Watty's wedding, or, The old maiden's marriage/The Honest Sailor

THE HONEST SAILOR.

That girl, who fain wou'd chuse a mate,
⁠shou'd ne'er in fondness fail her;
May thank her lucky ⟨stars⟩, if Fate
⁠shou'd splice her to a Sailor:
He braves the storm, the battle's heat,
⁠the yellow boys to nail her;
Diamonds, if diamonds she could eat,
⁠wou'd seek her honest Sailor.

If she be true, sure of his heart
⁠she never need bewail her;
For tho' a thousand leagues apart,
⁠still constant is her Sailor:
Tho' she be false, still he is kind,
⁠and comes with smiles to hail her;
He trusting, as he trusts the wind,
⁠still faithleſs to her Sailor.

A butcher can procure her prog,
⁠three threads to drink, a taylor;
What's that to biscuit, and to grog,
⁠procur'd her by her Sailor?
She who wou'd such a mate ⟨refuse⟩,
⁠ill-nature sure must ail her:
Search round, and if you're wise, you'll chuse
⁠to wed an honest Sailor.

F I N I S.

Falkirk—T. Johnston, Printer.—1817.