The Works of Henry Fielding/A Sailor's Song

Come, let's aboard, my jolly blades, That love a merry life; To lazy souls leave home-bred trades, To husbands home-bred strife; Through Europe we will gaily roam, And leave our wives and cares at home. With a Fa la, &c.

If any tradesman broke should be, Or gentleman distress'd, Let him away with us to sea, His fate will be redress'd: The glorious thunder of great guns, Drowns all the horrid noise of duns. With a Fa la, &c.

And while our ships we proudly steer Through all the conquer'd seas, We'll shew the world that Britons bear Their empire where they please: Where'er our sails are once unfurl'd, Our king rules that part of the world. With a Fa la, &c.

The Spaniard with a solemn grace Still marches slowly on, We'd quickly make him mend his pace, Desirous to be gone: Or if we bend our course to France, We'll teach Monsieur more brisk to dance. With a Fa la, &c.

At length, the world subdued, again Our course we'll homeward bend; In women, and in brisk champagne, Our gains we'll freely spend: How proud our mistresses will be To hug the men that fought as we. With a Fa la, &c.