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SONGS AND BALLADS
So while they cut their raw salt junks, With dainties you'll be cramm'd;
Here's once for all my mind, old hunks : Port Admiral, you be damned.
So once for all our mind, old hunks : Port Admiral, you be damned.
OH I CRUEL.
Oh ! cruel were my parents to tear my love from me, And cruel were the press-gang that took him off to sea, And cruel was the little boat that row'd him from the strand, And cruel was the great big ship that sailed from the land.
Sing too rol lo, etc.
Oh ! cruel was the water that bore her love from Mary, And cruel was the fair wind that would not blow contrary ; And cruel was the captain, the boatswain and the men, Who didn't care a farthing if we ever met again.
Oh ! cruel was the splinter to break my deary's leg,
Now he's obliged to fiddle, and I'm obliged to beg :
A vagabonding vagrant, and a rantipoling wife,
We fiddle, limp, and scrape it, thro' the ups and downs of life.
Oh ! cruel was th' engagement in which my true love fought, And cruel was the cannon-ball that knock'd his right eye out; He us'd to leer and ogle me with peepers full of fun, But now he looks askew at me, because he has but one.
My love he plays the fiddle, and wanders up and down, And I sing at his elbow thro' all the streets in town. We spend our days in harmony, and very seldom fight, Except when he's his grog aboard, and I get queer at night.
Then ladies all take warning by my true love and me, Tho' cruel fate should cross you, remember constancy; Like me you'll be rewarded, and have your heart's delight, With fiddling in the morning, and a drop of gin at night.