The word was given to weigh, so sudden and so quickly, I thought my heart would break as I sung yo heave ho. For Poll's so like her mother, And as for Jack, her brother, The boy when he grows up, will nobly fight the foe: But in Providence I trust, What must be must. So my sighs I gave the wind, and sung out yo heave ho. And now at last laid up, in decentish condition, For I've only lost an eye, and got a timber toe, But old ships must expect in time to be out of com mission, Nor again the anchor weigh with a yo heave ho, So I smoke my pipe and sing old songs, For my boy shall revenge my wrongs, And my girl shall breed young sailors, nobly to face the foe, Then to our country and king, Fate no danger can bring, While the tars of Old England sing out yo heave ho. THE FARMER. Here's to each jolly fellow, Attend to me and sit easy; My boys let us try it, For dull thinking will make a man crazy; T While here I am king, Let us laugh, dance, and sing ; Let no mortal appear as a stranger; But shew me the ass, That refuses his glass, And I'll order him grass in a manger. By reaping and mowing, Dull nature supplies me with plenty; And a cellar well stor'd, And my garden supplies me with dainties; I have land, I have bowers, In cabin's fair inn, I've a bed for a frien', With a clean fire-side and a jorum. Was't not for my seeding, You would have poor feeding, For indeed you would soon starve without me My mind is content When I pay my own rent, And I'm happy when friends are about me. Draw near to my table, Ye boys that are able, Let us hear no more words of complaining, For the ringing of glasses All music surpasses, I long to see bottles a draining. Lal de lal, &c. Let the mighty and great, My own chicken and lamb, And I shear my own sheep and I wear it. Such as woodcock and pheasant, That loves to be mellow, Drink the plough and the good honest farmer, Lal de lal, &c. SEVEN AGES. Our immortal poet's page Tells us all the world's stage, And that men with all their airs, Are nothing more than players, Each using skill and art, In his turn to top his part, All to fill up this farcical scene 0; Enter here, exit there, Stand in view, mind your cue; Heigh, down, O down, derry derry down, First the infant on the lap, Muling, puling with his pap, Hush a bye, wipe an eye, FotHeigh down, &c. Then the pretty babe of grace, To school, alas! must pack, Book mislaid, truant play'd, All, &c. Heigh down, &c. Then the lover next appears, Soused over head and ears, Like a lobster on the fire, Sighing ready to expire, And a deep hole in his heart, Beauty spurns him, passion burns him, Heigh down, &c. Then the soldier, ripe for plunder, All, &c. What foes he thrash'd, cut, and slash'd, And here he popp'd 'em, there he dropp'd 'em, Heigh down, &o. IA LIF Then the justice in his chair, His wig of formal cut, And belly like a butt, Well lin'd with turtle hash, All, &c. Pimp and cull, bawed and trull, At his nod, go to quod, Heigh down &c. When the slipper'd pantaloon, All &c. Vigour spent, body bent, Heigh down, &c. Then at last, to end the play, Second childhood leads the way, All, &c. Then the coffin we move off in, When the bell tolls the knell, Of high and low down into the cold ground; Here's an end of the farcical scene, O. |