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WHEN angry nations rush to arms,
And dare Britannia's peace molest;
While discord sounds her dire alarms,

And tills with rage each hostile breast;
The gallant tar, at honour's call,

Springs forth to meet his country's foes, And fix'd to conquer or to fall.

His breast with martial ardour glows.

Behold him in the dreadful scene,

Where heroes fall to rise no more; He braves his fate with dauntless mien,

And bids the thund'ring cannons roar. No fears appal his manly mind;

Or, if perchance he heaves a sigh, Tis for a girl he left behind:

A sailor never fears lo die.

In honour's deathless page enroll'd,

Conspicuous shines the sailor's name, The guardian pf his native land, - • .

Whose bosom nobly pants for fame. On them the British fair bestow

The choicest smiles, their favours sweet, When crown'd with laurels from the foe,

They lay their w reath? at beauty's feet.

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I wasta'en by the foe, 'twas t!ie fiat of fate,

To tear me from her i adore, When thought brings to my mind my once happy estate,

I sigh! while I tuj at the oar.

Hard, hard is my fate ! Oh how colling my chain!

My life's steer'd by misery's chart; And tho' 'gainst my tyrants I scorn to complain,

Tears pish forth to case my full heart. I disdain e'en to shrink, tho' [ feel the sharp lash;

Yet my breast bleeds for her I adore, While around ine the unfeeling billows will dash,

I sigh! and still tug at the oar.

How Fortune deceives! I had pleasure in tow,

The port where she dwelt we'd in view; Butthe wish'd nuptial morn was o'er-clouded with woe,

And, dear Anna! I hurried from you. Our shallop was boarded, and I borne away,

To behold my dear Anna no more: But despair wastes my spirits, my form feels decay,

He sigh'd and cxpir'd at the oar.

"JTF deep thy poniard thou would'st drench
-J- In blood to avenge old Blenheim's woes,
My enemies, boy, are the French,
And all who arc my country's foes.

Shall

Shall I receive an added day

Of life, when crimes your name shall briwidf f No; never let detraction say,

That virtue Urm'd a murderer's hand.

It" deep, &c.

Of anser, then, no single breath

Respire for my poor sake—hut since

You've spirit to encounter death,

Die for your country and your prince.

If deep, CvC.

TO Bachelors' Hall we good follows invite,
To partake of the chase that makes up our
delight;
We have spirits like fire, and of health such a

stock, That our pulse strikes the seconds as true as a

clock: Did you see us you'd swear, as we mount with a.

grace; That Diana had dubb'd some newgodsofthechase, Hark away, hark away, All nature looks gay,

And Aurora with smiles ushers in the bright
day.

Dick Thickset came mounted upon n fine black,
A better fieet gelding ne'er hunter did back:
Tom Trig rode a bay full of mettle and bone,
And gaily Bob Buxom rode proud on a roan;

But Bnt the horse of all horses that rivall'd the day, Was the Squire's Neck-or-nothing, and that was a grey. Hark away, hark away, While our spirits are gay, Let us drink to the joys of the next coming day.

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Then for hounds there was Nimble, so well that

climbs rocks; And Cocknose, a good one for scenting a fox; Little Plunge, like a mole, who with Ferret and

Search; And beetle-brow'd Hawks-eye, so dead at a lurch; Young Sly-looks, that scents the strong breeze from

the South;
And musical Echo-well with his deep mouth.
Hark away, &C

Our horses thus all of the very best blood,
Tis not likely you'll easily find such a stud:
And for hounds our opinions with thousands we'll

back, That all England throughout can't produce such

a pack; Thus having describ'd you dogs, horses and crew, Away we set off, for the fox is in view.

Hark away, &c.

Sly Reynard>s brought home, while the horns

sound a call, And now you're alL weleome to Bachelor's

Hall.

The

The savory Sir-loin grateful smokes on the hoai4,
And Bacchus pours wine from his favourite hoard;
Come on, then, do honour to this jovial place,
And enjoy the sweet pleasures that spring from
the chase.
I Hark away, &c

VII iOM Tackle was noble, was true to his word: J*- If merit brought titles, Tom might bea lord -. How gaily his hark through life's ocean would sail: Truth finish'd the rigging—

When I took my departure from Dublin's sweet city, And for England's ownself through the seas I did

plough: For three long days I was tost up and down—,

Peaceful slumbering on the ocean,
Seamen fear no dangers nigh:
The winds and waves in gentle motion
Soothe them with—

Oh, the bonny, bonny bells,
How I love to hear them sound:
Far and near—

The lads of the village so merrily, ah! Sound the tabor, I'll hand thee along; And I say unto thee—

Curtis was old Hodge's wife, For virtue none was ever such: She led so pure, so chaste a life, Hodge saidHere,

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