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WHY droops my Nan, and why those tears?
I go, my Nan, my Country's friend,
WHO better knows the world than I,
Rare news I'm always bawling;
My papers to enhance,
But just arriv'd from France!
Search Search round the world, you'll find 'tis true,
The one half of mankind,
Drives on thro' life so cheerly,
Some thousand folks cure yearly;
Your money-lenders advertise,
And puff their schemes so fair; They tell us us'ry they despise,
Then trap the rich man's heir.
Their soap for ladies faces;
Which gives a thousand graces;
Players and dancers, well 'tis known,
Gain half their fame by puffing;
Their pockets mean-time stuffing.
The aim the golden stuff;
But give ye puff for puff,
WHY, what's that to you, if my eyes I'm a
There was bustling Bob Bounce, for the old, on*
Swearing, he, for his part, had no notion of spar-
That my friend, Jack or Tom, I should rescue
Or lay my life down for each lad in the mess,
Is nothing at all; 'tis the poor wounded stranger,
And the poorer the more I shall succour distress;
For however their duty bold tars may delight in,
And peril defy as a bug-bear or flam; Tho' the lion may feel surly pleasure in fighting, He'll feel more by compassion when turu'd to a lamb.
The heart and the eyes you see feel the same motion, . ,
And if both shed their drops 'tis all to the same end; .,.,,
And thus 'tis that every tight lad of the ocean
MY native land I bid adieu,
Yet, should her truth feel no decay;
Should absence prove my charmer kind; Then shall not I lament the day,
When my true love I left behind.
Fthe world's crooked path where-I ve been There to share of life's gloom my poor part, The bright sunshine, that soften'd the scene, Was a smile from the girl of my heart.
Not a swain, when the lark quits her nest,
If at eve he expects to be bless'd
With a smile from the girl of his heart.
Come then crosses and cares as they may,
That the comfort of man's fleeting day,
TT TRAVLRS'D Jink's barren sand,
J- At beauty's altar to adore;
But there the Turk had spoil'd the land,
And Sion's daughters were no more. In Greece, the bold imperious mien,
The wanton look, the leering eye, Bade Love's devotions not be seen,
Where Constancy is never nigh.
From thence to Italy's fair shore
I bent my never-ceasing way, And to Loretta's temple bore
A miud devoted still to pray: But there, too, Superstition's hand
Had sickly'd ev'ry feature o'er; And made me soon regain the land
Where beauty fills the western shore:
Where Hymen, with celestial povv'r,
Where purest virtue sports the hour