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Tho' humble my lot, calm content gilds the scene,
For my fair one delights in the grove;
And a palace I'd quit for a dance on the green,
With the sweet little girl that I love.

The rose on her cheeks, &c.

No ambition I know but to call her my own;
No fame but her praise wish to prove;
My happiness centres in Fanny alone;
She's the sweet little girl that I love.

The rose on her cheeks, &c.

A PLAGUE on those musty old lubbers,

Who tell us to fast and to think,

And with patience fall in with life's rubbers,
With nothing but water to drink.
A can of good stuff had they twigg'd it,
'Twould have set them with pleasure agog;
And, spight of the rules

Of the schools,

The old fools

Wou'd all of 'em swigg'd it,

And swore there was nothing like grog. My father, when last I from Guinea Return'd, with abundance of wealth, Cry'd Jack, never be such a ninny

To drink-said I, Daddy, your health; So I show'd hin the stuff, and he twigg'd it, And it set the old codger agog;

And he swigg'd, and mother,

And sister, and brother,

And I swigg'd, and all of us swigg'd it,

And swore there was nothing like grog.

T'other

T'other day, as the chaplain was preaching,
Behind him I curiously slunk ;
And while he our duty was teaching,
As how we shou'd never get drunk,
I show'd him the stuff, aud he twigg'd it,
And it soon set his rev'rence agog,

And he swigg'd, and Nick swigg'd,
And Ben swigg'd, and Dick swigg ́d,

And I swigg'd, and all of us swigg'd it,
And swore there was nothing like grog.

Then trust me, there's nothing like drinking,
So pleasant on this side the grave;
It keeps the unhappy from thinking,

And makes e'en more valiant the brave;
As for me, from the moment I twigg'd it,
The good stuff has so set me agog,
Sick or well, late and carly,

Wind foully or fairly,

Helm a-lee or a weather,

For hours together,

I've constantly swigg'd it,

And, damn me, there's nothing like grog.

W

HIEN in war, on the ocean we meet the 'proud foe,

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Tho' with ardour for conquest our bosoms may

glow;

Let us see on their vessels old England's flag wave, They shall find British sailors but conquer to save!

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See

See their tri-colour'd ensigns we view from afar, With three cheers they are welcom'd by each British tar;

While the genius of Britain still bids us advance, Our guns hurl in thunders defiance to France.

But mark the last broadside!-she sinks! down she goes!

Quickly man all your boats, they no longer are foes;

To snatch a brave fellow from a wat'ry grave,
Is worthy of Britons-who conquer to save.

Happy land! thou hast now in defence of thy rights, Brave NELSON, who the man and the hero unites; The friend to the wretched: the boast of the brave; He lives but to conquer, and conquers to save!

WHEN Orpheus went down to the regions

below,

Which men are forbidden to see;
He tun'd up his lyre, as old histories show,
To set his Eurydice free,

To set his Eurydice free.

All hell was astonish'd a person so wise
Should rashly endanger his life,

And venture so far; but how vast their surprise!
When they heard that he came for his wife!

How vast their surprise!

When they heard that he came for his wife!

To

To find out a punishment due to his fault,
Old Pluto long puzzled his brain;

But hell had not torments sufficient, he thought; So he gave him his wife back again.

But pity succeeding found place in his heart;
And, pleas'd with his playing so well,
He took her again in reward of his art;
Such merit had music in hell!

WHEN the drum beats to arms, each bold

British Tar

Bids farewell to his girl, wife, or friend; Courageously flies to the dangers of war, His Country and King to defend;

His heart burns for victory, for honour, and gain, Determin'd his foes to subdue;

Thus flies to the bulwarks that sail on the main, None can equal the courage of true blue.

How noble is the sight of the grand British fleet, As down channel their course they do steer! Each true British Tar longs his enemy to meet, No storms nor no dangers does fear;

His heart burus for vict'ry, for honour, and gain, Determin'd his foes to subdue;

Thus flies to the bulwarks that sail on the main, None can equal the courage of true blue.

If

If our enemies should dare to meet us once more, Like lightning to our quarters we'll fly;

Like thunder in the air our great guns they shall

roar,

Determin'd to conquer or die.

Our officers and tars they are valiant and brave; Our admirals are loyal and true;

They die by their guns, Britain's rights to maintain, None can equal the courage of true blue.

If yard-arm and yard-arm alongside of our foes,
Our strong floating batteries should lie;
If our enemies should sink and chance down to go,
To our boats then we instantly fly.

In time of distress all assistance we give;
All dangers we eagerly pursue,

Our fees for to save from their wat❜ry grave,
None can equal the courage of true blue.

When our prize we have taken, and made our own, For some port then we gloriously steer;

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When the harbour we have gain'd, and arriv'd safe at home,

We give our admirals three cheers.

We drink a good health to our kind loving wives, And each pretty girl that's constant and true; Now this is the way that we spend our lives, None can equal the courage of true blue.

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