Joys of the harvest/The Cambridge tender

THE CAMBRIDGE TENDER.

To its own proper Tune.

HARD was my lot to be display’d,
by Cupid’s cruel arrow;
Since I’m oblig’d to go to sea,
I go in grief and sorrow.

Now from your arms I must away,
Peggy take my heart in keeping,
May the Pow’rs above protect my love,
till our next happy meeting.

False information, my dear jewel,
proved our separation;
And forc'd me from your breast amain,
into some foreign nation.

My reputation they disdain’d,
their might I could not hinder,
Which caus’d me to be press’d away,
and sent aboard the tender.

Peggy my jewel, Do not grieve,
suppose I must retire,
Since I’m oblig’d to go to sea,
it’s you I do admire.

When I’m upon the raging sea,
and in the midst of strangers,
The thoughts of you my dearest dear,
will help me out of dangers.

THE ANSWER.

MY jewel’s gone to range the sea,
to face the blustring ocean;
May the God of fortune on him ssmile,
send him honour and promotion.

No rain, or hail, or lighting fly,
nor roaring claps of thunder,
Nor swelling billows loudly baul,
my darling to make wonder.

Great Alexander, God of war,
tenderly smile upon him ;
Let no disappointment attend my dear,
send him honour and promote him.

May not my jewel be dismay'd,
with cruel wars alarm,
Some things in view may turn a prize,
till it fills my love-sick arm.

No cursed gold nor beauty bright,
shall ever gain him from me,
But like the turtle I shall remain,
until he returns unto me.

No costly robes, nor beds of down,
shall make me to surrender,
Although we part, he has my heart,
on board the Cambridge Tender.