The downfall of Paris, and Bonaparte dethron'd/The Disconsolate Sailor

THE

DISCONSOLATE SAILOR.

⁠When my money was gone
⁠which I gain’d in the wars,
And the world ’gan to frown on my fate,
⁠What matter'd my zeal,
⁠or my honoured ſcars,
When in difference ſtood at each gate:

⁠The face that would ſmile,
⁠when my purſe was well lin’d,
⁠Show’d a different aſpect to me:
And when I could naught but ingratitude find,
⁠I fled once again to the ſea.

I thought it unwiſe to repine at my lot,
⁠or to bear with cold looks on the ſhore,
S‘ I pack’d up the trifling remnants I got,
⁠and a trifle, alas! was my ſtore.

A handkerchief held all the treaſure I had,
⁠which over my ſhoulder I threw;
Awa then I trudg'd with a heart rather ſad
⁠to join with ſome jolly ſhip’s crew.

The ſea was leſs troubled by far than my mind,
⁠for when the wide main I ſurvey’d,
I could not help thinking the world was unkind,
⁠and Fortune a ſlippery jade.

And I vow'd if once I could take her in tow,
⁠I'd let the ungrateful ones ſee,
That the turbulent winds and the billows could ſhow
⁠more kindneſs than they did to me.