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When any mournful tune you hear,
That dies in every note,

As if it sigh'd with each man's care,
For being so remote:

Then think how often love we've made

To you, when all those tunes were played,
With a fa, la, la, la, la.

In justice you cannot refuse

To think of our distress;
When we, for hopes of honour, lose
Our certain happiness:

All those designs are but to prove
Ourselves more worthy of your love.

With a fa, la, la, la, la.

And now we've told you all our loves,
And likewise all our fears;

In hopes this declaration moves

Some pity for our tears;

Let's hear of no inconstancy,

We have too much of that at sea.

With a fa, la, la, la, la.

On the 2nd of January, 1665, Mr. Pepys went by appointment to dine with Lord Brouncker, at his house in the Piazza, Covent-garden He says, " I received much mirth with a ballad I brought with me, made from the seamen at sea to their ladies in town; saying Sir William Pen, Sir George Askue, and Sir George Lawson made it."

In 1665, Lord Buckhurst, afterwards Earl of Dorset, attended the Duke of York as a volunteer in the Dutch war, and was in the battle of June 3, when eighteen Dutch ships were taken, fourteen others were destroyed, and Opdam, the Admiral, who engaged the Duke, was blown up beside him, with all his crew. On the day before the battle, he is said to have composed the celebrated song, "To all you ladies now on land," with equal tranquillity of mind and promptitude of wit. Seldom any splendid story is wholly true. I have heard, from the late Earl of Orrery, who was likely to have had good hereditary intelligence, that Lord Buckhurst had been a week employed upon it, and only re-touched or finished it on the memorable evening. But even this, whatever it may subtract from his facility, leaves him his courage.-Johnson's Lives of the Poets.

BLACK-EYED SUSAN.

JOHN GAY, born 1688, died 1732.

ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came on board,
"O where shall I my true-love find?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors tell me true,
Does my sweet William sail among your crew ?"

William, who high upon the yard
Rock'd by the billows to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,

He sigh'd and cast his eyes below,

The cord flies swiftly through his glowing hands, And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.

"O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

My vows shall always true remain, Let me kiss off that falling tear,

We only part to meet again;

Charge as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee.

Believe not what the landsmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind; They tell thee sailors, when away,

In every port a mistress find;

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell you so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.'

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
The sails their swelling bosoms spread;
No longer she must stay on board,

They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head: Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land, Adieu! she cried, and waved her lily hand,

HEARTS OF OAK.

DAVID GARRICK, born 1716, died 1779.

COME, cheer up, my lads! 'tis to glory we steer, To add something more to this wonderful year: To honour we call you, not press you like slaves, For who are so free as the sons of the waves ? Hearts of oak are our ships,

Gallant tars are our men,

We always are ready :

Steady, boys, steady!

We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again,

We ne'er see our foes but we wish them to stay ;
They never see us but they wish us away;

If they run, why, we follow, or run them ashore ;
For if they won't fight us we cannot do more.
Hearts of oak, &c.

They swear they'll invade us, these terrible foes!
They frighten our women, our children, and beaux ;
But should their flat bottoms in darkness get o'er,
Still Britons they'll find to receive them on shore.
Hearts of oak, &c.

Britannia triumphant, her ships sweep the sea;
Her standard is Justice her watchword, "Be free."
Then cheer up, my lads! with one heart let us sing,
"Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen and king."
Hearts of oak, &c.

THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.

WILLIAM COWPER, born 1731, died 1800.

TOLL for the brave!

The brave that are no more!

All sunk beneath the wave,

Fast by their native shore.

Eight hundred of the brave,

Whose courage well was tried,

Had made the vessel heel,

And laid her on her side.

A land breeze shook the shrouds,
And she was overset ;
Down went the Royal George
With all her crew complete.

Toll for the brave!

Brave Kempenfelt is gone;

His last sea fight is fought;
His work of glory done.

It was not in the battle;

No tempest gave the shock;

She sprang no fatal leak;

She ran upon no rock.

His sword was in its sheath;
His fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfelt went down

With twice four hundred men.

Weigh the vessel up,

Once dreaded by our foes!

And mingle with our cup

The tear that England owes.

Her timbers yet are sound,

And she may float again,

Full charged with England's thunder,

And plough the distant main.

But Kempenfelt is gone,

His victories are o'er;

And he and his eight hundred

Shall plough the wave no more.

[graphic]

THE STORM.

GEORGE ALEXANDER SEEVENS, died 1784. (Often attributed to FALCONER the Author of "The Shipwreck.")

CEASE rude Boreas, blust'ring railer!
List ye landsmen all to me,
Messmates hear a brother sailor
Sing the dangers of the sea;
From bounding billows, first in motion,
When the distant whirlwinds rise,
To the tempest troubled ocean,

Where the seas contend with skies.

Hark! the boatswain hoarsly bawling,

"By topsail-sheets and haulyards stand!" "Down top-gallants quick be hawling,"

"Down your stay-sails, hand, boys, hand!"

"Now it freshens, set the braces,

Quick the top-sail-sheets let go;

Luff, boys, luff! don't make wry faces,
Up your top-sails nimbly clew."

Now all you on down beds sporting

Fondly lock'd in beauty's arms,
Fresh enjoyments wanton courting,

Safe from all but love's alarms:
Round us roars the tempest louder,
Think what fear our minds enthrals;

Harder yet, it yet blows harder.

Now again the boatswain calls.

"The top-sail yard point to the wind, boys;
See all clear to reef each course;

Let the fore-sheet go, don't mind, boys,
Tho' the weather should be worse.

Fore and aft the sprit-sail-yard get,
Reef the mizen, see all clear;

Hands up! each preventive brace set!

Man the fore-yard, cheer, lads, cheer!"

Now the dreadful thunder's roaring,
Peal on peal contending clash,

On our heads fierce rain falls pouring,
In our eyes blue lightnings flash.

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