Mirth and Metre consisting of Poems, Serious, Humorous, and Satirical; Songs, Sonnets, Ballads & Bagatelles. Written by C. Dibdin, Jun |
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SAILOR's JOURNAL. |
 | Mirth and Metre |  |
SAILOR's JOURNAL.
I Unshipp'd from a board the Sky Rocket,
At seven P. M. and half past,
An odd guinea burnt in my pocket,
And, d---e, why that was my last;
To spend it at eight, and get groggy,
I swore; at half past eight thought as how
I wouldn't, because when I'm foggy,
I'm sartain to kick up a row.
Fol, &c.
At seven P. M. and half past,
An odd guinea burnt in my pocket,
And, d---e, why that was my last;
To spend it at eight, and get groggy,
I swore; at half past eight thought as how
I wouldn't, because when I'm foggy,
I'm sartain to kick up a row.
Fol, &c.
191
At nine Betty Sly overhaul'd me,
The guinea, says I, get you sha'n't,
For tho' your true blue boy you call me,
The yellow boy, hussey, you want;
At ten a Jew wanted to bone it,
Says I, Smouchee, I won't buy your stuff,
And, d'ye mind, tho' pork you disown it,
You like guinea-pigs well enough.
Fol, &c.
The guinea, says I, get you sha'n't,
For tho' your true blue boy you call me,
The yellow boy, hussey, you want;
At ten a Jew wanted to bone it,
Says I, Smouchee, I won't buy your stuff,
And, d'ye mind, tho' pork you disown it,
You like guinea-pigs well enough.
Fol, &c.
At eleven I pip'd like a ninny,
To see an old tar in distress,
So I took and I gave him the guinea,
And, splice me, how could I do less?
At twelve sail'd to old Mother Crocket,
At whose house I'd thrown hundreds about,
But I hadn't a kick in my pocket,
So she soon enough kick'd me out.
Fol, &c.
To see an old tar in distress,
So I took and I gave him the guinea,
And, splice me, how could I do less?
At twelve sail'd to old Mother Crocket,
At whose house I'd thrown hundreds about,
But I hadn't a kick in my pocket,
So she soon enough kick'd me out.
Fol, &c.
The rain was most preciously pouring,
In a watch-box I look'd for a bed,
But the old woman in it was snoring,
So I kept the watch in his stead;
To me watching wa'n't a new notion,
Thro' many a terrible squall
For old England I've watch'd on the ocean,
And her watch-word is, “Liberty Hall!”
Fol, &c.
In a watch-box I look'd for a bed,
But the old woman in it was snoring,
So I kept the watch in his stead;
To me watching wa'n't a new notion,
Thro' many a terrible squall
For old England I've watch'd on the ocean,
And her watch-word is, “Liberty Hall!”
Fol, &c.
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