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My timbers, cried I the name on't you've hit,

For the devil of an uproar it is; For they pipe and they squeak, now below now aloft;

If it wan't for their petticoat gear, With their squeaking so Mollyish, tender and soft,

One should scarcely know ma'am from mounsieur. Next at kicking and dancing they took a long spell,

All springing and bouncing so neat, And speciously one curious mad’moiselle,

Oh! she daintily handled her feet; But she hopped, and she sprawled, and spun round

so queer: "Twas you see rather oddish to me, And so I sung out, pray be decent my dear,

Consider I'm just come from sea. "Tan't an Englishman's taste, to have none of these

goes, So away to the playhouse I'll jog, Leaving all your fine Bantams and ma’am Pharisoes

For old Billy Shakspeare and Mog;
So I made the theatre and hailed my dear spouse,

She smiled as she saw me approach;
And when I'd shook hands, and saluted her bows,

We to Wapping set sail in a coach.


ONE night, 'twas at sea, in the midst of a storm,
On board a three decker, Ben Cable was born;
In his cradle the ship, (which was rock'd by the deep,)
The whistling winds often lulled him to sleep.
When christened, they dipp'd the boy in the salt food,
And the captain himself for his god-father stood;
From infancy thus, little Ben was inured
To tempests and storms, which he bravely endured.

On board from his youth, till to manhood he grew,
Ben still was the pride and delight of the crew;
Even foremost was he at humanity's call,
No danger could ever his courage appal.
If a friend or a foe, in distress hove in sight,
Though the white foaming ocean then run mountains

''Twas nothing to Ben, if his efforts could save
One unfortunate wretch from a watery grave.
In many a battle where cannon have roared,
And heroes have fallen, whom their country adored;
Where the danger was great, there Ben you might find,
For his country his life he'd have freely resigned.
His duty none better than Ben ever knew,
And he fought as a true Yankee seaman should do;
But the fight being done, he would drink grog and send
Round the toast, of success and long life to his friend.

FROM Plymouth, in the Vulcan, we set sail,

Three hundred was the number of our crew,
We left Old England with a fine brisk gale,

And, sighing, bade our girls a long adieu;
For five long months propitious proved the wind,

That swiftly bore us o'er the billowy main,
Thus all went cheerily, for Fate was kind,

Each thought to see his native land again. Now mark the change! 'twas midnight, and the blast

In fury drove us o'er the foaming flood, With blackest horror was the sky o'ercast,

When, lo! the cry was heard that thrilled our blood; To work, all hands! to work, she's fired below,

Secure the gun-room, or we're blown on high, Pour on yet faster, let the torrents flow,

For see the curling flames mount to the sky.

Heave o'er the boat, the gallant captain cried,

Let's save, at least, some sturdy hearts and true; The boat was hove, but danger all defied

• Good captain, we'll not budge, but die with you! Then down we knelt, and prayed to heaven ior grace,

· Have mercy on us, since all hope is past,' Each rose and gave his fellow one embrace,

Then, plunging 'mid the billows, sought his last.
To splinters was the vessel instant blown,

The crash still adding to the tempest's roar,
I saw my messmates struggling, heard them groan,

While clinging to a plank, I gained the shore.
Thus of three hundred I alone am left,

To tell our hopes and fears, and perils, dire,
To paint a seaman's anguish, when bereft

of friends and messmates by consuming fire.

JACK and I were both messmates a long time at sea,

And many's the battle we've fought,
Yet fear d’ye mind, never touched him or me,

Though oft on our sweethearts we've thought.
For Jack loved his Kitty as dear as his soul,

And Poll was my comfort on shore,
And the angel of truth did our love vows enrol,

Though Jack and I saw them no more,

No more,

And Jack and I saw them no more. 'Twas long on the ocean, tossed upwards and down,

We'd been from our charmers away,
Had gained by hard service some gold and renown,

Their fondness and love to repay;
But shame on report and each slanderous tongue,

That whispered ill tidings on shore:

For malice too busy, our death-knell had rung,
And Jack and I saw them no more,

No more,
And Jack and I saw them no more.
Two landsmen to win their affections. d’ye see,

Had tried every art, but in vain;
When falsehood gave out, we were both wreck'd at

sea, And found a cold grave in the main. Poll and Kate heard the tale, but a word never spoke,

Each fell like a lamb on the floor;
The functions of life from that moment were broke,
And Jack and I saw them no more,

No more,
And Jack and I saw them no more.

When first he left his native shore,

To wander o'er the trackless main,
Tom sighed to think that he no more,

His native land might see again.
For, ah! the friends he left were dear,

The girl he loved was fair and kind,
And when he dropt a glist’ning tear,
'Twas shed for those he left behind,

To fight for fame and glory.
But in the battle's rude alarms,

When ev'ry danger fits around,
The thought of them his bosom warms,

And foremost in the fight he's found,
No sighs,'no tears can then molest,

For love with friendship thus combined
Still cheers a gallant seaman's breast,
Still animates a seaman's mind

To fight for fame and glory.

STAND TO YOUR GUNS. STAND to your guns my hearts of oak, Let not a word on board be spoke, Victory soon will crown the joke;

Be silent, and be ready,
Ram home your guns, and sponge them well,
Let us be sure the balls will tell,
The cannons' roar shall sound their knell;

Be steady, boys, be steady.
Not yet, nor yet_reserve your fire,
I do desire; -Fire!
Now the elements do rattle,
The gods, amazed, behold the battle

A broadside, my boys!
See the blood in purple tide
Trickle down her battered side;
Winged with fate the bullets fly;
Conquer, boys, or bravely die,
Hurl destruction on your foes,

She sinks-huzza!
To the bottom down she goes.


The gallant ship was under weigh,

When up aloft Tom Halliard went To reef fore-topsail, seeming gay,

While cruel grief his bosom rent, Think not a sniv’ling lubber he,

From stem to stern no lad more true, And helm a-weather or a-lea,

No tar was e'er so blithe as he, Till last he bade sweet Poll adieu.

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An enemy appears in sight,

The tars behold with gladdened eyes,

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