With gold and silver streamers fine,
The ladies' rigging shew;

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 sweetheart's 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.

THE BAY OF BISCAY, O!

ANDREW CHERRY. The music by JOHN DAVY.

LOUD roar'd the dreadful thunder,
The rain a deluge showers,
The clouds were rent asunder
By lightning's vivid powers:
The night both drear and dark,
Our
poor devoted bark,

Till next day, there she lay
In the Bay of Biscay, O!

Now dash'd upon the billow,

Our opening timbers creek;
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 wish'd-for morrow
Broke through the hazy sky;
Absorb'd 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 mercies 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. The music by WM. LINLEY.

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

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

your mind,

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; Or, when the fight's begun,

You, serving at your gun,

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

Her heart to hear

your

mind,

That her old companion he was one.

POOR JACK.

Poetry and music by 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 every thing 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
And as for my life, 'tis the king's.

friend'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.

Poetry and music by 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!

Aloft while mountains high we go,
The whistling winds that scud along,
And surges roaring from below,
Shall my signal be,

To think on thee;

And this shall be my song:
Blow high, blow low, &c.

And on that night when all the crew
The memory of their former lives

O'er flowing cans of flip renew,

And drink their sweethearts and their wives,

I'll heave a sigh, and think on thee;

And as the ship rolls on the sea,

The burden of my song shall be-
Blow high, blow low, &c.

LOVELY NAN.

Poetry and music by CHARLES DIBDIN.

SWEET is the ship that under sail
Spreads her white bosom to the gale;
Sweet, oh! sweet's the flowing can;
Sweet to poise the labouring oar,
That tugs us to our native shore,

When the boatswain pipes the barge to man;
Sweet sailing with a fav'ring breeze;
But, oh! much sweeter than all these,
Is Jack's delight-his lovely Nan.

The needle, faithful to the north,
To show of constancy the worth,
A curious lesson teaches man;
The needle, time may rust-a squall
Capsize the binnacle and all,

Let seamanship do all it can;
My love in worth shall higher rise:
Nor time shall rust, nor squalls capsize
My faith and truth to lovely Nan.

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;