BALLAD. ('Tis said we venturous die-hards, when we…)

'Tis said we venturous die-hards, when we leave the shore, Our friends should mourn, Left we return To bless their sight no more. But this is all a notion Bold Jack can't understand, Some die upon the ocean, And some on the land:

Then since 'tis clear, Howe'er we steer, No man's life's under his command, Let tempests howl, And billows roll, And danger press: Of those in spight, there are some joys Us jolly tars to bless, For Saturday night still comes my boys To drink to Poll and Bess.

One seaman hands the sails, another heaves the log, The purser swops Our pay for slops, The landlord sells us grog: Thus each man to his station, To keep life's ship in trim, What argufies noration? The rest is all a whim:

Cheerly my hearts, Then, play your parts, Boldly resolv'd to sink or swim; The mighty surge May ruin urge, And danger press:

Of those in spight, &c.

For all the world's just like the ropes aboard a ship; Each man's rigg'd out A vessel stout, To take for life a trip; The shrouds, and stays, and braces Are joys, and hopes, and fears; The halliards, sheets, and traces, Still, as each passion veers,

And whim prevails, Direct the sails, As on the sea of life he steers: Then let the storm Heaven's face deform, And danger press;

Of those in spight, &c.