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And by a man too, night and day, Who's surely mad or nearly, Who's

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Blow, blow, thou win- ter's wind, Thou art not so unkind, thou art not so un

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BY RHINE'S BLUE WATERS.

The Words by G. Soane, A.B.; the Music from Fra Diavolo, by Auber, to the Air 'On yonder Rock reclining.'-Published by Davidson.

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wa-ters sings sweet-ly on his sleep - ing ear, 'Come to me, my min-strel dear, Be

neath the wa-ters clear; lovely our grots and beau-ti-ful to see, The floors all bright with

our grots, and beau- ti

ful to see, The floors all bright, with pearls so white; Come then, love, come then, love, come to me.

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Come, lads, here's good luck to the pur- ser, As long as he finds us in

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each change of scene, 'tis our no -tion, For air, health, and plea-sure to roam; And we

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She skims o'er the surge like a fairy,

With wonder while land-lubbers gaze,-
No lady so lightsome and airy,

Is smarter than she is in stays.
So ship-shape she graces the water,

Of each tar she's the love, pride, and joy;
And love, too, has boarded her quarter,
For she's sometimes attach'd to a buoy.
Thro' each change, &.
You may talk of the breeze and the battle,
For neither has she any fears;
Were great guns to blow, or shot rattle,
She'd meet them with so many cheers.
'Tis alike whether beating or running,

There is none can this craft overtake; They may try all their steering and cunning, But they'll soon be asleep in her wake. Thro' each change, &c

She's placid and calm in fair weather,

Or when storms seem her hull to o'erwhelm ; She rides o'er the waves like a feather, And cheerfully answers her helm.

With idleness ever untainted,

With the Needles she's not unacquainted; And no dairy-maid knows more of Cowes. Thro' each change, &c.

When once she down channel was thrashing,
A French frigate design'd her a treat,
But at beating quite failed, though so dashing,
Then tried running, and there too got beat.
Than the Crapaud's craft none was completer,
While sail after sail up he crowds,
But the little brig, laughing, dead beat her,
For she was alive in her shrouds.
Thro' each change, &c.

Then fill, fill again, and again, boys;
The Wanderer claims your regards,-
Her skipper, her officers, men, boys,
Hull, rigging, masts, canvass, and yards.
On her helmsman and hands safe relying,
Mischance may she ever avoid,-

May she ever come off colours flying,'
And always by fortune be buoyed:
And, while through new scenes 'tis our notion
For air, health, and pleasure to roam,
We'll oft drink in port on the ocean-

'The Wanderer always at Home!'

A housewife from taffrail to bows,

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foot-man, I strut in wor-sted lace, And soon I'll be a butler, And

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bill,

My mas-ter's coffers emp-ty, my poc-kets for to fill. When

roll-ing in my cha-riot, So great a man I'll be, So great a man,so great a man, so

great a man I'll be, You'll for-get the lit- tle plough - boy that whistled o'er the

lea,

You'll forget the little plough-boy that whistled o'er the lea.

I'll buy votes at elections, and when I've made the
pelf,
[myself;

I'll stand poll for the parliament, and then vote in
Whatever's good for me, sir, I never will oppose-
When all my ayes are sold off. why then I'll sell

my noes.

I'll joke, harangue, and paragraph-with speeches charm the ear; [a peer:

And when I'm tired on my legs, then I'll sit down In court or city honour, so great a man I'll be, You'll forget the little plough-boy that whistled o'er the lea.

ROCK'D IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP.

Sacred Song, the Poetry by Mrs. Willard; the Music by J. P. Knight.-Published by Davidson. Slow, and with expression.

Rock'd in the cradle of the deep, I lay me down in peace to sleep;

Se

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In ocean-cave still safe with thee,

calm and peace - ful shall I
And such the trust that still were mine,
Though stormy winds sweep o'er the brine;
Or though the tempest's fiery breath
Rous'd me from slumber to wreck and death.

sleep,

Rock'd in the cra-dle of the deep.

Andante.

The germ of immortality,
And calm and peaceful, will I sleep,
Rock'd in the cradle of the deep.

WAPPING OLD STAIRS.
Composed by Percy, with an Additional Verse by James Powell, Esq.

Your Mol-ly has never been false she de-clares, Since

Wap-ping old stairs, When I swore that I still would con

last time we parted at

tin-ue the same, And

gave you the 'bac-co-box mark'd with my name, And gave you the 'bacco-box

tr

mark'd with my name: When I pass'd a whole fort-night between decks with you, Did I

e'er give a kiss, Tom, to

one

of your crew? To be

useful and kind

with my

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I wash'd, and his grog too I made.
'Dear Molly!' cried Tom, as she heav'd a deep sigh
And the crystalline tear stood afloat in each eye,
I prithee, my love, my unkindness forgive,
And I ne'er more will slight thee, as long as I live:
Neither Susan nor Sal shall again grieve my dear,
No more from thine eye will thy Tom force a tear:
Then be cheerful and gay, nor thy Thomas forsake,
But his trousers still wash, and his grog too stall

make.'

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