BALLAD. (That girl who fain would chuse a…)

That girl who fain would chuse a mate, Should ne'er in fondness fail her, May thank her lucky stars if fate Should splice her to a sailor.

He braves the storm, the battle's heat, The yellow boys to nail her? Diamonds, if diamonds she could eat, Would seek her honest sailor.

If she'd be constant, still his heart She sure will never fail her; For, though a thousand leagues apart, Still faithful is her sailor,

If she be false, still he is kind, And absent does bewail her, Her trusting as he trusts the wind, Still faithless to the sailor.

A butcher can procure her prog, Three-threads to drink a tailor, What's that to biscuit and to grog, Procured her by her sailor.

She who would such a mate refuse, The devil sure must ail her; Search round, and, if your wise, you'll chuse To wed an honest sailor.