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And tho' some care his labour knows,
OH! 'TIS LOVE! 'TIS LOVE!
From woman's bright eye glancing,
Every heart entrancing.
O! 'tis love, 'tis love, 'tis love,
In gay saloons near fountains,
O, ARE YE SLEEPIN', MAGGIE?
O, are ye sleepin' Maggie?
Is roarin' o'er the warlock craggie,
Mirk and rainy is the night,
Lightnings gleam athwart the lift,
And cry o' howlets makes me eerie.
Aboon my breath I daurna speak,
He cuist aside his dreepin' pladdie;
Since, Maggie, now I'm in aside ye.”
Now since ye're wauken Maggie,
For boor tree bank, or warlock craigie.
Tom Tackle was noble, was true to his word!
For so said the girls, and the landlord's long score; Would you know what this fault was-Tom Tackle was poor.
'Twas once on a time when we took a galloon, And the crew touch'd the agent for some cash to some tune,
Tom to jail took a trip, an old messmate to free, And four thankful prattlers soon sat on his knee. Then Tom was an angel downright from Heav'n sent,
While they'd hands, he is goodness should never repent:
Return'd from next voyage, he mourn'd his sad case, To find the dear friend shut the door in his face, Why, d'ye wonder? cry'd one, you're serv'd right,
to be sure;
Once Tom Tackle was rich-now-Tom Tackle is
I ben't, you see, vers'd in high maxims and sitch, But don't this same honour concern poor and rich? If it come not from good hearts, I can't see where from,
And if ever a Tar had a good heart, 'twas Tom.
And yet, for all this, no one Tom could endure;
And last an old shipmate, that Tom might hail land, Who saw that his heart sail'd too fast for his hand
In the riding of comfort a mooring to find, Reef'd the sails of Tom's fortune that shook in the wind,
He gave him enough through life's ocean to steer, Be the breeze what it might, steady, thus, or not
His pittance is daily, and yet Tom imparts, What he can to his friends-and may all honest hearts,
Like Tom Tackle have what keeps the wolf from the door :
Just enough to be gen'rous-too much to be poor!
By the side of a brig that stands over a brook,
I went wi' the stream, as I studied my book,
I ne'er yet bought a pig in a poke,
To gi' old Nick his due,
Yet I ha' dealt wi' Yorkshire folk,
I wur pretty well liked by each village maid,
For my feyther had addled a vast in trade,
And seeing I did not want for brass,
But though I liked a Yorkshire lass,
Then to Lunnun by feyther I was sent,
But fashion's too dear-I came back as I went, And so they made nothing of me;
My kind relations would soon ba' found out
IT WAS DUNOIS THE YOUNG AND BRAVE.
It was Dunois the young and brave, was bound for Palestine,
But first he made his orisons before St. Mary's shrine;
And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven, was still the soldier's prayer,
That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the fairest fair.
That I may, &c.
His oath of honour on the shrine he grav'd it with his sword,
And followed to the Holy Land the banner of his Lord;
Where, faithful to his noble vow, his war-cry fill'd the air,
"Be honour'd aye, the bravest knight, belov'd the fairest fair."
They owed the conquest to his arm, and then his liege lord said,
"The heart that has for honour beat by bliss must be repaid;