When in the bilboes I was penn'd,
For serving of a worthless friend,

And every creature from me ran;
No ship, performing quarantine,
Was ever so deserted seen;

None hail'd me-woman, child, or man: But though false friendship's sails were furl'd, Though cut adrift by all the world,

I'd all the world in lovely Nan.

I love my duty, love my friend,
Love truth and merit to defend,

To moan their loss who hazard ran;

I love to take an honest part,
Love beauty with a spotless heart,

By manners love to show the man; To sail through life by honour's breeze:— 'Twas all along of loving these

First made me dote on lovely Nan.

EVERY BULLET HAS ITS BILLET.

I'm a tough true-hearted sailor,

Careless and all that, d'ye see,

Never at the times a railer

What is time or tide to me?

All must die when fate shall will it,
Providence ordains it so;

Every bullet has its billet,

Man the boat, boys-Yeo, heave yeo,

"Life's at best a sea of trouble,
He who fears it is a dunce;
Death to me's an empty bubble,
I can never die but once.
Blood, if duty bids, I'll spill it:

Yet I have a tear for woe;"

Every bullet has its billet,

Man the boat, boys-Yeo, heave yeo.

Shrouded in a hammock, glory
Celebrates the falling brave;
Oh! how many, famed in story,
Sleep below in ocean's cave.
Bring the can, boys-let us fill it;
Shall we shun the fight? O, no!
Every bullet has its billet,

Man the boat, boys-Yeo, heave yeo.

LIFE'S LIKE A SHIP.

From a small volume of Lyrical Poetry, privately printed at the expense of Mr. George Fryer, in 1798.

LIFE'S like a ship, in constant motion,

Sometimes high, and sometimes low,
Where every one must brave the ocean,
Whatsoever wind may blow;
If unassail'd by squall or show'r,
Wafted by the gentle gales,
Let's not lose the fav'ring hour,

While success attends the sails.

Or, if the wayward winds should bluster
Let us not give way to fear;
But let us all our patience muster,

And learn from Reason how to steer:
Let judgment keep you ever steady;
"Tis a ballast never fails;

Should dangers rise, be ever ready

To manage well the swelling sails.

Trust not too much your own opinion
While your vessel's under weigh;
Let good example bear dominion-

That's a compass will not stray:
When thund'ring tempests make you shudder,
Or Boreas on the surface rails,

Let good Discretion guide the rudder,
And providence attend the sails.

Then when you're safe from danger, riding
In some welcome port or bay,
Hope be the anchor you confide in,

And care awhile enslumber'd lay;
Or, when each can's with liquor flowing,
And good fellowship prevails,

Let each true heart, with rapture glowing,
Drink success unto our sails.

THE LAND, BOYS, WE LIVE IN.

From the "Myrtle and the Vine," vol. ii.

SINCE our foes to invade us have long been preparing, 'Tis clear they consider we've something worth sharing, And for that mean to visit our shore;

It behoves us, however, with spirit to meet 'em,
And though 'twill be nothing uncommon to beat 'em,
We must try how they'll take it once more,
So fill, fill your glasses, be this the toast given-
Here's England for ever, the land, boys, we live in!
So fill, fill your glasses, be this the toast given-
Here's England for ever, huzza!

Here's a health to our tars on the wide ocean ranging,
Perhaps even now some broadsides are exchanging,
We'll on shipboard and join in the fight;
And when with the foe we are firmly engaging,
Till the fire of our guns lulls the sea in its raging,
On our country we'll think with delight:

So fill, fill your glasses, &c.

On that throne where once Alfred in glory was seated,
Long, long may our king by his people be greeted;
Oh! to guard him we'll be of one mind.
May religion, law, order, be strictly defended,
And continue the blessings they first were intended,
In union the nation to bind!

So fill, fill your glasses, &c.

THE DEATH OF NELSON.

S. J. ARNOLD. (From the Opera of "The Americans.")

RECITATIVE.

O'ER Nelson's tomb, with silent grief oppressed,

Britannia mourns her hero, now at rest;

But those bright laureis ne'er shall fade with years, Whose leaves are watered by a nation's tears,

AIR.

'Twas in Trafalgar's bay

We saw the Frenchmen lay;

Each heart was bounding then.

We scorn'd the foreign yoke,

Our ships were British oak,

And hearts of oak our men.

Our Nelson mark'd them on the wave,
Three cheers our gallant seamen gave,
Nor thought of home and beauty.
Along the line this signal ran—
"England expects that every man
This day will do his duty."

And now the cannons roar
Along the affrighted shore;

Brave Nelson led the way:
His ship the Victory named;
Long be that Victory famed!

For victory crown'd the day.

But dearly was that conquest bought,
Too well the gallant hero fought

For England, home, and beauty.
He cried, as 'midst the fire he ran,

In honour's cause my life was passed,
In honour's cause I fall at last,

For England, home, and beauty!"
Thus ending life as he began,
England confess'd that every man
That day had done his duty.

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

THOMAS CAMPBELL, born 1777, died 1844.

YE Mariners of England!

That guard our native seas;

Whose flag has braved a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe!

And sweep through the deep,

While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirits of your fathers

Shall start from every wave!

For the deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave:
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,

As ye sweep through the deep,

While the stormy winds do blow:

While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,

No towers along the steep;

Her march is o'er the mountain wave,
Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak,
She quells the floods below,-

As they roar on the shore,

When the stormy winds do blow:

When the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy winds do blow.