Page:Four excellent songs (10).pdf/7



Our ship’s a-port, so here I be, With heart as light as cork, d’ye see; ’Pon larboard quarter Poll is jigging, Dress’d all in her Sunday rigging—
 * Wench and fiddle always make a sailor glad;

Old Nipperkin, the landlord, keeps the grog afloat, Kindly is the liquor handed down each other throat; For if ever sailor took delight in Swigging, kissing, dancing, fighting,
 * Dam’me! I make bold to say that Jack’s the lad.

Cheerly, my lads, ye know Jack Spry, So full of romps and rigs that I— D’ye hear the merry fiddle going? Sblood! it sets mo off a-toeing.
 * That’s he—Catgut, College Hornpipe, brisk old dad!

Now for a reel—Sir David Hunter Blair—that’s Scotch; Or Langolee, or anything but French or Dutch; For if ever fellow took delight in Swigging, kissing, dancing, fighting,
 * Dam’me! I make bold to say that Jack’s the lad.

My locker’s rich—the devil’s mite! Why, here’s a pretty rig!—Yes—I’m right; An old friend, like a blubbering ninny Look’d distress’d like—got my guinea.