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And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly,
Ah, many's the time and oft!

But mirth is turned to melancholy,
For Tom is gone aloft.

Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, When He, who all commands,

Shall give, to call life's crew together,

The word to pipe all hands.

Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches, In vain Tom's life has doffed,

For, though his body's under hatches,

His soul has gone aloft.

Dibdin.

XXXIX

THE DESERTER

IF sadly thinking,

With spirits sinking,
Could more than drinking

My cares compose,
A cure for sorrow

From sighs I'd borrow,

And hope to-morrow

Would end my woes.

But as in wailing

There's nought availing,

And Death unfailing

Will strike the blow,

Then for that reason,
And for a season,
Let us be merry
Before we go.

To joy a stranger,
A way-worn ranger,
In every danger

My course I've run;
Now hope all ending,
And Death befriending,
His last aid lending,
My cares are done:

No more a rover,
Or hapless lover,

My griefs are over,

My glass runs low;
Then for that reason,

And for a season,

Let us be merry

Before we go!

XL

Curran.

THE ARETHUSA

COME, all ye jolly sailors bold,

Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould, While English glory I unfold,

Huzza for the Arethusa!

She is a frigate tight and brave,
As ever stemmed the dashing wave;

Her men are staunch

To their fav'rite launch,

And when the foe shall meet our fire,
Sooner than strike, we'll all expire
On board of the Arethusa.

'Twas with the spring fleet she went out
The English Channel to cruise about,
When four French sail, in show so stout
Bore down on the Arethusa.

The famed Belle Poule straight ahead did lie,
The Arethusa seemed to fly,

Not a sheet, or a tack,

Or a brace, did she slack;

Though the Frenchman laughed and thought it stuff,

But they knew not the handful of men, how tough, On board of the Arethusa.

On deck five hundred men did dance,
The stoutest they could find in France;
We with two hundred did advance

On board of the Arethusa.

Our captain hailed the Frenchman, 'Ho!'
The Frenchman then cried out 'Hallo!'
'Bear down, d'ye see,

To our Admiral's lee!'

'No, no,' says the Frenchman, 'that can't be !' "Then I must lug you along with me,' Says the saucy Arethusa.

The fight was off the Frenchman's land,
We forced them back upon their strand,
For we fought till not a stick could stand
Of the gallant Arethusa.

And now we've driven the foe ashore
Never to fight with Britons more,
Let each fill his glass

To his fav'rite lass;

A health to our captain and officers true,
And all that belong to the jovial crew
On board of the Arethusa.

XLI

Prince Hoare.

THE BEAUTY OF TERROR

TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?

Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright

In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

XLII

Blake.

DEFIANCE

FAREWELL, ye dungeons dark and strong,

The wretch's destinie: M'Pherson's time will not be long

On yonder gallows tree.

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,

Sae dauntingly gaed he;

He played a spring and danced it round,
Below the gallows tree.

Oh, what is death but parting breath?—

On monie a bloody plain

I've dared his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!

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