One wide water all around us,
All above us one black sky;
Different deaths at once surround us:

Hark! what means that dreadful cry?

"The fore-mast's gone," cries ev'ry tongue out,
"O'er the lee twelve feet 'bove deck;-
A leak beneath the chest-tree's sprung out,
Call all hands to clear the wreck.
Quick, the lanyards cut to pieces;

Come, my hearts, be stout and bold;
Plumb the well-the leak increases,
Four feet water in the hold!"

While o'er the ship wild waves are beating,
We for wives and children mourn;
Alas! from hence there's no retreating,
Alas! to them there's no return!
Still the leak is gaining on us!

Both chain-pumps are choked below:
Heaven have mercy here upon us!
For only that can save us now.
O'er the lee-beam is the land, boys,

Let the guns o'erboard be thrown;
To the pumps call ev'ry hand, boys,
See our mizen-mast is gone.

The leak we've found it cannot pour fast;
We've lighted her a foot or more;

Up and rig a jury fore-mast,

She rights! she rights, boys! we're off shore.

Another stanza to this song appears in some collections, but we omit it, as not neces sary to the completion of the story, and as quite unworthy of the sentiment which pervades the rest of the piece. According to some versions, the last line should read "She rights! she rights, boys! wear off shore."

COME, BUSTLE, BUSTLE.
From the "Convivial Songster," 1782.

COME, bustle, bustle, drink about,
And let us merry be;

Our can is full, we'll see it out,

And then all hands to sea.

And a sailing we will go, will go,
And a sailing we will go.

K

Fine Miss at dancing school is taught
The minuet to tread,

But we go better when we've brought
The fore-tack to cat-head.
And a sailing, &c.

The jockey's called to horse, to horse,
And swiftly rides the race;
But swifter far we shape our course
When we are giving chase.
And a sailing, &c.

When horns and shouts the forest rend,
The pack the huntsmen cheer,
As loud we holloa when we send
A broadside to Mounseer.
And a sailing, &c.

With gold and silver streamers fine
The ladies' rigging show;
But English ships more grandly shine,
When prizes home we tow.
And a sailing, &c.

What's got at sea, we spend on shore
With sweethearts and with wives,
And then, my boys, hoist sail for more;
Thus sailors pass their lives.

And a sailing they do go, do go;
And a sailing they do go.

Now dashed upon the billow,
Our opening timbers creak,
Each fears a wat'ry pillow,

None stops the dreadful leak;
To cling to slipp'ry shrouds

Each breathless seaman crowds,

As she lay, till the day,

In the Bay of Biscay, O!

At length the wished-for morrow,
Broke through the hazy sky,
Absorbed in silent sorrow,

Each heaved a bitter sigh;

The dismal wreck to view,
Struck horror to the crew,

As she lay, on that day,

In the Bay of Biscay, O!

Her yielding timbers sever,

Her pitchy seams are rent.

When Heaven all bounteous ever,
Its boundless mercy sent;

A sail in sight appears,

We hail her with three cheers,

Now we sail, with the gale,

From the Bay of Biscay, O!

THE MID-WATCH.

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN.

WHEN 'tis night, and the mid-watch is come,

And chilling mists hang o'er the darken'd main,

Then sailors think of their far distant home,

And of those friends they ne'er may see again;
But when the fight's begun,

Each serving at his gun,

Should any thought of them come o'er your mind,
Think only should the day be won,
How 'twill cheer

Their hearts to hear

That their old companion he was one.

Or, my lad, if you a mistress kind

Have left on shore, some pretty girl, and true,
Who many a night doth listen to the wind,

And sighs to think how it may fare with you;
O, when the fight's begun,

You serving at your gun,

Should any thought of her come o'er your mind,
Think only should the day be won,

How 'twill cheer

Her heart to hear

That her old companion he was one.

POOR JACK.

CHARLES DIBDIN.

Go, patter to lubbers and swabs, do you see,
'Bout danger, and fear, and the like;
A tight-water boat and good sea-room give me,
And it a'nt to a little I'll strike.

Though the tempest top-gallant mast smack smooth should smite,
And shiver each splinter of wood,

Clear the deck, stow the yards, and bouse everything tight,
And under reef'd foresail we'll scud:

Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft
To be taken for trifles aback;

For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!

I heard our good chaplain palaver one day
About souls, heaven, mercy, and such;
And, my timbers! what lingo he'd coil and belay;
Why, 'twas just all as one as High Dutch;
For he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye see,
Without orders that come down below;

And a many fine things that proved clearly to me
That Providence takes us in tow:

For, says he, do you mind me, let storms e'er so oft
Take the top-sails of sailors aback,

There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,

To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!

I said to our Poll-for, d'ye see, she would cry-
When last we weigh'd anchor for sea,

What argufies sniv'ling and piping your eye?

Why, what a damn d fool you must be!

Can't you see, the world's wide, and there's room for us all, Both for seamen and lubbers ashore?

And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll,

You never will hear of me more.

What then? All's a hazard: come, don't be so soft:

Perhaps I may laughing come back;

For, d'ye see, there's a cherub sits smiling aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!

D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch
All as one as a piece of the ship,

And with her brave the world not offering to flinch
From the moment the anchor's a-trip.

As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends,
Nought's a trouble from a duty that springs,

For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's my friend's,
And as for my life 'tis the king's.

Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft

As for grief to be taken aback;

For the same little cherub that sits up aloft
Will look out a good berth for poor Jack!

BLOW HIGH, BLOW LOW.

CHARLES DIBDIN.

BLOW high, blow low, let tempests tear
The main-mast by the board;

My heart, with thoughts of thee, my dear,
And love, well stored,

Shall brave all danger, scorn all fear,

The roaring winds, the raging sea,

In hopes on shore,

To be once more

Safe moor'd with thee!