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If fortune then fail not, and our next voyage prove,

We will return merrily, and make good cheer,
And hold all together as friends link'd in love,
The cans shall be fill'd with wine, ale, and beer.

Lustily, lustily, &c.


From “ Deuteromelia ; or, the Second Part of Musick's Melodie," &c., 1609.

We be three poor mariners,

Newly come from the seas;
We spend our lives in jeopardy,

While others live at ease.
Shall we go dance the round, a round,

Shall we go dance the round;
And he that is a bully boy,

Come pledge me on the ground.
We care not for those martial men,

That do our states disdain ;
But we care for those merchant men,

That do our states maintain.
To them we dance this round, a round,

To them we dance this round;
And he that is a bully boy,

Come pledge me on the ground.
A bully does not here mean a bragyarı, but a jolly fellow—one fond of fun and frolic.

“What sayest thou, bully Bottom?'- Midsummer Night's Dream. This and the preceding song are probably the earliest nautical songs our language.


Ye gentlemen of England,

That live at home at ease,
Ah! little do you think upon

The dangers of the seas.
Give ear unto the mariners,

And they will plainly show
All the cares and the fears
When the stormy winds do blow.

When the stormy, &c.

If enemies oppose us

When England is at war
With any foreign nation,

We fear not wound or scar;
Our roaring guns shall teach 'em

Our valour for to know,
Whilst they reel on the keel,
And the stormy winds do blow.

And the stormy, &c.

Then courage, all brave mariners,

And never be dismay’d,
Whilst we have bold adventurers,

We ne'er shall want a trade:
Our merchants will employ us

To fetch them wealth, we know;
Then be bold—work for gold,
When the stormy winds do blow.

When the stormy, &c. There is a more modern and considerably extended version of this song. The music by Dr. Calcott.


The EARL OF DORSET, born 1637, died 1706.

To all you ladies now on land,

We men at sea indite;
But first would have you understand,

How hard it is to write :
The muses now, and Neptune, too,
We inust implore to write to you.

With a fa, la, la, la, la.

For though the muses should prove kind,

And fill our empty brain;
Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind,

To wave the azure main,
Our paper, pen, and ink, and we,
Roll up and down in ships at sea.

With a fa, la, la, la, la.

Then if we write not by each post,

Think not we are unkind;
Nor yet conclude our ships are lost

By Dutchmen or by wind:
Our tears we'll send a speedier way-
The tide shall bring them twice a day.

With a fa, la, la, la, la.
The king, with wonder and surprise,

Will swear the seas grow bold;
Because the tides will higher rise

Than e'er they did of old :
But let him know it is our tears
Bring floods of grief to Whitehall-stairs.

With a fa, la, la, la, la.
Should foggy Opdam chance to know

Our sad and dismal story,
The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe,

And quit their fort at Goree:
For what resistance can they find
From men who've left their hearts behind ?

With a fa, la, la, la, la.
Let wind and weather do its worst,

Be ye to us but kind;
Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse,

No sorrow shall we find:
'Tis then no matter how things go,
Or who's our friend, or who's our foe.

With a fa, la, la, la, la. To pass our tedious hours away,

We throw a merry main,
Or else at serious ombre play;

But why should we in vain,
Each other's ruin thus pursue?
We were undone when we left you.

With a fa, la, la, la, la.
But now our fears tempestuous grow,

And cast our hopes away;
Whilst you, regardless of our woe,

Sit careless at a play:
Perhaps permit some happier man
To kiss your hand or flirt your fan.

With a fa, la, la, la, la.

When any mournful tune you hear,

That dies in every note,
As if it sigh'd with each man's care,

For being so remote:
Then think how often love we've made
To you, when all those tunes were played,

With a fa, la, la, la, la.
In justice you cannot refuse

To think of our distress;
When we, for hopes of honour, lose

Our certain happiness:
All those designs are but to prove
Ourselves more worthy of your love.

With a fa, la, la, la, la.
And now we've told you all our loves,

And likewise all our fears;
In hopes this declaration moves

Some pity for our tears;
Let's hear of no inconstancy,
We have too much of that at sea.

With a fa, la, la, la, la. On the 2nd of January, 1665, Mr. Pepys went by appointment to dine with Lord Brouncker, at his house in the Piazza, Covent-garden He says, “ I received much mirth with a ballad I brought with me, made from the seamen at sea to their ladies in town; saying Sir William Pen, Sir George Askue, and Sir George Lawson made it."

In 1665, Lord Buckhurst, afterwards Earl of Dorset, atiended the Duke of York as a volunteer in the Dutch war, and was in the battle of June 3, when eighteen Dutch ships were taken, fourteen others were destroyed, and Opdam, the Admiral, who engaged the Duke, was blown up beside him, with all his crew. On the day before the battle, he is said to have composed the celebrated song, “ To all you ladies now on land," with equal tranquillity of mind and promptitude of wit. Seldom any splendid story is wholly true. I have heard, from the late Earl of Orrery, who was likely to have had good hereditary intelligence, that Lord Buckhurst had been a week employed upon it, and only re-touched or finished it on the memorable evening. But even this, whatever it may subtract from his facility, leaves him his courage.Johnson's Lives of the Poets.


John Gay, born 1688, died 1732.
All in the Downs the fleet was moord,

The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came on board,

“ O where shall I my true-love find?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors tell me true,
Does my sweet William sail among your crew ?"

William, who high upon the yard

Rock'd by the billows to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard,

He sigh'd and cast his eyes below, The cord flies swiftly through his glowing hands, And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.

“O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

My vows shall always true remain, Let me kiss off that falling tear,

We only part to meet again ; Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee. Believe not what the landsmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind; They tell thee sailors, when away,

In every port a mistress find;
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell you so,
For thou art present wheresoe’er I go.”

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The sails their swelling bosoms spread; No longer she must stay on board,

They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head : Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land, Adieu ! she cried, and waved her lily hand,


DAVID GARRICK, born 1716, died 1779.

COME, cheer up, my lads! 'tis to glory we steer,
To add something more to this wonderful year :
To lionour we call you, not press you like slaves,
For who are so free as the sons of the waves ?

Hearts of oak are our ships,
Gallant tars are our men,

We always are ready :

Steady, boys, steady! We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again,

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