| First Line |
Page |
Verses |
| How blest the life a sailor leads |
5-6 |
3 |
| Yarmouth roads are right a-head, The |
6-8 |
3 |
| Ye ling'ring winds that feebly blow |
8-9 |
5 |
| Tho' winter spreads his drear domain |
9-10 |
3 |
| If a sailor would not like a lubber appear |
11 |
3 |
| Come all hands ahoy to the anchor |
11-13 |
6 |
| Cold blew the wind, no gleam of light |
14-15 |
4 |
| Her mouth, with a smile |
15-16 |
2 |
| Billet-doux, oh! didst thou hear, The |
16 |
2 |
| Tho' Bacchus may boast of his care killing bowl |
17-18 |
4 |
| Whither my love, ah! whither art thou [sic] |
18 |
2 |
| Ye gents, give ear to me I pray |
19-21 |
6 |
| Soft zephyr on thy balmy wing |
21-22 |
3 |
| When fair Susan I left, with a heart full of woe |
22-23 |
3 |
| When I had scarcely told sixteen |
23-24 |
3 |
| In storms when clouds obscure the sky |
24-25 |
3 |
| Breeze was fresh, the ship in stays, The |
25-26 |
4 |
| When gen'rous wine expands the soul |
27 |
4 |
| Bold Jack the sailor, here I come |
28-29 |
5 |
| What virgin or shepherd in valley or grove |
29-30 |
3 |
| I sail'd from the downs in the Nancy |
31-32 |
5 |
| Wand'ring sailor ploughs the main, The |
33 |
3 |
| Patriot exil'd far from home, The |
33-35 |
6 |
| Ye vile swinish herd, in the stye of taxation |
35-36 |
8 |
| Spanking Jack was so comely, so pleasant, so jolly |
37-38 |
4 |
| Good people all attend to me, I'll sing you a merry tale, sir |
38-41 |
8 |
| Sweet Poll of Plymouth was my dear |
41-42 |
3 |
| Sea was calm, the sky serene, The |
42-43 |
3 |
| When seated with Sall, all my mess-mates around |
43-44 |
3 |
| Sweet is the ship, that under sail |
44-46 |
4 |
| Turban'd Turk, who scorns the world, The |
46-47 |
3 |
| When the anchor's weighed & the ships unmoor'd |
47-49 |
6 |
| 'Twas post meridian, half past four |
49-51 |
6 |
| To distant shores the breezy wind |
51-52 |
3 |
| Sailor, on the top-mast, A |
52-53 |
3 |
| 'Twas Saturday-night, the twinkling stars |
53-55 |
5 |
| Sailor and an honest heart, A |
55-56 |
3 |
| Adieu my gallant sailor, obey thy duty's call |
56-57 |
5 |
| When thirst of gold enslaves the mind |
58 |
4 |
| My heart's soft emotions admit no disguise |
59-60 |
4 |
| How imperfect is expression |
60-61 |
3 |
| 'Tis said we vent'rous die hard, when we leave the shore |
61-62 |
3 |
| Luff, luff, my lads, the gale increases |
63 |
3 |
| Jove's a God of ten thousand, the monarch I know |
64 |
5 |