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The word was given to weigh, so sudden and so

quickly,

I thought my heart would break as I sung yo heave ho.

For Poll's so like her mother,

And as for Jack, her brother,

The boy when he grows up, will nobly fight the foe:

But in Providence I trust,

What must be must.

So my sighs I gave the wind, and sung out yo heave ho.

And now at last laid up, in decentish condition, For I've only lost an eye, and got a timber toe, But old ships must expect in time to be out of com

mission,

Nor again the anchor weigh with a yo heave ho, So I smoke my pipe and sing old songs,

For my boy shall revenge my wrongs,

And my girl shall breed young sailors, nobly to face the foe,

Then to our country and king,

Fate no danger can bring,

While the tars of Old England sing out yo heave ho.

THE FARMER.

Here's to each jolly fellow,
That loves to be mellow,

Attend to me and sit easy;
For a bottle in quiet,

My boys let us try it,

For dull thinking will make a man crazy;

T

While here I am king,

Let us laugh, dance, and sing ; Let no mortal appear as a stranger; But shew me the ass,

That refuses his glass,

And I'll order him grass in a manger.
Lal de lal, &c.

By reaping and mowing,
By ploughing and sowing,

Dull nature supplies me with plenty;
I've a plentiful board,

And a cellar well stor'd,

And my garden supplies me with dainties;
I have plenty of flowers,

I have land, I have bowers,
And I'm here as Justice of Quorum ;

In cabin's fair inn,

I've a bed for a frien',

With a clean fire-side and a jorum.
Lal de lal, &c.

Was't not for my seeding,

You would have poor feeding,

For indeed you would soon starve without me

My mind is content

When I pay my own rent,

And I'm happy when friends are about me.

Draw near to my table,

Ye boys that are able,

Let us hear no more words of complaining, For the ringing of glasses

All music surpasses,

I long to see bottles a draining.

Lal de lal, &c.

Let the mighty and great,
Roll in splendour and state,
For I envy no mortal, I swear it;
For I eat my own ham,

My own chicken and lamb,

And I shear my own sheep and I wear it.
I have all things in season,

Such as woodcock and pheasant,
And the lark is my morning alarmer,
So may each good fellow,

That loves to be mellow,

Drink the plough and the good honest farmer, Lal de lal, &c.

SEVEN AGES.

Our immortal poet's page

Tells us all the world's stage, And that men with all their airs, Are nothing more than players, Each using skill and art,

In his turn to top his part, All to fill up this farcical scene 0; Enter here, exit there,

Stand in view, mind your cue;

Heigh, down, O down, derry derry down,
All to fill up this farcical scene 0.

First the infant on the lap,

Muling, puling with his pap,
Like a chicken that we truss,
Is waddled by its nurse,
Who, to please the poppet, tries,
Whilst it giggles and it cries,
All, &c.

Hush a bye, wipe an eye,
Suckee, titty, that's a pretty,

FotHeigh down, &c.

Then the pretty babe of grace,
With a shining morning face,
With satchel on his back,

To school, alas! must pack,
And like a snail he creeps,
And for black Monday weeps.

Book mislaid, truant play'd,
Rod in pickle, bum to tickle,

All, &c.

Heigh down, &c.

Then the lover next appears, Soused over head and ears, Like a lobster on the fire, Sighing ready to expire,

And a deep hole in his heart,
You may through it drive a cart,
All, &c.

Beauty spurns him, passion burns him,
Like a wizard, guts, and gizzard,

Heigh down, &c.

Then the soldier, ripe for plunder,
Breathing slaughter, blood, and thunder;
Lord! at what a rate he runs,
About drums, and swords, and guns;
And talks of streaming veins,
Shatter'd limbs, and scatter'd brains,

All, &c.

What foes he thrash'd, cut, and slash'd, And here he popp'd 'em, there he dropp'd 'em,

Heigh down, &o.

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Then the justice in his chair,
With his broad and vacant stare,

His wig of formal cut,

And belly like a butt,

Well lin'd with turtle hash,

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All, &c.

Pimp and cull, bawed and trull,

At his nod, go to quod,

Heigh down &c.

When the slipper'd pantaloon,
In life's dull afternoon,
Shrunk shank in youthful hose,
And spectacles no nose;
His voice, once big and round,
Now whistling in the sound,

All &c.

Vigour spent, body bent,
Shaking nodle, widdle waddle,'

Heigh down, &c.

Then at last, to end the play,

Second childhood leads the way,
When, like sheep that take the rot,
All our senses go to pot;
Then death amongst us pops,
And so the curtain drops.

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All, &c.

Then the coffin we move off in,

When the bell tolls the knell,

Of high and low down into the cold ground; Here's an end of the farcical scene, O.

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