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; By manners love to show the man; First made me doat on lovely Nan. TOM BOWLING. Poetry and music by CHARLES DIBDIN. The darling of our crew; For death has broach'd him too. His heart was kind and soft ; Faithful below he did his duty, But now he's gone aloft. His virtues were so rare; His Poll was kind and fair : Ah, many's the time and oft ! gone aloft. Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, When He, who all commands, The word to pipe all hands. In vain Tom's life has doff'd; His soul is gone aloft. TRUE COURAGE. Poetry and music by CHARLES DIBDIN. a WI1Y, what's that to you, if my eyes I'm a wiping? , A tear is a pleasure, d'ye see, in its way; 'Tis nonsense for trifles, I own, to be piping; But they that han't pity, why I pities they. Says the captain, says he (I shall never forget it), If of courage you'd know, lads, the true from the sham; "Tis a furious lion in battle, so let it; But, duty appeased, 'tis in mercy a lamb.” There was bustling Bob Bounce, for the old one not caring, IIelter-skelter, to work, pelt away, cut and drive; And as for a foe, why he'd eat him alive. That once saved his life as near drowning he swam, He cried over him just all as one as a lamb. That my friend Jack or Tom I should rescue from danger, Or lay my life down for each lad in the mess, Is nothing at all,—'tis the poor wounded stranger, And the poorer the more I shall succour distress : For however their duty bold tars may delight in, And peril defy, as a bugbear, a flam, He'll feel more by compassion when turn'd to a lamb. a The heart and the eyes, you see, feel the same motion, And if both shed their drops 'tis all to the same end; And thus 'tis that every tight lad of the ocean Sheds his blood for his country, his tears for his friend. If my maxim's disease, 'tis disease I shall die on,You may snigger and titter, I don't care a damn! In me let the foe feel the paw of a lion, But the battle once ended, the heart of a lamb. THE SAILOR'S CONSOLATION. This song is sometimes attributed to Thomas Hood, and at others to Charles Dibdin; but the real author was WILLIAM PITT, Esq., late Master Attendant at Jamaica Dock Yard, and afterwards of Malta, where he died in 1840. One night came on a hurricane, The sea was mountains rolling, And said to Billy Bowline : hear it roar now ! Unhappy folks on shore now! And as for them that's out all day, On business from their houses, To cheer their babes and spouses, you and I, Bill, on the deck About their heads are flying ! Both and I have oftimes heard By thieves, and fires in London. From noblemen to tailors; you and I are sailors.” HEAVING OF THE LEAD. This song was written for the operatic farce “Hertford Bridge;" the music by Wu. SHIELD. For England when with fav'ring gale Our gallant ship up Channel steer'd, And, scudding under easy sail, The high blue western land appear'd; To heave the lead the seaman sprung, And to the pilot cheerly sung, "By the deep-nine !" And bearing up to gain the port, Some well-known object kept in view; An abbey-tower, the harbour-fort, Or beacon to the vessel true; While oft the lead the seaman flung, And to the pilot cheerly sung, “ By the mark-seven !" а And as the much-loved shore we near, With transport we behold the roof Where dwelt a friend or partner dear, Of faith and love a matchless proof; The lead once more the seaman flung, And to the watchful pilot sung, " Quarter less-five !" Now to her berth the ship draws nigh: We shorten sail-she feels the tide“ Stand clear the cable,” is the cry The anchor's gone; we safely ride. The watch is set, and through the night We hear the seaman with delight Proclaim—“All's well!” EVERY BULLET HAS ITS BILLET. I'm a tough true-hearted sailor, Careless and all that, d’ye see, What is time or tide to me? Providence ordains it so: Man the boat, boys-Yeo, heave yeo! “ Life's at best a sea of trouble, He who fears it is a dunce; I can never die but once. Yet I have a tear for woe:" - Celebrates the falling brave; Sleep below in ocean's cave! Shall we shun the fight? Oh, no! 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. This song is ascribed to Carey by Ritson, but published as Dibdin’s in Davy's edition, LIFE's like a ship, in constant motion, Sometimes high and sometimes low, Whatsoever wind may blow; Wafted by the gentle gales, While success attends the sails. |