Verses by John Frederick Bryant late tobacco-pipe maker at Bristol. Together with his life, written by himself |
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 | Verses by John Frederick Bryant |  |
Tune, The Lass of Patie's Mill.
Now some folks like your hunting songs,
Some sing about the wars;
For some men of the chace are fond,
And a few of the field of Mars.
While some affect your toping songs,
(The votaries of wine)
The lover swears your love-sick songs
Are the only songs divine.
Some sing about the wars;
For some men of the chace are fond,
And a few of the field of Mars.
While some affect your toping songs,
(The votaries of wine)
The lover swears your love-sick songs
Are the only songs divine.
The sailor likes your sea-songs best,
In which he'll take some pride;
And wonder if he lets you rest
'Till he's sung you a full broadside.
The miller sings his mill-clack song;
Your party songs for some;
The husbandman holds fast his cann,
Loud roaring Harvest-home.
In which he'll take some pride;
And wonder if he lets you rest
'Till he's sung you a full broadside.
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Your party songs for some;
The husbandman holds fast his cann,
Loud roaring Harvest-home.
| Verses by John Frederick Bryant | |