Page:Soldier's return, with his kind reception.pdf/6

 All danger's' o’er, cry’d he, my neathearts,
 * and till give me my buxom Nan;

Come bear a hand, let's toat our weethearts;
 * and firt I'll give my buxom Nan.

And firft I'll give my buxom Nan.

She's none of they that's always gigging,
 * and tem and tern made up of art;

One knows a veel by her rigging
 * uch never fright a contant heart;

With traw-hat, and pink-treamers flowing,
 * how oft to meet me has he ran:

While for dear life would I be rowing,
 * to meet with miles try buxom Nan. &c.

Jack Jolly boat went to the Indies
 * to ee him hare when he came back,

The girls are all o off the hinges,
 * his Poll was quite unknown to Jack;

Tant-mated all, to ee who’s tallet.
 * breat works, top-ga’nt fails and a fan;

Mes-mates cry’d I, more ail than balist,
 * and till give me my buxom Nan &c.

None on life's ea can ail more quicker,
 * to how her love, or erve a friend:

But hold, I'm preaching e'er my liquor,
 * this one word more, and there's an end.

Of all the wench's watomever
 * I ay then, find me out who can,

One half fo true, o kind, to clever,
 * weet, trim, and neat as buxom Nan.

Sweet trim, and neat, as buxom Nan.