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Loves, in your smiles, no longer play;
Hear me; and judge if I'm sincere;
The fairest, and the only fair.
Hear me; but let not truth offend,
And yet, though free, I thought at first,
The little songster thus you see
Struggling for life, at last, like me, Escapes, and leaves his feather'd spoils.
His plumage soon resumes its gloss,
His little heart soon waxes gay;
It is not love, it is not pique,
That gives my whole discourse this cast; 'Tis nature, that delights to speak Eternally of dangers past.
Carousing o'er the midnight bowl
The soldier never ceasing prates, Shews every scar to every soul,
And every hair-breadth 'scape relates.
Which of us has most cause to grieve?
I can find maids in every rout,
CAPTAIN EDWARD THOMPSON was a native of Hull, and went to sea so early in life as to be precluded from the advantages of a liberal education. At the age of nineteen, he acted as lieutenant on board the Jason, in the engagement off Ushant, between Hawke and Conflans. Coming to London, after the peace, he resided, for some time, in Kew-lane, where he wrote some light pieces for the stage, and some licentious poems; the titles of which need not be revived. At the breaking out of the American war, Garrick's interest obtained promotion for him in his own profession; and he was appointed to the command of the Hyæna frigate, and made his fortune by the single capture of a French East Indiaman. He was afterwards in Rodney's action off Cape St. Vincent, and brought home the tidings of the victory. His death was occasioned by a fever, which he caught on board the Grampus, while he commanded that vessel, off the coast of Africa. Though a dissolute man, he had the character of an able and humane commander.
A few of his sea songs are entitled to remembrance. Besides his poems and dramatic pieces, he published "Letters of a Sailor;" and edited the
works of John Oldham, P. Whitehead, and Andrew Marvell. For the last of those tasks he was grossly unqualified.
THE SAILOR'S FAREWELL.
THE topsails shiver in the wind,
But yet my soul, my heart, my mind,
For though thy sailor's bound afar,
Should landmen flatter when we're sail'd,
No gallant sailor ever fail'd,
If Cupid fill'd his sails:
Sirens in ev'ry port we meet,
More fell than rocks and waves;
But sailors of the British fleet
Are lovers, and not slaves:
These are our cares; but if you're kind,
The rocks, the billows, and the wind, The pow'rs of France and Spain. Now Britain's glory rests with you, Our sails are full-sweet girls, adieu !
BEHOLD upon the swelling wave,
With streaming pendants gay, Our gallant ship invites the brave, While glory leads the way;
And a cruizing we will go.
Whene'er Monsieur comes in view,
With hearts of oak we ply each
The lovely maids of Britain's isle
The wind sits fair, the vessel's trim,