THE SAILOR's MEDLEY, SONG

Tom Tackle was noble, was true to his word; If merit brought titles, Tom might be a lord: How gaily his bark through life's ocean would sail: Truth sinish'd the rigging— When I took my departure for Dublin's sweet city, And for England's ownself through the seas did plough: For three long days I was tost up and down.

Peaceful slumbering on the ocean, Seamen fear no dangers nigh: The winds and waves in gentle motion Sooths them with—

Oh, the bonny, bonny bells, How I love to hear them sound; Far and near—

The lads of the village, so merry ah! Sound the tabor, I'll hand thee along; And I say unto thee—

Curtis was old Hodge's wife, For virtue, none was such: She led so pure, so chaste a life, Hodge said—

Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, The darling of our crew, No more he'll hear the tempest howling, For death—

To Batchelors'-Hall we good fellows invite, To partake of the chase that makes up our delight, We have spirits like—

I'm Jolly Dick, the lamplighter, They say the sun's my dad: And truly I believe—

That all men are beggars, you plainly may see, For beggars there are of ev'ry degree; Tho' none are so blest or so happy as we, Which nobody can deny, which nobody can deny.