Page:Four excellent songs (10).pdf/8


 * Can’t help sniv’lling, somehow, when I see sad;

But howsomever, should I’ve luck to fall once more Longside a Mounseer, homeward hound, he’ll pay the score; For if ever fellow took delight in Swigging, kissing, dancing, fighting,
 * Dam’me! I make bold to say that Jack’s the lad.

Huzza!—a gun!—the signal’s made; All hands on hoard—the anchor’s weigh’d; Lord! how the girls in scores are flying Fore and aft, all sohhing, crying;
 * Thoughts of parting makes them all run roaring mad;

But honour bids her gallant sons to glory go, So off again we scud to lick the saucy foe; For if ever fellow took delight in Swigging, kissing, dancing, fighting.
 * Dam’me! I make bold to say that Jack’s the lad