswain hoarsely bawling—
By topsails and halyards stand! Down top-gallants, quick be hauling!
Down your stay-sails, hand, boys, hand! Now it freshens, set the braces;
Quick the topsail sheet let go;
Up your top-sails nimbly clew 1
Now all you on down beds sporting.
Fondly lock'd in beauty's arms, Fresh enjoyments, wanton courting,
Free from all but love's alarms— Round us roars the tempest louder;
Think what fears our minds enthrall! Harder yet; it yet blows harder!
Now, again, the boatswain's call:—'
See all clear to reef each course:
Though the weather should be worse.
Reef the mizen; see all clear: Hands up,—each preventer-brace set,
Man the fore-yard; cheer, lads, cheer!
Now the dreadful thunder's roaring!
Peals on,peals contending clash 1
In our eyes blue lightnings ftash I
All above us one black sky I Different deaths at once surround us'.
Hark! what means that dreadful cry?
O'er the lee, twelve feet 'bove deck.
Call all hands to clear the wreck.
Come, my hearts, be stout and bold! Plumb the well; the leak increases t
Four feet water 's in the hold!
While While o'er the ship wiltf waves are beating
We for wives and children mourn; Alas! from hence there 's no retreating;
Alas! to them there's no return. Still the leak is gaining on us;
Both chain-pumps are choak'd below; Heav'n have mercy here upon us!
Only that can save us now 1
O'er the lee-beam is the land, boys;
Let the guns o'erboard be thrown:
See, our mizen-mast is gone!
We've lighten'd her a foot or more;
She rights, she rights, boys! wear offshore.
Now once more on joys we're thinking,
Since kind fortune spar'd our lives: Come, the can, boys, let's be drinking
To our sweethearts and our wives. Till it up, about ship wheel it!
Close to the lips a brimmer join! Where's the tempest now? who feels it?
None! our danger's drown'd in wine 1
TOEHOLD the man that is unlucky,
Too much care will turn a young man grir;
So merrily pass the day;
Care now he gone, I prithee fly away,
Mirth and joy forme;
BADDYNeptunc one day, to Freedom did say,
All the globe round, . . .
None can he found,
Julins Caesar the Roman, who yielded to no man,
their backs on,