Don't you see how some dif'rent thing ev'ry one's

twigging,

To take the command of a rib,

Some are all for the breast-work, and some for the rigging,

And some for the cut of her jib.

Though poor, some will take her in tow, to defend her,
And again, some are all for the rich;

As to I, so she's young, her heart honest and tender,
Why, then, damme if Jack cares which.

Why now, if they go for to talk about living,
My eyes-why a little will serve :

Let each a small part of his pittance be giving,
And who in this nation can starve?
Content's all the thing-rough or calm be the weather,
The wind on the beam or the bow;

So honestly he can splice both ends together,
Why then, damme if Jack cares how.

And then for a bring-up, d'ye see, about dying,
On which such a racket they keep,

What argufies if in a churchyard you're lying,
Or find out your grave in the deep?

Of one thing we're certain, whatever our calling,
Death will bring us all up-and what then?
So his conscience's tackle will bear overhauling,
Why then, damme if Jack cares when.

ALL GIRLS.

No more of waves and winds the sport,
Our vessel is arrived in port;

At anchor see she safely rides,

And gay red ropes

adorn her sides;

The sails are furl'd, the sheets belay'd,
The crimson petticoat's display'd,
Deserted are the useless shrouds,

And wenches come aboard in crowds.
Then come, my lads, the flip put round,
While safely moor'd on English ground,
With a jorum of diddle,

A lass and a fiddle,

Ne'er shall care in the heart of a tar be found: And, while upon the hollow deck,

To the sprightly jig our feet shall bound, Take each his charmer round the neck, And kiss in time to the merry sound.

Bess hears the death of honest Jack,
Who swore he'd safe and sound come back ;
She calls him scurvy, lying swab,
And then she kindly takes to Bob.
Ben asks the news of bonny Kate,
Who said she'd prove a constant mate;
But winds and girls are false, for she
Took Ned the morn Ben went to sea.
Well, come, says Ben, the flip put round,
While safely moor'd on English ground,
With a jorum of diddle,

A lass and a fiddle,

Ne'er shall care in the heart of a tar be found: