A collection of comic songs written, Compil'd, Etch'd and Engrav'd, by J. Robertson; and sung by him At the theatres Nottingham, Derby, Stamford, Halifax, Chesterfield, and Redford |
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The Contented Tar.
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 | A collection of comic songs |  |
The Contented Tar.
Who goes to sea no more—
For you see I've lost my leg:
I don't care a curse, it might have been worse,
I'm content, and there's an end;
And since 'tis so, e'en let it go,
I can't lift it 'gainst a friend.
(Speaking).
Nor wou'd I against an enemy, if it had not been to serve my king;
and had not a man better die fighting for his country, than stay lingering on
shore? and go out, at last, like the snuff of a candle, singing
While on dainties you are fed,
Yet chearful work and sing:
When fighting hard, upon the yard,
I fell, and broke my sconce;
A ball whiz'd by, but what care I,
Why, a man can die but once.
(Speaking).
And without a doctor or sexton; but they don't want no wipe
from me—for they send so many to their long homes, not to know how to
go contented there themselves—but whenever they go, I doubt they won't
sing
Something happen'd ev'ry minute,
At length they dous'd my glim:
Though I've lost my eye, why shou'd I sigh?
The sails of life are furl'd;
'Twas fate's decree, that I mayn't see
The treachery of the world.
(Speaking).
And why mayn't the same accident happen to Tommy Brown,
the taylor, in the corner? Why may not he slip his cable, and break his
back with taking the ninth part of a fall off his shopboard, into his own hell?
and if he shou'd, lord how he wou'd stare and sing
Fortune, I had cause to curse her,
Coming home, I lost my wife.
And, so say I, why, Doll, good bye,
The poor wench was very old;
Then, why take on, if so be she's gone,
I can never hear her scold.
(Speaking).
To be sure she was a tight hand at that work, and had an agreeable
way of throwing things at one's head; but, poor soul, I lov'd her so well,
that now she is gone, I can't help singing
Enough to blow the devil's head off,
I got spilt, and lost my leg;
With a timber toe, I'm forc'd to go,
Still man's but man, I say;
So, in this plight, if I can't fight,
I'm sure I can't run away.
(Speaking).
I'm now safe moor'd with a Greenwich pension.—Yet, still I'll
doff my hat, and beg you to look down with an eye of pity on a poor unfortunate
seaman; who begs only for your approbation to enable him to sing
| A collection of comic songs | |