THE SAILOR's MEDLEY, SONG

Behold the man that is unlucky, Not through neglect, by fate worn poor; Tho' gen'rous, kind, when he was wealthy, His friends to him are friends no more! He finds in each the same like fellow, By trying those he had reliev'd: Tho' men shake hands, drink healths, get mellow, Yet men by men are thus deceiv'd.

Where can he find a fellow creature, To comfort him in his distress? His old acquaintance proves a stranger, That us'd his friendship to profess. Although a tear drop from his feeling, His selfish heart cannot be mov'd: Then what avails his goodly preaching, Since gen'rous deeds cannot be prov'd.

But so it is in life among us, And give mankind their justly due, 'Tis hard to find one truly gen'rous, We all, at times, find this too true: But if your friend he feels your sorrow, His tender heart's glad to relieve; And when he thinks on you to-morrow, He's happy he had that to give.