What's the play, Ma'am? says I to a good-natured tit,

The play! 'tis the uproar you quiz—

My timbers, cried I, the right name on't you've hit, For the devil an uproar it is:

For they pipe and they squeal, now alow, now aloft, If it wan't for the petticoat gear,

With their squeaking so mollyish, tender, and soft, One should scarcely know ma'am from mounseer.

Next at kicking and dancing they took a long spell,
All springing and bounding so neat,

And spessiously curious one Madamaselle,―
Oh, she daintily handled her feet.

But she hopp'd, and she sprawl'd, and she spun
round so queer,

'Twas, you see, rather oddish to me;

And so I sung out, Pray be decent, my dear,
Consider I'm just come from sea.

Ten't an Englishman's taste to have none of these goes,

So away to the playhouse I'll jog,

Leaving all your fine Bantums and Ma'am Parisoes, For old Billy Shakspeare and Mog.

So I made for the theatre, and hail'd my dear spouse; She smiled as she saw'd me approach;

And when I'd shook hands and saluted her bows, We to Wapping set sail in a coach.

THE SAILOR'S SHEET ANCHOR.

MILING grog is the sailor's best hope, his sheet anchor,

His compass, his cable, his log,

That gives him a heart which life's caro cannot canker,

Though dangers around him

Unite to confound him,

He braves them and tips off his grog.

"Tis grog, only grog,

Is his rudder, his compass, his cable, his log, The sailor's sheet anchor is grog.

What though he to a friend in trust

His prize money convey,
Who, to his bond of faith unjust,
Cheats him, and runs away:

What's to be done? He vents a curse
'Gainst all false hearts ashore;
Of the remainder clears his purse,

And then to sea for more.

There smiling grog, &c.

What though his girl, who often swore

To know no other charms,

He finds when he returns ashore,

Clasp'd in a rival's arms:

What's to be done? He vents a curse

And seeks a kinder she;

Dances, gets groggy, clears his
And goes again to sea.

purse,

To crosses born, still trusting there,
The waves less faithless than the fair;
There into toils to rush again,
And stormy perils brave-what then?
Smiling grog, &c.

GROG AND GIRLS.

SAILOR and an honest heart,
Like ship and helm, are ne'er

apart;

For how should one stem wind and
tide

If t'other should refuse to guide?
With that she freely cuts the waves:
And so the tar,

When clashing waves around him jar,
Consults his heart, and danger braves
Where duty calls; nor asks for more
Than grog aboard, and girls ashore.

Tis not a thousand leagues from home
More horrid than the billows' foam;
'Tis not that gentler is the breeze
In Channel than in distant seas-

Danger surrounds him far and near;
But honest tar,

Though winds and water round him jar,

Consults his heart, and scorns to fear;

30

The risks he runs endear him more
To grog aboard, and girls ashore.

"Tis not that in the hottest fight
The murderous ball will sooner light
On him than any other spot;
To face the cannon is his lot;

He must of danger have his share.
But honest tar,

Though fire and winds, and water jar,
Consults his heart and shakes off care;
And when the battle's heat is o'er,
In grog, aboard, drinks girl ashore.

THE CARFINDO.

THAT once was a ploughman, a sailor am now,

No lark that aloft in the sky

Ever flutter'd his wings, to give speed to the plough,

Was so gay or so careless as I.

But my friend was a carfindo aboard a king's ship, And he ax'd me to go just to sea for a trip;

And he talk'd of such things,

As if sailors were kings,

And so teazing did keep,

That I left my poor plough to go ploughing the deep; No longer the horn

Call'd me up in the morn;

I trusted the carfindo and the inconstant wind, That made me for to go and leave my dear behind.

I did not much like for to be aboard a ship;
When in danger there's no door to creep out;
I liked the jolly tars, I liked bumbo and flip,
But I did not like rocking about.

By-and-bye comes a hurricane,-I did not like that;
Next a battle that many a sailor laid flat,
Ah! cried I, who would roam,

That, like me, had a home?

Where I'd sow and I'd reap,

Ere I left my poor plough to go ploughing the deep: Where sweetly the horn

Call'd me up in the morn,

Ere I trusted the carfindo and the inconstant wind, That made me for to go and leave my dear behind.

At last safe I land, and in a whole skin,
Nor did I make any long stay,

Ere I found, by a friend, whom I ax'd for my kin,—
Father dead, and my wife run away.

Ah, who but thyself, said I, hast thou to blame?
Wives, losing their husbands, oft lose their good name.
Ah, why did I
roam,

When so happy at home?

I could sow and could reap

Ere I left my poor plough to go ploughing the deep. When so sweetly the horn

Call'd me up in the morn—

Curse light upon the carfindo and the inconstant wind, That made me for to go and leave my dear behind.

Why, if that be the case, said this very same friend,
And you be n't no more minded to roam,
Gi's a shake of your fist, all your care's at an end,
Dad's alive, and your wife safe at home.