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The leak we’ve found, it cannot pour faſt,
we’ve lighten’d her a foot or more;
Then up and rig a jury foremaſt,
ſhe's tight, ſhe’s tight, boys, we’re off shore.
Now, one, more, on joys we’re thinking,
ſince kind fortune ſav’d our lives:
Come, the cann boys, let’s be drinking,
to our ſweet-hearts, and our wives.
Fill it up, about ſhip wheel it,
cloſe to the lips the brimmer join.
Where’s the tempeſt now? who feels it,
none;—our danger’s drown’d in wine.
THE CAMBRIDGE TENDER.
To its own proper Tune.
HARD was my lot to be diſplay’d,
by Cupid’s cruel arrow;
Since I’m oblig’d to go to sea,
I go in grief and ſorrow.
Now from your arms I muſt away,
Peggy take my heart in keeping,
May the Pow’rs above protect my love,
till our next happy meeting.
Falſe information, my dear jewel,
proved our ſeparation;
And forc'd me from your breaſt amain,
into ſome foreign nation.
