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Close your ranks, and each brave soul
Take a lusty flowing bowl,
A grand carouse to the royal Pole,

The empire's brave defender;
No man leave his post by stealth,
But drink a helmet-full to th' health

Of the second Alexander.

Mahomet was a sober dog,
A small-beer, drowsy, senseless rogue,
The juice of grape, so much in vogue,

To forbid to those adore him ;
Had he but allowed the vine,
Given 'em leave to carouse in wine,
The Turk had safely past the Rhine,

And conquer'd all before him.

With dull tea they fought in vain,
Hopeless vict'ry to obtain ;
Where sprightly wine fills ev'ry vein,

Success must needs attend him. Our brains (like our cannons) warm, With often-firing feels no harm, While the sober sot flies the alarm,

No lawrel can befriend him.

Christians thus with conquest crown'd, Conquest with the glass goes round, Weak coffee can't keep its ground

Against the force of claret :

Whilst we give them thus the foil,
And the pagan troops recoyl,
The valiant Poles divide the spoil,

And in brisk nectar share it.

Infidels are now o'ercome,
But the most Christian Turks at home,
Watching the fate of Christendom;

But all his hopes are shallow,
Since the Poles have led the dance;
Let English Cæsar now advance,
And if he sends a fleet to France,

He's a whig that will not follow.

THE YOUNG SEAMAN’S MISFORTUNE: OR, THE

FALSE-HEARTED LASS OF LIMEHOUSE.

From the Pepys Collection, and reprinted by Evans (Old Ballads,

edit. 1810, vol. i. p. 213).
To the tune of the Spinning-wheel.

You loyal lovers far and near,

That live and reign in Cupid's court,
I'd have you freely lend an ear,

While I my sorrows do report:
She that I lov'd has left me o'er;
I'll never trust a woman more.

In her I plac'd my chief delight,

And was her captive night and day; For why? her charming beauty bright

Had clearly stole my heart away:
But she will not my joys restore;
I'll never trust a woman more.

On board of ship I chanc'd to go,

To serve our good and gracious king : Now when she found it must be so,

She did her hands in sorrow wring,
Yet wedded when I left the shore;
I'll never trust a woman more.

My dearest love, she often cry’d,

Forbear to sail the ocean sea; If fortune shall us now divide,

Alas! what will become of me? This she repeated ten times o'er !I'll never trust a woman more.

A thousand solemn vows I made,

And she return'd the like again, That no one should our hearts invade,

But both in loyal love remain ;
Yet she another had in store !
I'll never trust a woman more.

I was obliged to leave the land,

And ready to go hoist up sail, At which tears in her

eyes

did stand,

And bitterly she did bewail ; Yet she another had in store ! I'll never trust a woman more.

I gave her then a ring of gold,

To keep in token of true love,
And said, my dearest dear, behold!

I evermore will loyal prove.
She married when I left the shore !
I'll never trust a woman more.

Five months I ploughed the ocean main,

With courage void of dread and fear: At length with joy return'd again

To the embraces of my dear. But she another had in store !

I'll never trust a woman more.

Constancy doth torture me,

And make my sorrows most severe;
Like a keen dart, it pierc'd my heart,

For why? I did the tydings hear
As soon as e'er I came on shore !
I'll never trust a woman more.

Now must I wander in despair,

I find it is the fates' decree;
My grief is more than I can bear,

I can love none alive but she :
Farewell, farewell, my native shore !
I'll never trust a woman more.

THE GALLANT SEAMAN'S RETURN FROM THE INDIES: OR THE HAPPY MEETING OF

TWO FAITHFUL LOVERS.

WHEREIN IS SHEWED THE LOYAL CONSTANCY OF A SEAMAN TO HIS LOVE, WITH HER KIND SALUTATION UNTO HIM

FOR HIS WELCOME HOME.

Observe this song, which is both neat and pretty,
'Tis on a seaman in his praise of Betty.
To the tune of Five sail of frigots, or Shrewsbury.

[From the Bagford Collection of Old Ballads.]

I am a stout seaman and newly come on shore,
I have been a long voyage where I near was before ;
But now I am returned, I'me resolved to see
My own dearest honey, whose name is Betty.

I have been absent from her full many a day,
But yet I was constant in every way;
Though many a beautiful dame I did see,
Yet none pleased me so well as Betty.

Now I am intended, whatever betide,
For to go and see her and make her my bride ;
If that she and I can together agree,
I never will love none but pretty Betty.

THE GALLANT SEAMAN'S SONG AT HIS MEETING OF

BETTY

Well met, pretty Betty, my joy and my dear,
I now am returned thy heart for to chear;

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