7
An Orange Tawny up the Straits;
A Black at St. Lucie:
Thus whatsoever course we bend,
We lead a jovial life,
At every mess we find a friend.
At every port a wife.
Will, Gaffe hy death was ta’en aback,
I came to bring the news,
Poll whimper’d sore, but what did Jack?
Why stood in William’s shoes!
She cut, I chas’d, and in the end
She lov’d me as her life.
So she has got a loving friend,
And I a loving wife.
Come all you Sailors that do go
The unfortunate seas to rub,
You must work, love, and fight your foes,
And drink your generous bub;
Storms that our masts in splinters tear,
Can make our joyous life,
In every want we find a friend,
And every port a wife.
THE BED OF ROSES.
As I was a walking one morning in May,
The small birds were singing delightful and gay,
There with my true love did often sport and play,
Down among the bonny bed of Roses.
