After thus we at sea had miscarry'd, We know not for what we were born; But sailors, &c. IN N Charles the Second's merry days, A lover of cabals I was, With wines like Bacchus bloated... That, whatsoever king shall reign, When James the sot assum'd the throne, But quickly got so drunk, that down He reel'd to Rome, where priests severe And this is law, &c. Then Then Will, the tippling Dutchman, say'd We crown'd him king of cups, and crav'd He drank your Holland's gin 'tis said, Fool! not to know the tippling trade Admits no trepidation! And this is law, &c. When Brandy-Nan became our queen, I sat and drank from morn till e'en, We damn'd, and moderation; And for right Nantz, we pawn'd to France 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, And this is law, &c. King King George the Second then arose, And this is law, & His present Majesty then came, He glory'd in a Briton's name, And swore he'd never swerve, Sir: &c. JACK Rattlin was the ablest seaman, None like him could hand, reef, or steer: No dangʼrous toil but he'd encounter, The The song, the can, the flowing liquor, The same express the crew commanded 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 Mr. Brisket the butcher is call'd on to sing. Speaks.]-Sir, I'll do my best, &c. Ma chere amie, &c: Now I wink and I stare 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, 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. 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, |