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After thus we at sea had miscarry'd,
Another guess way set the wind,
For to England I came and got marry'd,
To a lass that is comely and kind.
But whether for joy or vexation,

We know not for what we were born;
Perhaps I may find a kind station,
Perhaps I may touch at Cape Horn.

But sailors, &c.

IN

N Charles the Second's merry days,
For wanton frolics noted;

A lover of cabals I was,

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With wines like Bacchus bloated...
I preach'd unto my crowded pews,
Wine was by God's command, Sir,
And damn'd was he who did refuse
To drink while he could stand, Sir.
And this is law I will maintain
Unto my dying day, Sir;

That, whatsoever king shall reign,
I'll drink a gallon a day, Sir.

When James the sot assum'd the throne,
He strove to stand alone, Sir;

But quickly got so drunk, that down
He tumbled from the throne, Sir:
One morning-crop-sick, pale, and queer,
By sitting up with gay men,-

He reel'd to Rome, where priests severe
Deny the cup to laymen.

And this is law, &c.

Then

Then Will, the tippling Dutchman, say'd
Our liberties from sinking;

We crown'd him king of cups, and crav'd
The privilege of thinking.

He drank your Holland's gin 'tis said,
And held predestination:

Fool! not to know the tippling trade

Admits no trepidation!

And this is law, &c.

When Brandy-Nan became our queen,
'Twas all a drunken story;

I sat and drank from morn till e'en,
And so was thought a Tory.
Brim full of wine, all sober folks

We damn'd, and moderation;

And for right Nantz, we pawn'd to France
Our dearest reputation.

And this is law, I will maintain,

For ever and for aye, Sir;

That, whatever king or queen shall reign,

I'll drink a gallon a day, Sir.

King George the First then fill'd the throne,

And took the resolution

To drink all sorts of liquors known,
To save the Constitution.
He drank success, in rare old rum,
Unto the State and Church, Sir,
Till with a dose of Brunswick mum,
He dropp'd from off the perch, Sir.

And this is law, &c.

King

King George the Second then arose,
A wise and valiant soul, Sir;
He lov'd his people, beat his foes,
And push'd about the bowl, Sr.
He drank his fill to Chatham Will,
To heroes, for he chose them!
With us true Whigs he drank until
He slept in Abram's bosom.

And this is law, &

His present Majesty then came,
Whom Heaven long preserve, Sir!

He glory'd in a Briton's name,

And swore he'd never swerve, Sir:
Though evil counsellors
may think
His love from us to sever,
Yet let us, loyal Britons, drink-
King George the Third for ever!
And this is law, I will maintain,
For ever and for aye, Sir;
That whatsoever king shall reign,
I'll drink both night and day, Sir.

&c.

JACK Rattlin was the ablest seaman,

None like him could hand, reef, or steer:

No dangʼrous toil but he'd encounter,
With skill, and in contempt of fear.
In fight like a lion: the battle ended,
Meek as the bleating lamb he'd prove;
Thus Jack had manners, courage, merit,
Yet he did sigh, and all for love.

The

The song, the can, the flowing liquor,
For none of these had Jack regard;
He, while his messmates were carousing,
High sitting on the pendant yard,
Would think upon the fair one's beauties,
Swore never from such charms to rove;
That truly he'd adore them living,
And dying sigh-to end his love.

The same express the crew commanded
Once more to view their native land,
Amongst the rest, brought Jack some tidings-
Would it had been his love's fair hand!
O fate! her death defac'd the letter;
Instant his pulse forgot to move;
With quiv'ring lips, and eyes uplifted,
He heav'd a sigh-and dy'd for love.

IN

N my club-room so great, When I'm seated in state, At the head of the table I shine; With a hammer in hand, Zounds! how I command,

As I push round the bumpers of wine;

Then after we've toasted the health of the
King,

Mr. Brisket the butcher is call'd on to sing. Speaks.]-Sir, I'll do my best, &c.

Ma chere amie, &c:

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Now I wink and I stare
At my next neighbour's chair;
Tis with you, Sr, a lady to give!
A duchess, at least,

Must now grace our feast;

Then the thanks of the room I receive;

Till silence is call'd, all the table along, And a bald-pated gentleman sings us a song. Speaks.-I'll try gentlemen, &c.

Time has not thinn'd my flowing hair,

&c.

Then we drink, and we push round the bowl,
Till a medley, at last, sums up the whole;
Whilst, so pleas'd, all the club-room déclare
Bobby Batch is the man for a chair!

ECTUR'D by Pa and Ma o'er night; Monday, at ten, quite vex'd and jealous; Resolv'd in future to be right,

And never listen to the fellows.
Stitch'd half a wristband; read the text, ".
Receiv'd a note from Mistress Racket-

I hate that woman! she sat next,

All church-time, to sweet Captain Clackit.

Tuesday got scolded, did not care;

The toast was cold, 'twas past eleven: I dreamt the Captain through the air, On Cupid's wings, bore me to Heaven.

Pouted,

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