I’ve sailed in many a flood, Where cans of grog did pour, Fought up to my knees in blood, Where bullets flew in showers, Where the French cried out parblue, The Dutch cried out Peccavi. The Danes and Spaniards too, Went tumbling to old Davy. Sailors have mann’d the gales, Let it rain, blow or fog, The purser often fails To serve us out with grog. I’ve crossed th’ Equinoctial line, Where the sun would scorch your nose off, I’ve sailed in such a clime, Where the frost would bite your toes off. It was off the coast of Spain, Coming from a six months’ cruise, Little did I think to hear Of such glorious news. I heard our people tell, Talking of an invasion, But that I knew full well, Was all a botheration. I next was at the Nore, We cast anchor in the night, Looking towards the shore, A boat appeared in sight. As on the yard we lay, Our topsails for to furl, I heard our pilot say There’s peace with all the world.[46] I wish it was a peace, And all our men on shore, With the shiners in my sack, And go to sea no more. And should war come again, Damme if I don’t enter, And, like a jolly tar, Both life and limb, I’ll venture. [Illustration] _THE JOLLY ROVING TAR._ IT was in the town of Liverpool, all in the month of May, I overheard a damsel, alone as she did stray, She did appear like Venus, or some sweet lovely star. As she walked the beach, lamenting for her jolly roving Tar. O, William, gallant William, how can you sail away? I have arrived at twenty one, and I’m a lady gay, I will man one of my father’s ships, and face the horrid war, And cross the briny ocean for my jolly roving Tar. Young William looked so manly, drest all in his sailor’s clothes, His cheeks they were like roses, his eyes as black as sloes, His hair hung down in ringlets, but he is gone afar, And my heart lies in the bosom of my jolly roving Tar. Come all you jolly sailors, and push the boat ashore, That I may see my father’s ships and see they are secure, Provisions we have plenty, and lots of grog in store, So drink good health you sailors, to my jolly roving Tar. She quickly jumped into the boat and merrily left the land, And as the sailors rowed away, she wav’d her lily hand, Farewell ye girls of Liverpool, I fear no wound nor scar, And away went pretty Susan to her jolly roving Tar. [Illustration] _YOUNG HENRY OF THE RAGING MAIN._ ON a summer’s morn the day was dawning, Down by the pleasant river side, I saw a brisk and lovely maiden, And a youth called “England’s Pride”! He was a tight and smart young sailor, Tears from his eyes did fall like rain, Saying, adieu, my lovely Emma, I’m going to plough the raging main.