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SONGS.
THE CAPTIVE.
The Bird within his cage, 'tis true,
May sing as on his native tree;
But he forgets, or never knew,
The Sweets of lovely Liberty.
May sing as on his native tree;
But he forgets, or never knew,
The Sweets of lovely Liberty.
Yet Man, alas! attempts in vain
With songs his prison hours to cheer;
Still, still he feels the galling chain,
And drops upon his wounds—a tear.
With songs his prison hours to cheer;
Still, still he feels the galling chain,
And drops upon his wounds—a tear.
182
THE WEAVERS.
Whether clear or entangled the Threads of Life run,
By the Fates,—rare old Weavers!—those Threads were all spun;
The Work is then past into Dame Nature's Loom,
And woven to suit both the Cradle and Tomb.
By the Fates,—rare old Weavers!—those Threads were all spun;
The Work is then past into Dame Nature's Loom,
And woven to suit both the Cradle and Tomb.
Hence Destiny's Doublet for Mortals is made
By these same rare old Weavers, the first of our Trade;
And whether entangled or clear the Threads run,
We must dress in the Jacket their Worships have spun.
By these same rare old Weavers, the first of our Trade;
And whether entangled or clear the Threads run,
We must dress in the Jacket their Worships have spun.
'Tis true that the Jerkins, though done in one frame,
Are plaguy uneven, and seldom the same;
'Tis here a rich tissue from ankle to throat,
And there patch'd and piec'd like a Harlequin's coat:
Are plaguy uneven, and seldom the same;
'Tis here a rich tissue from ankle to throat,
And there patch'd and piec'd like a Harlequin's coat:
Here thinner than cobweb, there standing in gold;
Here tears in a day, and there never looks old:
With some it wears smoothly, with others more rough;
These find it of silk, and those feel it is stuff.
Here tears in a day, and there never looks old:
With some it wears smoothly, with others more rough;
These find it of silk, and those feel it is stuff.
One swears 'tis too coarse, and another too fine;
But troth, Brother Weaver, 't is vain to repine:
For, whether entangled or clear the Threads run,
We must dress in the Jacket their Worships have spun.
But troth, Brother Weaver, 't is vain to repine:
For, whether entangled or clear the Threads run,
We must dress in the Jacket their Worships have spun.
183
LIFE.
Or what have poor mortals, alack! to be proud,
Whose lives are made up thus of Sunshine and Cloud?
Clearing and lowering,
Shining and showering;
Dark Shadows, bright Bubbles!
Short Pleasures, long Troubles;
Much rain, and much wind, and a little fair weather,
And all the odd elements jumbled together.
Whose lives are made up thus of Sunshine and Cloud?
Clearing and lowering,
Shining and showering;
Dark Shadows, bright Bubbles!
Short Pleasures, long Troubles;
Much rain, and much wind, and a little fair weather,
And all the odd elements jumbled together.
Take Life as it is then, its joy and its sorrow,
Though to-day's overcast it may clear up to-morrow;
And while the storm pours,
Or hurricane roars;
Lightnings flashing,
Thunders crashing;
Though on straw lies my head,
And yours on down-bed,
If snug we both lie,
Till the Tempest goes by,
Though you're in your palace, and I'm in my cot,
We both may be very well pleas'd with our lot.
Though to-day's overcast it may clear up to-morrow;
And while the storm pours,
Or hurricane roars;
Lightnings flashing,
Thunders crashing;
Though on straw lies my head,
And yours on down-bed,
If snug we both lie,
Till the Tempest goes by,
Though you're in your palace, and I'm in my cot,
We both may be very well pleas'd with our lot.
184
THE FISHERMAN'S SONG.
Mankind are all Fish, and I'll lay you a bet
I prove that they all will come into the Net.
The Lawyer's a Shark; and they who in shoals
Run into his jaws must be Flats or poor Soals.
I prove that they all will come into the Net.
The Lawyer's a Shark; and they who in shoals
Run into his jaws must be Flats or poor Soals.
The Lobster's a Turncoat; the Sluggard a Snail;
The Curate a Shrimp, and the Vicar a Whale;
The Soldier's a Sword-fish; the Critic a Carp,
That delights in the mud, and, though wary, bites sharp.
The Curate a Shrimp, and the Vicar a Whale;
The Soldier's a Sword-fish; the Critic a Carp,
That delights in the mud, and, though wary, bites sharp.
The Heir is a Gold-fish, but turns to a Gull;
True Lovyers are Oysters, both silent and dull;
The Poets are Spawn, but are scarce worth a drag;
Young Misses are Mackarel, caught by red Rag:
True Lovyers are Oysters, both silent and dull;
The Poets are Spawn, but are scarce worth a drag;
Young Misses are Mackarel, caught by red Rag:
Their Swains, though all sly Fish, full frequently feel
That a fair and fresh Mack'rel oft turns to an Eel.
A Rake's a Dorado, persisting and rude;
A Beauty's a Flying-fish, always pursued.—
That a fair and fresh Mack'rel oft turns to an Eel.
A Rake's a Dorado, persisting and rude;
A Beauty's a Flying-fish, always pursued.—
Thus by hook or by crook they are all to be caught;
Nay, wise ones have said they are all to be bought;
Some at high, some at low, some at fair market price,
Not a farthing per pound, or a guinea a slice!
Nay, wise ones have said they are all to be bought;
Some at high, some at low, some at fair market price,
Not a farthing per pound, or a guinea a slice!
For Maids that are good, there's no price to be set,
But for those that won't keep, or will jump to the Net,
They're not worth the scales on the rump of a Dace,
Though Thousands are offer'd to catch a good Place.
And as for our Herrings, they're Fishes of Gold,
When in this good old Market each night they are sold.
But for those that won't keep, or will jump to the Net,
185
Though Thousands are offer'd to catch a good Place.
And as for our Herrings, they're Fishes of Gold,
When in this good old Market each night they are sold.
THE FISHERMEN'S FINALE; A CATCH,
FOR A GROUPE OF CHARACTERS.
Friendship, Love, and Liberty!These at length are ours, my Boy!
Cuckoldom and Slavery!
These are yours—I wish you joy!
Would you taste the bliss of Life,
Ask of bounteous Heaven to send—
Soother sweet of every strife,
Mistress true, and faithful Friend.
Would you taste the plague of Life,
Beg of bounteous Heaven to send—
Charming sources of each strife,—
Mistress false, and faithless Friend!
I that faithful Friend possess:
Still the vagabond may grieve me:
I a Mistress true caress:
Yet the varlet may deceive me!
Davy grieve me?
Kate deceive me?
Never! never!
186
Ever! ever!
Jack e'er grieve me?
Sall deceive me?
Never! never!
Ever! ever!
Davy grieve me?
Pat deceive me?
Never! never!
Ever! ever!
Marriage is a sick'ning dish!
Ne'er was seen so odd a fish!
But I swear,
Though Partlet here
Oft has griev'd me,
And deceiv'd me,
On the Sea and on the Shore,
I do love her more and more!
And though you
Have not been true,
And have griev'd me,
And deceiv'd me,
Here and there, and every where,
By these Boys and Girls I swear,
On the Sea and on the Shore,
I love Trimboat more and more!
Would you taste then bliss of life, &c.
Friendship, Love, and Liberty, &c.
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