We are faft, back a ftern what ye may ;
Hold on Lad, I'm afraid

She's a Jade, she's so mad,

She's a Scragg, for your lives cut away.

Though we have met with misfortune already,
'Tis courage must do, for the Proverb you know,
A faint heart never won a fair Lady.

Come this is no difgrace,
Pull up Lads, another chafe,

Our Mates will be faft without doubt;
So, what chear? We are near,
She is there; No, she's here

Just a stern; jolly Hearts, pull about.

Pull briskly for there fhe's rifen very fair,

Back a stern, it is up to the Strap,

(row'd,

Well done Tom, bravely throw'd, chearly Lads, bravely

'Tis not always we meet with mishap,

Veer out Warp, let her run,

She will quickly have done?

Well done, Mate; 'twas a brave second stroke,

Now the jerks, who can work?

Veer out Warp; fhe tows sharp,

Hang the Black smith our Launce it is broke.

Pull a head, hale in Warp, for she tows not so sharp,
But's beginning to flounce and to ftrike;

Fit a Launce, let us try, if we can by and by
Give her one gentle touch to the quick :

Bravely throw'd, jolly Lad,

She's nothing nigh so mad

As fhe was; t'other Launce may do good;
Well done Tom, that was home,

To her Womb, makes her foam,
She's fick at the Heart, she spouts Blood.

The

The business is done, launce no more, let's alone,
'Tis her flurry, she is as dead as a Herring;

Let's take her in a Tow, and all Hands ftoutly row;
And Mate Sam, prithee mind well thy fteering,
The Wind begins to blow,

And the Seas bigger grow,
Ev'ry Man put his ftrength to his Oar:
Leave to prate, now 'tis late,

Well row'd, Mate; hey for Kate,
She's a ground, cut away let's a Shoar.

Come turn up the Boats, let's put on our Coats,
And to Ben's there's a chirriping cup;

Let's comfort our Hearts, e'ry Man his two Quarts,
And to morrow all Hands to cut up;
Betimes leave your Wives,

Bring your Hooks and your Knives,

And let none lie a bed like a Lubber;
But begin with the Sun,

To have done before Noon:

That the Carts may come down for the Blubber.

13

I 4

The

The Farmer's Daughter of Wakefield.

D

OWN in the North Country,

As ancient Reports do tell,

There a lies a famous Country Town,
Some call it Merry Wakefield;

And in this Country Town,

A Farmer there did dwell,

Whose Daughter would to Market go,
Her Treasure for to Sell.

As she was travelling a long,
Over Hills and Mountains high,
It was her Chance to lose her Way,
Where a Shepherd she did spy;
O! Shepherd, O! Shepherd quoth fhe,
Many Days to you God fend,

I am a Maid and fhall be undone,
Unless you ftand my Friend.

Over Hills and Mountains high,
E'er fince the Break of Day,

I have been travelling many a Mile,
And I cannot find my Way :
Come fit thee down by me,
The Shepherd reply'd with a Smile,
And I'll fhow thee a nearer Way,

Than this by a full long Mile.

The Shepherd fate him down,

The fair Maid she drew nigh

He pull'd out his Bagpipes wond'rous sweet,
And play'd Melodiously :

He

He play'd her such a Tune,

That he made this fair Maid Sing,
O! the Musick of thy Bagpipes sweet,
Makes all my Nerves to Ring.

O! Shepherd, O! Shepherd, quoth she,
If the time would but permit it;

I pray now play it me ov'r again,
For fear I fhould forget it,
He play'd it over again,

As he had done before,

And gave this fair Maid much delight, It pleas'd her more and more.

My dearest Swain, quoth she,
A Thoufand times adieu;

And, if ever I chance to lofe my Way,
To find it, I'll come to you.

The Baffled Knight, or

Policy.

the Lady's

HERE was a Knight was drunk with Wine,

TH

a riding along the way, Sir,

And there he did meet with a Lady fine, and among the Cocks of Hay, Sir.

One Favour he did crave of her,

and ask'd her to lay her down, Sir, But he had neither Cloth nor Sheet, to keep her from the Ground, Sir.

There is a great Dew upon the Grass,
and if you shou'd lay me down, Sir,
You would spoil my gay clothing,
that has coft me many a Pound, Sir.

I have a Cloak of Scarlet-red,
I'll lay it under thee, Love,
So you will grant me my request,
that I fhall ask of you, Love.

And if you'll go to my Father's Hall,
that is moated all round about, Sir,
There you shall have your Will of me,
within, Sir, and without, Sir.

Oh yonder ftands my Milk-white Steed,
and among the Cocks of Hay, Sir,

If the King's Penner should chance to come,
he'll take my Steed
away, Sir.

I have a Ring upon my Finger,

it's made of the finest Gold, Love

And