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To serve our English gallantry

With many a rare device ;
To please the English gallantry,

Our pains we freely show,
For we toil, and (we] moil,

When the stormy winds do blow.

We sometimes sail to the Indies

To fetch home spices rare ; Sometimes again to France and Spain,

For wines beyond compare ;
Whilst gallants are carousing

In taverns on a row,
Then we sweep o'er the deep,

When the stormy winds do blow.

When tempests are blown over,

And greatest fears are past,
In weather fair, and temperate air,

We straight lie down to rest ;
But when the billows tumble,

And waves do furious grow, Then we rouse, up we rouse,

When the stormy winds do blow.

If enemies oppose us,

When England is at wars With any foreign nations,

We fear not wounds nor scars ; Our roaring guns shall teach 'em

Our valour for to know, Whilst they reel in the keel,

When the stormy winds do blow.

We are no cowardly shrinkers,

But true Englishmen bred ;
We'll play our parts, like valiant hearts,

And never fly for dread;
We'll ply our business nimbly,

Where'er we come or go,
With our mates to the Streights,

When the stormy winds do blow.

Then, courage ! all brave mariners,

And never be dismay'd ;
Whilst we have bold adventurers,

We ne'er shall want a trade :
Our merchants will employ us,

To fetch them wealth, I know ;
Then be bold, work for gold,

When the stormy winds do blow.

When we return in safety,

With wages for our pains,
The tapster and the vintner*

Will help to share our gains ;
We'll call for liquor roundly,

And pay before we go;
Then we'll roar on the shore,

When the stormy winds do blow.

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* [Thus morally amended in Mr. Plumptre's edition :

Our wives and friends and sweethearts

Will help to share our gains ;
Laid up for life securely,

To Providence we'll show
What we feel for our weal,

When the stormy winds did blow.]

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The wretch condemn’d with life to part,

Still, still on hope relies ;
And every pang that rends the heart,

Bids expectation rise.

Hope, like the glimmering taper's light,

Adorns and cheers the way ;
And still, as darker grows the night,

Emits a brighter ray.



O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,

Still importunate and vain; To former joys recurring ever,

And turning all the past to pain,

Thou, like the world, th' opprest oppressing,

Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe ! And he who wants each other blessing,

In thee must ever find a foe.

* In the oratorio of the Captivity.'


Gently stir, and blow the fire,

Lay the mutton down to roast ;
Dress it quickly, I desire,

In the dripping put a toast,
That I hunger may remove;
Mutton is the meat I love.

On the dresser see it lie,

Oh! the charming white and red !
Finer meat ne'er met my eye,

On the sweetest grass it fed :
Let the jack go swiftly round,
Let me have it nicely brown'd.

On the table spread the cloth,

Let the knives be sharp and clean :
Pickles get and sallad both,
Let them each be fresh and

With small beer, good ale, and wine,
Oh! ye gods, how I shall dine !


* A sort of parody on some verses by A. Bradley, beginning thus :

Gently strike the warbling lyre,

Chloe seems inclin'd to rest;
Soothe her soul to soft desire,

Softest sounds will suit her best, &c.



(Imitated from the Spanish.*)


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 Euridice 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.

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 !

* [An answer to this has been written in the way of echo, and in defence of the fair-sex, whom the Spanish author treated with such libellous sarcasm.]

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