The pipe that is so foul within, It shows man’s soul is stained with sin; It doth require To be purred with fire; Think of this when you smoke tobacco! The dust that from the pipe doth fall, It shows we are nothing but dust at all; For we came from the dust, And return we must; Think of this when you smoke tobacco! The ashes that are left behind, Do serve to put us all in mind That unto dust Return we must; Think of this when you take tobacco! The smoke that does so high ascend, Shows that man’s life must have an end; The vapour’s gone,— Man’s life is done; Think of this when you take tobacco! THE SPANISH LADIES. [THIS song is ancient, but we have no means of ascertaining at what period it was written. Captain Marryat, in his novel of _Poor Jack_, introduces it, and says it is _old_. It is a general favourite. The air is plaintive, and in the minor key. See _Popular Music_.] FAREWELL, and adieu to you Spanish ladies, Farewell, and adieu to you ladies of Spain! For we’ve received orders for to sail for old England, But we hope in a short time to see you again. We’ll rant and we’ll roar {234} like true British heroes, We’ll rant and we’ll roar across the salt seas, Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England; From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues. Then we hove our ship to, with the wind at sou’-west, boys, We hove our ship to, for to strike soundings clear; We got soundings in ninety-five fathom, and boldly Up the channel of old England our course we did steer. The first land we made it was callèd the Deadman, Next, Ram’shead off Plymouth, Start, Portland, and Wight; We passèd by Beachy, by Fairleigh, and Dungeness, And hove our ship to, off the South Foreland light. Then a signal was made for the grand fleet to anchor All in the Downs, that night for to sleep; Then stand by your stoppers, let go your shank-painters, Haul all your clew-garnets, stick out tacks and sheets. So let every man toss off a full bumper, Let every man toss off his full bowls; We’ll drink and be jolly, and drown melancholy, So here’s a good health to all true-hearted souls! HARRY THE TAILOR. (TRADITIONAL.) [THE following song was taken down some years ago from the recitation of a country curate, who said he had learned it from a very old inhabitant of Methley, near Pontefract, Yorkshire. We have never seen it in print.] WHEN Harry the tailor was twenty years old, He began for to look with courage so bold; He told his old mother he was not in jest, But he would have a wife as well as the rest.