I will go to some country fair and there I’ll sell three-legged
stools.’
Says the cook, ‘I will go to that fair, and there I will sell all
my fat.’
Says Jack Tar, ‘If I should meet you there, damn me, I’ll pay you
for that;
‘For don’t you remember the time our topsail stuck close to the tack,
And we all stuck fast in the sheet, for want of some of that fat?’
Says the midshipman, ‘I have no trade; I have got my trade for to
chuse:
I will go to St. James Park gate, and there I’ll set blacking of
shoes;
‘And there I will set all the day, at everybody’s call,
And every one that comes by, “Do you want my nice shining balls?”’
Says Jack, ‘I will take to the road, for I’d better do that than
do worse;
And every one that comes by, I’ll cry, “Damn you, deliver your
purse.”’
_THE SAILOR’S COMPLAINT._
‘You are welcome to London, dear Jack.
What news have you brought us, I pray?’
‘From Portsmouth I have lately come,
And now I am discharg’d from the sea.
I have never a copper, brave boy;
I’ve wages and prize money due.’
‘Damme Jack, truly do say,
You will be hard set to get it, it’s true.’
‘Dear shipmate, I’ve been here a month,
And cannot get mine for the truth;
On board a man-of-war I went
When I was a frolicsome youth.
My king and my country to serve
I fought like a sailor so bold.
Now that the wars are all over
I really cannot get my gold.
‘To a navy officer each day I did go;
I’ve been both hungry and dry.
My money I then did demand.
“You cannot have it,” they cry.
My life I have ventur’d for gold,
My king and my country to serve.
Now the wars are all over
Brave sailors may perish and starve.
‘Suppose that the war should break out,
Then what will Old England do?
Bad usage we plenty receive
By not paying us our due.
They will cavvil from day to day,
“To-morrow you your answer shall have.”’
‘Damme Jack, I really do say,
For I think they are acting the knave.’
‘Then truely I don’t mean to rebel
Again[st] my good king and his laws.
Did he then know my distress
He soon would relieve my just cause;
We should be paid with great speed.
The taverns we[’d] make them to roar,
We[’d] spend it like brave jolly tars;
What else should we do on shore?’
_THE SAILOR’S GARLAND; OR, THE TICKET BUYER’S LAMENTATION._
To the Tune of _Chevy Chase_.
God prosper long our noble King, his fleet and sailors all,
And grant that they their pay may have, and pride may have a fall.
Where courage stout and noble blood within the heart doth reign,
There pity soft for others’ woes doth pant in every vein.
Our gracious King, by pity moved to do his sailors right,
To Parliament did recommend their sad and woful plight.
A usurer in Lothbury, a Jew of high renown,
Hearing the sailors would be paid strait hasted up to town;
All in his hall the clerks amazed and agents, frighted sore,
‘Adieu,’ cried out, ‘for-ty per cent, Adieu--for evermore.’
The Jew he sighed, ‘Alack, my head and heart it acheth much!
But hold,’ says he, ‘I’ve got it now. Pray tell me--won’t they touch?
‘What, pay the Navy all, d’you say? Sure that can never be,
For then much greater men must lose their trades as well as we.
‘A Sanhedrim we straight must call upon a thing so new.
Go summon all, great Shylock first; he’s trusty and true blue.’
While yet he spake, lo at the gate, the head of all the tribe,
Shylock, appear’d, the most expert at counsel or at bribe.
His chatter and his laugh so loud was heard quite to the door;
His belly, of enormous size, came strutting in before.
Soon tawny Shadrach plodded in, whose face and wig contend
Which in their hue most like shall be to Belzeebub the fiend.
Shadrach from father circumcis’d a wight descended sure,
Either from Abraham the Jew or Ismael the Moor.
‘I stopt,’ quoth he, ‘by precedent the pinch-gut halfpenny,
Tho’ tars on short allowance starv’d, and better they than we.’
From Tower Hill with hang-dog look came one would move your pity.
‘What, no more tickets, sir?’ said he; ‘’twill ruin our trading
city.’
Quoth Shylock with a grin, ‘My friends, when ships to Greenland sail
They dexterously throw out a tub to fool the mighty whale.
‘Prompt payment publickly to blame may prove a dangerous scheme;
Another project we’ll propose for to direct the stream.
‘Something, be sure, must needs be paid. Let’s give them two months’
certain:
The other four you friends shall share--with me behind the curtain.
‘Their wages too we must advance some shillings augmentation:
What tho’ it freightage should destroy, that only hurts the nation.
‘As toasted cheese the mouse allures within the trap to venture,
Such baits as these will surely make the heedless seamen enter.
‘When once they’re caught we’ll turn ’em o’er for ever and for ay;
They’ll then be volunteers for life, and we’ll divide their pay.
‘Whilst cent. per cent. our friends can gain we are sure of being
courted,
Nor can the sailors well complain, for they will be transported.’
But these their plots we know our liege will all to nothing bring;
Then sailors may throw up their caps and cry, ‘God save the King.’
_THE SAYLOR’S COMPLAINT; OR, THE TRUE CHARACTER OF THE PURSER OF A
SHIP._
To the Tune of _Iantha_, etc.
Of all the curst plagues that e’er Fate did decree
To vex, plague, and punish poor sailors at sea,
There’s none to compare with the purser, that evil
Who’s worse than a jailer, a bum, or a devil,
Sure when he was framed Dame Nature lay dying;
Hell then took a purge, hell then took a purge,
and Pluto sh--t him flying.
As his name foully stinks, so his butter rank doth smell,
Both hateful to sailors, scarce good enough for hell:
The nation allows men what’s fitting to eat,
But he, curse attend him, gives to us musty meat;
With bisket that’s mouldy, hard stinking Suffolk cheese,
And pork cut in pounds, and pork cut in pounds,
for to eat with our pease.
Because it is cut off the best fatted hogs
He thinks it too good for eternal lowsie dogs.
Then our urine to purge, that the men may piss clear,
Instead of what’s better, his petty-warrant beer
Is by him allowed, which makes us complain;
Which he ne’er regards, which he ne’er regards,
so he gets but the gain.
His oatmeal, or grout, known by the name burgooe,
Is fitting for nothing but make a sailor spew:
His bruis, no better than common kitchen-grease,
The sailors are forced to eat with their pease:
Such beef-fat, so nasty, we constantly use,
That’s but fit for the mast, that’s but fit for the mast,
or the greasing of shoes.
When a sailor’s oblig’d to make use of his store
He then must expect to be miserable poor:
For consider what price for their goods we do pay;
He has treble worth of each man, I dare say.
Such dealings as these are not just, I am sure;
Yet such hardships as these, yet such hardships as these
we do daily endure.
Now, since he’s so friendly, I’d give, as ’tis due,
By way of requital, a kind wish, or two:
And first, may his brandy run all o’er the deck,
And he end his days in a rope with aking neck;
Or may he still eat, and be never satisfy’d,
Still craving of more, still craving of more,
but be never cloy’d.
And may he have nothing to drink all the year,
When droughth shall attend him, but petty-warrant beer:
May fate ne’er allow him a candle to his cabbin,
And be in the dark by Old Nick taken napping,
And by him or his agents be bore swiftly away,
To plague, vex, and punish, to plague, vex, and punish,
for ever and aye.
May Charon be careful and ferry him o’re
To Pluto’s grand court on the Stygian shore:
May ten thousand furies still on him attend,
To plague and torment him unto the world’s end:
While each jolly sailor, to make themselves merry,
Shall take a full glass, shall take a full glass,
to his passage o’er the ferry.
_THE SAILOR’S RESOLUTION TO FIGHT THE SPANIARDS._
_A New Song._
What ship, honest brother sailor? You must stop and let us know.
If you’re entered or protected, you must tell before you go.
Here’s our warrants to impress you. Ne’er repine, my noble blood;
We don’t mean for to oppress you; it’s for your king and country’s
good.
For to humble the proud Spaniards British courage must be shown,
Or those haughty proud villains will never know what is their own.
Their men-of-war we’ll make to rattle; Spain shall tremble at the
sight;
Haste, brave boys, away to battle; the French nor they could never
fight.
British courage should never be daunted at the talk of Spanish
war[s];
While that seamen they are want[ed] we’ll freely enter, like jolly
tars.
For to humble the proud Spaniards we’ll sail along so brave and true,
And make the Spaniards to knock under and the French cry out,
‘Morbleu.’
So come along, my jolly sailors, enter along with tars so true;
We are the men that fear no dangers, but soon will make the Spaniards
rue.
Success to all our brave commanders that do plough the raging main,
Likewise to our jolly sailors, for to conquer France and Spain.
_JACK TAR._
‘Come, brave, honest Jack Tar, once more will you venture?
Press warrants they are out; I would have you to enter.
Take some rich Spanish prize, as we’ve done before, O.’
‘Yes, and be cheated of them all, as we were the last war, O.’
‘No man that sails with me shall e’er be abused;
So, Jack, come and enter; you shall be well used.
You shall be boatswain’s mate, Jack; so boldly come and enter
And not like a dog be haul’d on board of the tender.’
‘Dear captain,’ he said then, ‘don’t talk of your pressing;
It’s not long ago since I gave six of them a dressing.’
‘I know that very well, Jack: the truth I must grant you;
You are a brave, hearty fellow, and that makes me want you.
‘Dear captain,’ he said then, ‘if the truth I do tell you,
I got so much the last war that it quite fill’d my belly;
For your damn’d rogues of officers they use men so cruel
That a man-of-war is worse than hell or the devil.
‘There is the master a-swearing, the boatswain a-growling,
The midshipman a-howling out, “Take that fore-bowling”;
If you speak but one word you’re a mutinous rascal,
Both your legs laid in irons and try’d by a court-martial.’
Now, boys, we are press’d away from our habitation,
And we leave wife and children in grief and vexation;
We venture our sweet lives in defence of our nation,
And we get nothing for it but toil and vexation.’
_THE JOLLY SAILOR’S TRUE DESCRIPTION OF A MAN-OF-WAR._
When first on board of a man-of-war
We go, whether by press or enter,
And alongside of our ship we come,
We boldly in her venture.
Such twigging then at we fresh men.
‘They’re clever fellows,’ some say,
While the buffers stand with their rattans,
Crying, ‘Keep down out of the gangway.’
Then aft upon the quarter-deck
We go, it being common;
Our officers examine us, to know
Who and who are seamen;
There’s some are seamen, some are freemen,
Some one thing, some another:
Then we down below on the main deck go,
Boys, after one another.
Next to old Trinculo we go
For an order to get our hammocks,
Then aft again and down amain,
Not forgetting our stomachs.
The steward pens, he takes our names,
And tells us to our messes;
But nipping there they can’t forbear,
For the Devil them possesses.
Then up again upon the deck,
So briskly, boys, we bundle;
Since we have secur’d our pack,
We have no cause to grumble.
Then we clap on what we heave upon,
Some piping, others singing:
There’s hoist away, likewise belay.
Thus we make a beginning.
When once our ship has got all in,
And nothing now neglected,
To think of sea we do begin,
Our orders soon expected.
Then with a career we get all clear,
In readiness for unmooring,
Boats alongside with wind and tide
To carry the women ashore in.
‘All hands, unmoor,’ the boatswain calls,
And he pipes at every hatchway;
If you Tom Cockswain’s traverse tip him
Take care he don’t catch you;
For without a doubt, if he finds you out,
You may be sure within you,
Over face and eyes, to your surprise
He’ll arm you without mercy.
The capstan is already mann’d.
Shall we hear the boatswain hollow?
Sometimes he is listening at a stand
To hear the answers follow.
We have not brought to, there’s such ado,
While some are calling the swabbers.
Now heave away without delay,
Boys, hold on the nippers.
The boatswain and his mates are piping,
Crying, ‘Men, have a rally,’
And often forward they are piking
To have a rout in the galley.
‘What are you about? Away with us out.’
To leave our victuals we abhor it;
With cuffs and knocks leave kettles and pots,
And the Devil cuff them for it.
‘Heave and in sight, men, heave away,’
From forward the boatswain is calling;
‘Heave a turn or two without delay;
Stand by the capstan for pealing.’
Then one and all to the catt do fall;
We haul both strong and able,
Till presently from forward they cry,
‘Below, stick out the cable.’
We cast our anchors then with speed,
And nimbly press the stoppers,
Then next to fish it we proceed,
Our shank-painter so proper,
Which we do pass securely fast,
And lap well on a seizing,
Our anchors, be sure, can’t be too secure;
It stands to sense and reason.
When once our ship she is unmoor’d
Our swelling sails so neatly,
With fore-tack and main-tack also,
Our sheets haul’d aft completely,
Then away we sail with a fresh gale,
On a voyage or on a station.
Like English hearts we’ll play our parts
In defence of the English nation.
The best cry we like to hear
On board, as I’m a sinner,
Is when from the quarter-deck they call
To the boatswain to pipe to dinner.
Such crowding then among the men:
Some grumble, others jangle;
You’re nobody there without you swear
And boldly stand the wrangle.
There’s green-horn fellows some on board
Before ne’er saw salt water;
When come to sea, upon my word,
The case with them does alter.
They better know how to follow the plow,
With good fat bacon and cabbage;
When sea-sick took like death they look,
Ready to bring up guts and garbage.
When stormy winds begin to blow
Our ship is in great motion;
To carry our victuals safe down below
It requires a good notion.
We often fall down the hatchway with all,
From the top to the bottom sprawling;
Such laughing then among the men,
And loudly the butcher calling.
There are snotty boys of midshipmen
Han’t done yet shitting yellow;
As to their age, some hardly ten
Strike many a brave fellow,
Who dare not prate at any rate,
Nor seem in the least to mumble;
They’ll frap you still, do what you will;
It is but a folly to grumble.
Now to conclude and make an end
In a full flowing brimmer;
Let every one drink to his friend;
The bowl it seems to look thinner.
We’ll drink again, like sons of men,
And drink bad luck to the purser;
He cheats us with ease of our oatmeal and pease:
Such rogues there can’t be worser.
_NEW SEA SONG._
Our boatswain calls out for his bold British heroes;
Come, listen awhile to what I do sing;
Let every man toss off his full bumper
And drink a good health unto George our King,
And drink a good health to Suke, Moll, and Kitty;
With mirth and good liquor we’ll lead merry [lives];
We will not be afraid to kiss, or to venture,
On Saturday night, to our sweethearts and wives.
Our ship she is in harbour, brought safe to an anchor;
The boats are alongside, they begin for to throng;
The girls that are in them, they are crying for husbands;
The one sings out ‘Jemmy,’ the other [calls] ‘John,’
Whilst the other bawls out, ‘Where is my dear Harry?
[If] I do not see him, may I never thrive!’
Alongside of those girls you may lie, but not marry,
On Saturday night, to our sweethearts and wives.
Our ship she is unrigged, all ready for docking;
Straightway on board of those hulks we repair,
Where we work hard all day, and at night go a-kissing.
Jack Tar is safe moor’d in the arms of his dear.
Straightway to the town of Venus we will venture
Our spirits to freshen, our bodies to thrive;
We will not be afraid to kiss, nor yet venture
On Saturday night to our sweethearts and wives.
Our ship she is all rigg’d and ready for sea, boys;
The girls that’s on board they begin to look blue;
The boats are alongside to take them on shore, boys;
Says one to the other, ‘Girls, what shall we do?’
Then we put to sea, with a fresh-blowing breeze, boys,
And through the foaming white billows do [roar];
We paid off all debts with the flying fore-topsail.
Bid adieu to these girls and the rogues on the shore.
Now we are on the seas, like bold hearts of thunder;
Now we are on the seas we will rant and roar;
We will make all the French and the Spaniards knock under
When our two-and-thirties begin for to roar.
For to handle their dollars my fingers are itching;
If I don’t be at them may I never thrive;
We will not be like misers, to hoard by our riches,
But we will spend them on shore with our sweethearts and wives.
_THE HUMOURS OF THE ROYAL BILLY._
Come, all ye young fellows, attend to my song;
It will make you to smile, tho’ tis not very long.
I will tell you the truth, how I first went to sea,
And what there befel, if you’ll listen to me:
My story will please you, if right understood,
And you surely will laugh at poor Robin Hood.
’Twas late from the smoke of the chimney I came
On board of a guard-ship, the _Royal Billy_ by name,
Where the first thing I heard when I came alongside,
‘Here’s a grasshopper coming,’ a hoarse fellow cry’d.
The windows were crowded, I thought, by the rood,
They’d have laughed till they cry’d at poor Robin Hood.
I crawl’d up the side till I came to the top,
When a fellow came to me, catch’d hold of my frock.
He ask’d me to step to his house down below.
Much kindness unto me I thought he did show;
But soon to my cost all his kindness was prov’d,
And I curst all such friendship for poor Robin Hood,
His house on the one side was made of a sack,
On the other a blanket near the colour of black.
No sooner this place I did enter in
Than another sings out, ‘Damme, Jack, dowse the glim!’
They rifled my pockets of all that was good,
Then tore off my frock, so left poor Robin Hood.
Then to an old fellow I did straightway repair,
To ask him the place where the constables were.
Up two pair of stairs with him I stept quick,
When he shewed me a man with a whistle and stick.
I told him my story, but that was no good,
For he told me I ly’d, and left poor Robin Hood.
I sat down on the deck to bemoan for a while,
When a woman came to me, and began for to smile.
She ask’d me my name, which soon I did tell,
Also the disaster that had me befel.
The best of ill language at them she did fling,
Then ask’d me below, to accept of some gin.
Then with her I consented directly to go,
And straightway together we went down below,
Where she call’d for a bottle of old English gin.
I blest my good stars with such friend to fall in:
But, to my vexation, I soon understood
There was no one to pay it but poor Robin Hood.
My shirt they stript off, the gin for to pay;
My hat and my shoes both went the same way.
I bawled out, ‘Murder!’ But that was their fun.
I up a long ladder was forced to run
To the officers then, in a terrible mood,
Who all bursted with laughter at poor Robin Hood.
They sent for a man who’d the look of a prig,
And he took me away for the purser to rig.
A huge pair of breeches he gave me, ’tis true,
That reach’d from the top of my rump to my shoe.
A coat he next gave me, too short by a rood;
’Twould not cover the backside of poor Robin Hood.
The next thing I met was a man with a stick,
Who bawl’d out, ‘All hands!’ and then gave me a lick.
‘You lubberly rascal! ’Tis what brought you here!
Scud quick, or I’ll make you, and hoist up the beer.’
I gave him a look, which he well understood,
For he bang’d me till tired, and so left Robin Hood.
No sooner had we done hoisting of beer,
To a place call’d the galley I did straightway repair.
Such a racket and uproar, and hell of a rout,
Scaldings here, scaldings there. I was glad to creep out.
You could not have thought they behaved so rude,
For they scalded the shins of poor Robin Hood.
I next down below to my dinner was brought,
To eat peas with my messmates like pigs in a trough;
But as for the pork, I thought not amiss
While one turn’d his back, crying, ‘Who shall have this?’
I thought it was fair, but I soon understood
The smallest of all fell to poor Robin Hood.
Then a man came unto me with a stick in his hand;
The boatswain he was call’d, if I right understand.
A bucket of grease in my fist he gave fast;
He told me to jump up and grease down the mast.
I scamper’d away then as fast as I could,
But he brought me up standing, ah! poor Robin Hood!
Two ruffians he ordered to strap me amain.
I wish’d myself back with my Jenny again.
My blood it did boil; I was forc’d to obey:
But I show’d them a specimen of West Country play.
Down the hatchway I bundled one rascal so lewd,
But they seiz’d me behind, ah! poor Robin Hood!
When peace is concluded--’twill soon be the news--
I shall see these rapscallions a-blacking of shoes.
With my cudgel of oak I will learn them to skip,
And make them remember on board the guard-ship.
My song it is ended. If right understood,
’Twas from Sussex I came, and my name’s Robin Hood.
_THE DOLPHIN’S RETURN._
(1768).
Tune, _The Lilies of France_.
Ye bold British tars, who to glory are free,
Who dare venture your lives for your fortunes at sea,
Yourself for a while of your pleasures disrobe,
And attend to a tale of a voyage round the globe,
For the _Dolphin’s_ return’d, and such tidings does bring
As may welcome us home to our country and king.
The twenty’th of August, the year sixty-six,
By command of our captain the signal we fix;
In the Sound of old Plymouth our ship we unmoor’d
With our consort the _Swallow_, and transport well stor’d;
But now we’re return’d, and such tidings we bring
[As may welcome us home to our country and king].
The wind being far the next day we set sail,
Blest at once with a fresh and prosperous gale;
And straightway our course for Madeira we steer’d.
No danger we saw, and no hardship we fear’d;
For we sail’d round the world such tidings to bring
As might welcome us home to our country and king.
We touch’d at Madeira, St. Jago likewise,
For the sake of fresh water and other supplies;
But at neither of these could we make any stay,
For the course of our voyage would admit no delay.
We were bound round the world such tidings to bring
As might welcome us home to our country and king.
When Magellan’s Straits we first enter’d we found
Such giants of men that in all the world round
None with them could compare or for size or for height,
For the smallest of these were from six feet to eight.
Yet these are but trifles of tidings to bring;
We’ve a present more worthy our country and king.
In Port Famine we anchor’d, and took in our store
Of both water and wood, for it yielded no more.
Discharging our store ship, our anchors we weigh’d,
And we work’d through the Straits; no time we delay’d;
But now are return’d, and such tidings we bring
As may welcome us home to our country and king.
A tedious long passage it was for to go,
With our consort so dull that we took her in tow,
But on April the 12th we got clear of the Straits;
Tho’ the _Swallow_, we fear, a [much] longer time waits,
Yet we are return’d, and such tidings we bring
As may welcome us home to our country and king.
Then we plow’d the South Ocean, such [land] to discover
As amongst other nations has made such a pother.
We found it, my boys, and with joy be it told,
For beauty such islands you ne’er did behold.
We’ve the pleasure ourselves the tidings to bring
As may welcome us home to our country and king.
For wood, water, fruit, and provision well stor’d
Such an isle as King George’s the world can’t afford,
For to each of these islands great Wallis gave name,
Which will e’er be recorded in annals of fame.
We’d the fortune to find them, and homeward to bring
The tidings a tribute to country and king.
_THE BRAGS OF WASHINGTON._
Come, all you brave seamen and landsmen likewise,
That have got an inclination your fortunes to rise,
That have got an inclination to fight the proud Bostonians,
And soon we’ll let you know that we are the sons of Britain.
Fal lal, etc.
As for the brags of Washington, that never can be;
There is Carlton and Clinton have shewn their bravery;
There is Darby and Rodney, commanders of the ocean,
And many a brave fellow is waiting for promotion.
And if we meet a privateer, or a lofty man of war,
We never stand to wrangle, to jangle, or to jar;
We give them a broadside, and say, ‘My lads, take care, O,
And keep your proper distance from an English man-of-war, O.’
And if they will not fight us, but from us run away,
All with our heavy chain-shot we’ll cut their masts away,
And if they will not yield to us, nor unto us surrender,
We’ll split their ship in pieces and to the bottom send her.