BALLAD. ('Twas Saturday night, the twinkling stars)

'Twas Saturday night, the twinkling stars Shone on the rippling sea, No duty call'd the jovial tars, The helm was lash'd a-lee;

The ample can adorn'd the board, Prepar'd to see it out, Each gave the lass that he adored, And push'd the grog about.

Cried honest Tom, my Peg I'll toast, A frigate neat and trim, All jolly Portsmouth's favourite boast: I'd venture life and limb,

Sail seven long years, and ne'er see land, With dauntless heart and stout, So tight a vessel to command, Then push the grog about.

I'll give, cried little Jack, my Poll, Sailing in comely state, Top gan'tsails set, she is so tall, She looks like a first rate:

Ah! would she take her Jack in tow, A voyage for life throughout, No better birth I'd wish to know, Then push the grog about.

I'll give, cried I, my charming Nan, Trim, handsome, neat, and tight, What joy so fine as ship to man? She is my heart's delight!

So well she bears the storms of life, I'd sail the world throughout, Brave every toil for such a wife, Then push the grog about.

Thus to describe Poll, Peg, or Nan, Each his best manner tried; Till, summoned by the empty can, They to their hammocks hied:

Yet still did they their vigils keep, Though the huge can was out, For, in soft visions, gentle sleep Still push'd the grog about.