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AID a sailor, kind sirs, who once felt it his glory To fight for his country, his king to defend;
0 stop for a-moment, and hear my sad story, And deign, when 'tis ended, my wants to defend.
1 once had a sweetheart whose vows I shall never
Forget when she said itwould grieve her to part, And that, happen what might, she would love me for ever, If time did not alter the worth of my heart.
We set sail from Plymouth, a French ship gave us battle,
And I was determin'd to conquer or die, Undaunted, around me I heard the balls rattle,
And lost in the contest an arm and an eye; Yet I thought not the loss of a limb in my duty,
To Nancy of me would a sorrow impart. One eye was still left me to gnze on her beauty,
And I knew what she priz'd in me most was my heart.
But when maim'd and in want I gain'd Plymouth
B 3 ADIEU,
DIEU, adieu, my only life,
L My honour calls me from thee:
Remember thou'rt a soldier's wife,
Where thund'ring cannons rattle;
Where valour's self might stand appall'd,
Where valour's self might stand appall'd;
When on the wings of thy dear love,
To heaveu above thy fervent orisons are flown;
The tender pray'r thou put'st up there
My safety thy fair truth shall be,
As sword and buckler serving,
Because of thy preserving.
Let thund'ring cannons rattle,
Assur'd when on the wings of love,
To heaven above, &c.
Enough,—with that benignant smile
Some kindred god inspir'd thee, Who saw thy bosom void of guile,
Who wonrler'd and admir'd thee; I go—assur'd—my life! adieu,
Though thund'ring cannons rattle, Though murd'ring carnage stalk in view,
When on the wings of thy true love,
To heaven above, tec.
BEHOLD! from many a hostile shore,
Your faithful Tom returns again;
Which ne'er, &c.
After long toil, and danger past,
With conquest to come home at last,
No one to beauty should pretend,
But such as dare its rights defend.
No one, &c.
ASWEET-scented Beau, and a simp'ring
Wit swore by his fancy, the Beau by his face,
Their clamorous noise rous'd a jolly young swain; Hark forward, he cry'd, then bounc'd over the plain:
He distanced the Wit, the Cit, and the Beau, -
AT the peaceful midnight hour, ,
While the wolf, in nightly prowl,
Gates are barr'd, a vain resistance;
locks, bolts, and bars soon fly asunder,
BLOW high, blow low, let tempests tear
And love well stor'd,
Aloft, while mountains high we go,
And the surge roaring from below,
And this shall be my song.
Blow high, &c.
And on that night when all the crew
The meiu'ry of their former lives O'er flowing cans of flip renew,
And drink their sweethearts and their wives, I'll heave a sigh, and think on thee; And as the, ship rolls through the sea, The burden of my song shall be,
Blow high, &c.
BEAR is my little native vale,
To every passing villager;