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If to fair India's coast we sail,
 * Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright,

Thy breatb's in Afric's spicy gale,
 * Thy skin is ivory so white;

Thus every beauteous object that I view, Wakes in my soul some charms of lovely Sue.

Though battle calls me from thy arms,
 * Let not my pretty Susan moum;

Tho' cannons roar, yet safe from harms,
 * William shall to his dear return.

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.

The Boatswain gave the dreadful word,
 * The sails their swelling bosom spread,

No longer must she stay on board;
 * They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head;

Her less'ning boat unwilling rows to land: Adieu! sbe cries, and war'd her lily band.

A rose-bud by my early walk, Adown a corn-inclosed bawk, Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
 * All on a dewy morning: