None hail'd me-woman, child, or man: But though false friendship's sails were furl'd, Though cut adrift by all the world, I'd all the world in lovely Nan. I love my duty, love my friend, To moan their loss who hazard ran; By manners love to show the man; TOM BOWLING. Poetry and music by CHARLES DIBDIN. HERE, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, No more he'll hear the tempest howling, Tom never from his word departed, His virtues were so rare; His friends were many and true-hearted, And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly; But mirth is turned to melancholy, For Tom is gone aloft. Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, Shall give, to call life's crew together, The word to pipe all hands. Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches, In vain Tom's life has doff'd; For though his body's under hatches, TRUE COURAGE. Poetry and music by CHARLES Dibdin. WHY, what's that to you, if my eyes I'm a wiping? Says the captain, says he (I shall never forget it), 66 If of courage you'd know, lads, the true from the sham; 'Tis a furious lion in battle, so let it; But, duty appeased, 'tis in mercy a lamb." There was bustling Bob Bounce, for the old one not caring,- But when that he found an old prisoner he'd wounded, That my friend Jack or Tom I should rescue from danger, Is nothing at all,-'tis the poor wounded stranger, For however their duty bold tars may delight in, Though the lion may feel surly pleasure in fighting, He'll feel more by compassion when turn'd to a lamb. The heart and the eyes, you see, feel the same motion, Sheds his blood for his country, his tears for his friend. If my maxim's disease, 'tis disease I shall die on,- But the battle once ended, the heart of a lamb. THE SAILOR'S CONSOLATION. This song is sometimes attributed to Thomas Hood, and at others to Charles Dibdin; but the real author was WILLIAM PITT, Esq., late Master Attendant at Jamaica Dock Yard, and afterwards of Malta, where he died in 1840. ONE night came on a hurricane, When Barney Buntline slew'd his quid, "A strong nor-wester's blowing, Bill; Fool-hardy chaps as live in towns, And as for them that's out all day, To cheer their babes and spouses, My eyes! what tiles and chimney-pots Both you and I have oftimes heard By overturns from carriages, By thieves, and fires in London. We know what risks these landsmen run, From noblemen to tailors; Then, Bill, let us thank Providence That you and I are sailors." HEAVING OF THE LEAD. This song was written for the operatic farce "Hertford Bridge;" the music by WM. SHIELD. FOR England when with fav'ring gale The high blue western land appear'd; "By the deep-nine!" And bearing up to gain the port, While oft the lead the seaman flung, 66 By the mark-seven!" And as the much-loved shore we near, Of faith and love a matchless proof; "Quarter less-five!" Now to her berth the ship draws nigh: We shorten sail-she feels the tide"Stand clear the cable," is the cry The anchor's gone; we safely ride. The watch is set, and through the night We hear the seaman with delight "Proclaim-"All's well!" EVERY BULLET HAS ITS BILLET. I'm a tough true-hearted sailor, Man the boat, boys-Yeo, heave yeo! "Life's at best a sea of trouble, Man the boat, boys-Yeo, heave yeo! Shrouded in a hammock, glory Every bullet has its billet. Man the boat, boys-Yeo, heave yeo! LIFE'S LIKE A SHIP. From a small volume of Lyrical Poetry, privately printed at the expense of Mr. George Fryer, in 1798. This song is ascribed to Carey by Ritson, but published as Dibdin's in Davy's edition. LIFE's like a ship, in constant motion, |