When often beset by this beauty and that,
My tongue in their praise never faulter'd;
With each one I chatter'd,and humour'd their chat,
Yet still my fond heart never alter'd;
No, no; for in whatever climate or place,
I chanc'd, when a lover, to dally,
I saw in my fancy the beautiful face
Of Sally, my sweet pretty Sally,
The maid of the green, pretty Sally.

And ever shall she be the pride of my song,
Whose constancy nothing could sever;
For tho' far away from my charmer so long,
Her love was as faithful as ever;

Then come to my bosom thou maiden divine,
A passion so true who can rally?
For thee I will splendor and riches resign,"
For Sally, my sweet pretty Sally,
The maid of the green, pretty Sally.

I

WAS, d'ye see, a waterman,
As tight and spruce as any,
Twixt Richmond town
And Horsley-down

I earn'd an honest penny:

None could of Fortune's favours brag
More than could lucky I;

My cot was snug, well fill'd my cag,

My grunter in the stye.

With wherry tight,
And bosom light,

I cheer

cheerfully did row;

And, to complete this princely life, Sure never man had friend and wife Like Poll and my Partner Joe.

I roll'd in joys like these a while,
Folks far and near caress'd me,
Till, woe is me,

So lubberly,

The press-gang came and press'd me.
How could I all these pleasures leave!
How with my wherry part!

I never so took on to grieve:
It wrung my very heart.
But, when on board,
They gave the word,

To foreign parts to go,

I ru'd the moment I was born, That ever I should thus be torn, From Poll and my Partner Joe.

I did my duty manfully,

While on the billows rolling;
And, night or day,

Could find my way,

Blind-fold to the main-top-bowling.
Thus all the dangers of the main,
Quicksands, and gales of wind,
I brav'd, in hopes to taste again
The joys I left behind.

In climes afar,

The hottest war,

Pour'd broadsides on the foe,
In hopes these perils to relate
As by my side attentive sate
My Poll and my Partner Joe.

At last it pleas'd his Majesty
To give peace to the nation;
And honest hearts,

From foreign parts,

Come home for consolation.
Like lightning-for I felt new life,
Now safe from all alarms-

I rush'd, and found my friend and wife
Lock'd in each other's arms!
Yet fancy not
I bore my lot

Tame, like a lubber :-No;

For, seeing I was finely trick'd, Plump to the devil I fairly kick'd My Poll and my Partner Joe.

OU gentlemen of England, who live at home

you

at case,

Ah! little do you think upon the dangers of the

seas;

Give ear unto the mariners, and they will plainly

snow

All the cares and the fears,

When the stormy winds do blow.

If

If enemies oppose as, when England is at wars With any foreign nations, we fear no wounds or

scars;

Our roaring guns shall teach them our valour for to know,

Whilst they reel on the keel,

When the stormy winds do blow.

Then courage all brave mariners, and never be

afraid,

Whilst we have bold adventurers we ne'er shall want a trade:

Our merchants will employ us to bring them wealth we know,

Then be bold, work for gold,
When the stormy winds do blow.

HE gentle maid of whom I sing,

Once liv'd where Tweed's blue waters wave, But now the modest flower of spring Hangs weeping o'er her dewy grave. Fond nymphs! of Mary's fate beware, Of perjur'd William's vows take heed, Lest you should love and then despair, Like gentle Mary of the Tweed.

Tho' long he woo'd the lovely maid,
And she was faithful in return,
To every sense of honour dead,
He fled and left the fair to mourn.
M 2

Alarm'd

Alarm'd at her false lover's flight,
Her fair companions sought the mead,
To sink the hopes, in endless night,
Of gentle Mary of the Tweed.

She heard but scorning to upbraid,
She breath'd alone the secret sigh,
For graceful pride induc'd the maid
To hide her wrongs from ev'ry eye.
Here, in these shades, a prey to grief,
She tun'd to plaintive strains the reed;
"Till death from woe, a blest relief,
Smote gentle Mary of the Tweed,

Now in the turf-bound grave at rest,
Where yonder willow droops its head,
With hopeless care no more oppress'd,
She sleeps beneath the waving shade.
The cruel wrongs are all forgot

Which forc'd her virgin heart to bleed:
Fond nymphs! be yours a milder lot
Than gentle Mary's of the Tweed.

THE table clear'd, the wine was brought,
Says Dick to Tom now that's your sort,
Come bring the gingling glasses,

Let Love and Fancy guess the rest;
Come fill a bumper of the best,

And toast our fav'rite lasses.

Than