45
O bad case, commodore,
Can't say, old commodore,
Mus'n't flatter commodore, says he,
For the bullets and the gout
Have so knock'd your hull about
That you'll never more be fit for the sea.
Can't say, old commodore,
Mus'n't flatter commodore, says he,
For the bullets and the gout
Have so knock'd your hull about
That you'll never more be fit for the sea.
What! no more to be afloat—blood and fury they lie,
I'm a seaman, and only threescore;
And if, as they tell me, I'm likely to die,
Gadzooks let me not die ashore.
As to death, 'tis all a joke,
Sailors live on fire and smoke,
So at least says an old commodore,
The rum old commodore,
The tough old commodore,
The fighting old commodore—he,
Whom the devil nor the gout,
Nor the French dogs to boot,
Shall kill, till they grapple him at sea.
I'm a seaman, and only threescore;
And if, as they tell me, I'm likely to die,
Gadzooks let me not die ashore.
As to death, 'tis all a joke,
Sailors live on fire and smoke,
So at least says an old commodore,
The rum old commodore,
The tough old commodore,
The fighting old commodore—he,
Whom the devil nor the gout,
Nor the French dogs to boot,
Shall kill, till they grapple him at sea.
Jenny dang the Weaver.
⟨At⟩ Willie's wedding on the green,
⟨The⟩ lasses, bonny witches,
⟨Were⟩ a' drest out in aprons clean,
⟨And⟩ braw white Sunday mutches.
⟨The⟩ lasses, bonny witches,
⟨Were⟩ a' drest out in aprons clean,
⟨And⟩ braw white Sunday mutches.
