The bitter ftorms and tempefts

Poor feamen do endure,

Both day and night, with many a fright,

We seldom reft fecure.

Our fleep it is disturbed

With vifions ftrange to know, And with dreams, on the ftreams, When the stormy winds do blow.

Then down again we fall to prayer,

With all our might and thought, When refuge all doth fail us,

'Tis that muft bear us out; To God we call for fuccour, For he it is we know,

That must aid us, and fave us,
When the formy winds do blow.

The lawyer and the ufurer,
That fits in gowns of fur,

In closets warm can take no harm,
Abroad they need not ftir;

When winter fierce with cold doth pierce,
And beats with hail and fnow,

We are fure to endure,

When the stormy winds do blow.

We bring home coftly merchandise,
And jewels of great price,
To ferve our English gallantry,
With many a rare device;
To please the English gallantry,
Our pains we freely show,
For we toil, and [we] moil,
When the stormy winds do blow.

We

We fometimes fail to the Indies

To fetch home fpices rare, Sometimes again to France and Spain,

For wines beyond compare ; Whilft gallants are carousing,

In taverns on a row,

Then we sweep o'er the deep,

When the stormy winds do blow.

When tempefts are blown over,
And greatest fears are paft,
In' weather fair, and temperate air,

We ftraight lie down to reft;
But when the billows tumble,

And waves do furious grow,
Then we roufe, up we rouse
When the ftormy winds do blow.

If enemies oppofe us,

When England is at wars, With any foreign nations,

We fear not wounds nor fcars;

Our roaring guns fhall teach 'em

Our valour for to know,

Whilft they reel in the keel,
When the ftormy winds do blow.

K 3

We

We are no cowardly shrinkers,

But true Englishmen bred,

We'll play our parts like valiant hearts,
And never fly for dread;
We'll ply our business nimbly,

Wheree'er we come or go,
With our mates to the Streights,

When the ftormy winds do blow.

THE

SONG XXXVIII.

BY DR. GOLDSMITH.*

HE wretch condemn'd with life to part,
Still, ftill on hope relies;

And every pang that rends the heart,

Bids expectation rife.

Hope, like the glimmering tapers light,
Adorns and chears the way;
And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray.

SONG XXXIX.

BY THE SAME.

Memory! thou fond deceiver,
Still importunate and vain,

To former joys recurring ever,
And turning all the paft to pain.

Thou, like the world, th' oppreft oppreffing,
Thy fmiles increase the wretches woe!
And he who wants each other bleffing,
In thee muft ever find a foe.