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You toast your wife, and you your lass,
My boys, and welcome, here's the wine;
For my part, HE who fills my glass
Shall be my toast,- -now give me thine.

(As Landlord)

Spirits, my lads, and toast away,

I have ftill one with yours to join; "That you may have enough to pay," This is my toast,— -now give me thine.

Sea Songs

Sea Songs, &c.

THE WANDERING SAILOR.

THE

BY DR. ARNOLD.

HE Wand'ring Sailor ploughs the main,
A competence in life to gain;

Undaunted braves the stormy feas,

To find at last content and ease;

In hopes, when toil and danger's o'er,
To anchor on his native shore.

II.

When winds blow hard, and mountains roll,
And thunders fhake from pole to pole;
Tho' dreadful waves furrounding foam,
Still flatt'ring fancy wafts him home;
In hopes, when toil and danger's o'er,
To anchor on his native fhore.

III.

When round the bowl the jovial crew
The early scenes of youth renew;
'Tho' each his fav'rite fair will boast,
This is the univerfal toast.

May we, when toil and danger's o'er,

Caft anchor on our native fhore.

SONG.

NOTHING

LIKE

GROG.

COMPOSED BY MR. DIBDIN.

APLAGUE of thofe mufty old lubbers,

Who tell us to fast and to think,

And patient fall in with life's rubbers,
With nothing but water to drink.

A can of good stuff, had they twigg'd it,
Would have fet them for pleasure agog,
And, fpite of the rules,

The rules of the fchools,

The old fools would have all of them swigg'd it, And swore there was nothing like grog.

II.

My father, when last I from Guinea
Return'd with abundance of wealth,
Cry'd, Jack, never be fuch a ninny

To drink;-fays Ifather, your health! So I pafs'd round the stuff, and he twigg'd it, And it fet the old codger agog;

And he fwigg'd, and mother,

And fifter, and brother,

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

And fwore there was nothing like grog.

III

One day when the chaplain was preaching,
Behind him I curiously flunk,

And, while he our duty was teaching,
As how we should never get drunk,
I tipt him the ftuff, and he twigg'd it,
Which foon fet his rev'rence agog;

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

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

IV.

Then trust me, there's nothing as drinking So pleasant on this fide the grave,

It keeps the unhappy from thinking,

And makes 'em more valiant, more brave,

For me, from the moment I twigg'd it,
The good stuff has fo fet me agog,
Sick or well, late or early,

Wind foully or fairly,

I've conftantly, conftantly fwigg'd it;

And, d-mn me, there's nothing like grog,

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