The Tippling Farmer (2)/The Sailor's Adieu
For other versions of this work, see The Sailor's Adieu.
The Sailor's Adieu.
The topsails shiver in the wind,
The ship she casts to sea;
But yet my soul, my heart, my mind,
Are Mary, moor’d with thee:
For tho’ thy sailor’s bound afar,
Still love shall be his leading star.
The ship she casts to sea;
But yet my soul, my heart, my mind,
Are Mary, moor’d with thee:
For tho’ thy sailor’s bound afar,
Still love shall be his leading star.
Should landsmen flatter when we’re sail’d,
O doubt their artful tales;
No gallant sailor ever fail’d,
If Cupid fill’d his sails:
Thou art the compass of my soul,
Which steers my heart from pole to pole.
O doubt their artful tales;
No gallant sailor ever fail’d,
If Cupid fill’d his sails:
Thou art the compass of my soul,
Which steers my heart from pole to pole.
Sirens in every port we meet,
(illegible text) thau rocks or waves;
But sailors of the British fleet,
Are lovers and not slaves;
No foes our courage shall subdue,
Altho’ we’ve left our heart with you.
(illegible text) thau rocks or waves;
But sailors of the British fleet,
Are lovers and not slaves;
No foes our courage shall subdue,
Altho’ we’ve left our heart with you.
These are our cares, but if you’re kind,
We’ll scorn (illegible text)ing main,
The rocks, the billows and the wind,
The powers of France and Spain,
Now Britain’s glory rests with you,
Our sails are full—sweet girls adieu.
We’ll scorn (illegible text)ing main,
The rocks, the billows and the wind,
The powers of France and Spain,
Now Britain’s glory rests with you,
Our sails are full—sweet girls adieu.