Such a rig without a wig on deck I was exhibited Laugh'd at by the passengers, and quizz'd by the crew,

Rav'd and swore that on shore I'd rather have been gibbetted,

Than thus half drown'd, by all around be roasted too,

Danger past, and dry at last, indulging curiosity, I started to see the vessel flee with such a strange velocity,

Pray, said I, to one hard by, what power can im pel us so;

The smoky devil goes by steam, at least the sailors tell us so.

Oh, what a row, &c.

No sail to catch the gale, yet magically on I went, 'Gainst wind and tide, and all beside, in wonD

der quite,

Cast my eye to the sky, and tall as London monu

ment,

I saw the kitchen chimney smoke as black as

night.

People toiling, roasting, boiling, bless me such rookery,

They'd soup, and fish, and fowl, and flesh, London Tavern cookery.

Then the noise of men and boys, a din to rival hell s hubbub,

I thought the crew were devils too, the master captain Beelzebub.

Oh, what a row, &c.

ife to me says, says she, now's your time to pick a bit,

The dinner's serving up below, and we must fly, ys I my dear, I'm very queer, I'm going to be sick a bit,

I'm seiz'd with a dizziness, I faint, I die;

cannot eat, I loathe my meat, I feel my stomach

failing me,

eward, hasten, bring a basin, what the deuce is ailing me;

tis handy get some brandy, the malady to quench unable,

own I lay for half a day, in pickle quite unmentionable.

Oh, what a row, &c.

to dinner I'm a sinner if I touch'd a bit of it; But anchor cast, and home at last, I'm safe once

more,

Ia packet such a racket, crowding to get quit of it;

Like cattle from a coaster we were haul'd on shore;

ith how d'ye do, and how are you, I see you're better physically,

unds be still, I'm very ill, you're always talking quizzically.

me with glee may go to sea, but I shall not be willing. sirs,

r such day again to pay just two pounds fifteen shillings, sirs.

Oh, what a row, &c.

THE GHOST OF POLLY ROCK AND HER TWO BANTLINGS.

When I was but a tiny boy,

And sail'd on board a privateer,
Three dreadful ghosts did me annoy,
And to my sight did oft appear!
A woman tall, who, on each arm,
A little pale faced bantling bore,
And cried-O Sam, we'll do no harm,
For we, alas! are now no more!
The captain of our ship. cried she,
My love and truth did sore betray;
And these poor babes, with me, have died,
Who might have lived another day.
Dear ghost, I said, all this is bad--
If Captain Rock be such an elf,
While I am watching on my guard,
I think you can better tell himself.
She took the hint-down glide the ghosts
To where the captain slept below;
She drew the curtains to the posts,
And pale she glared as drifted snow!
I'm come, she cried, bold Captain Rock,
To plague thy heart our ghosts have come,
Full cold am I as marble block,

And eke the young ones Sall and Tom.
Dear Polly Buck, the captain said,

And trembled much as he spoke,
I never heard that you were dead,
And fear my love you do but joke.
To prove her truth, they vanish'd straight,
And at their heels a fiery flame;

The captain roared out for his mate,
Drank off his grog and slept again.

THE HIGH-METTLED RACER.

See the course throng'd with gazers, the sports are begun,

What confusion!-but hear!-I'll bet you,-done, done;

A thousand strange murmurs resound far and near Lords, hawkers, and jockies assail the tir'd ear; While, with neck like a rainbow, erecting his crest, Pamper'd, prancing, his head almost touching his

breast;

Scarcely snuffling the air, he's so proud and elate,
The high mettled racer first starts for the plate.
Next Reynard's turn'd out, and o'er hedge and
ditch rush

Men, horses, and dogs, all hard at his brush,
O'er heath, hill, and moor, led by the sly prey,
By scent or by view, cheats a long tedious day;
Alike bred for joy in the field or the course
Always sure to come through-

fleet borse;

-a staunch and

And when fairly run down, the fox yields up his breath,

The high mettled racer is in at his death.

Grown aged, us'd up, and turn'd out of the stud, Lam'd, spavin'd, and wind gall'd, but yet with some blood;

While knowing postilions his pedigree trace, Tell his dam won that sweepstake, his sire won that race;

R

And what matches he'd won too, the hostlers count o'er,

As they loiter their time by some hedge alehouse door;

Whilst the harness sore galls, and the spurs his sides goad,

The high-mettled racer's a hack on the road.

At length old and feeble, trudging early and late,
Worn down by disease, he bends to his fate;
From morning to evening he tugs round a mill,
Or draws sand, till the sand of his hour glass
stands still;

And now, cold and lifeless, exposed to view
In the very same cart which he yesterday drew;
Whilst a pitying crowd his sad relics surrounds,
The high-mettled racer is sold for the hounds.

LOVE GIVEN TO LYING.

Come, Love, you little roguish sprite,
And let me understand you right,
Why is it thus you treat me ?
Sirrah, attempt not to beguile
A native of your mother's isle,
Nor think that you shall cheat me.

Is it because I am a slave,

And you are free, that you behave
With this unnatural malice?
If once I reach those wicked wings,
I'll stitch them to your ribs with strings,
And cure you of your sallies.

Once you could nestle in my arms,
And feign a thousand fond alarms,
And sigh, as you were dying.