The shepherd now, beneath his shed, At eve the dance provoking, Takes up his lov’d neglected reed, Long days of Peace invoking. To plough-shares tho’ our swords we turn, No more in arms appearing, With Friendship still our bosoms burn, Kind actions volunteering. JOHN DIGGONS. _By J. Stawpert, of Newcastle._ _Tune_--Old England’s Roast Beef. John Diggons be I, from a Country Town, But the name is se lang and se bad to get down, Tho’ I’ve swallow’d it often both morning and noon, At present excuse me the pain, Oh! at present excuse me the pain. Father told I, this morning, with quickness to fly, Away to Newcastle, I ask’d him for why?-- To learn something there, for her sons now stand high, They’ve been fighting the French off Cadiz, They’ve been fighting the French off Cadiz. Well, father, says I, but I don’t much like; For the Frenchmen, they say, are so given to strike, Yes, unto an Englishman; that’s it, you tyke! Have you never yet learn’d the _sea phrase_? Have you never yet learn’d the _sea phrase_? Why, as to your _sea frays_, I know not, dear dad, But frays in our village are oftentimes bad, And it must be much worse for a poor country lad, To fight where he can’t run away, To fight where he can’t run away. At last he insisted I’d come to this town, And get some small knowledge of gaining renown, Buy myself a blue jacket, and put off the clown, And fight for my country and king, And fight for my country and king. But coming up street there, I coud’n’t get quick, The folks on the pavement were standing se thick, So I turn’d myself round, and lean’d over my stick, And heard a poor beggar boy sing, And heard a poor beggar boy sing. He sung how that Nelson had lately been shot; Oh! I verily thought I’d have died on the spot, For father told I that lead, e’en boiling hot, Wou’d ne’er take the life of this man, Wou’d ne’er take the life of this man. At length the boy prov’d, e’er he ended his song, That nature and valour, however so strong, Must still bow to fate; so poor father was wrong: And Nelson’s gon--dead after all, And Nelson’s gon--dead after all. But now I’m determin’d, since this is the case, To write to Lord Collingwood straight for a place, For they say he’s right fond of a North Country face: So I may chance to revenge Nelson’s wrongs, So I may chance to revenge Nelson’s wrongs. Adieu, then, my friends, your best wishes I’ll take, Oh! send them all good for your _Collingwood’s sake_! For your Country and you his life’s oft been at stake, Then bless him, and thank his brave Tars! Then bless him, and thank his brave Tars!