The Dissembler.
She may dissemble, and the world may give
Her credit for a mastery yet unperformed
O'er feelings that entwine her heart, and live
By latent love and fond remembrance warmed.
The gaiety assumed to aid disguise,
By pride engendered, badly plays its part;
Serves but to herald on a hundred sighs,
Sad native language of a broken heart.
Is it not maddening that a heart should fall
A prey to Pride's base mandate, yet
Feel while it bows beneath the baneful thrall
A love it would not, if it could, forget.
Jack Anchor.
[Published by the permission of John Shepherd, Esq., 98, Newgate Street, London, to whom the copyright belongs, and where the Music may be had.]
Jack Anchor was leaving to plough the salt wave,
Not a soul 'mong his messmates more gallant, or brave,
As he stepp'd in the boat as they pull'd from the shore,
To go where guns rattle, and loud cannons roar.
