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146 SONGS AND BALLADS
We are so far from such pleasure, making of jolly punch-bowls,
That we lament out of measure, every woman condoles ;
When she in bed should lye sleeping, if the high winds they do
roar, There she in sorrow is weeping, fearing to see him no more.
They are to dangers exposed, as we may very well guess. How can our eye-lids be closed in such a time of distress ? You that are free from that [terror], having your husbands secure, Little consider the horror that we do dayly endure.
Tho' there is joy in our meeting when they come safe from the
main, Yet 'tis a sorrowful greeting when we are parted again : Landmen in a full fruition feeds on the fat of the land; This is a happy condition, having all things at command.
Tho' we have not such a plenty, yet I can very well prove That there is not one in twenty but who her husband doth love : You that have caus'd those distractions, writing a story not true, May be asham'd of your actions, and thus I bid you adieu. |
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BILLY THE MIDSHIPMAN'S WELCOME HOME. To the Tune of Ianthe, etc.
Molly.
You're welcome, my Billy, to the English shore ; I hope you'll not cross the rough seas any more. Many a day too, and many a night, My heart grieved sore 'cause you were out of sight; But now, to my comfort, I see you again. Oh, never, dear Billy, Oh, never, dear Billy, Sail more on the main.
Billy.
Dear Molly, said Billy, the joy of my heart, Daily I thought of you since we did part; |
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