The true fpirit of the nation
In our honeft hearts we bring,
True, tho' in an humble ftation,
To our country and our King,
On our naval ftrength depending,
Let us fteer Old England's courfe;
When affronted vengeance fending,
Shew the world Old England's force:
Then loud peals of British thunder
Rattling on each hoftile fhore,
Shall make haughty France knock under,
Nor fhall dare infult us more.
Then through all the mighty ocean
England's crofs fhall honour find,
Far as wave can feel a motion,
Far as flag can move with wind:
Then infulting monarchs, fhewing
More regard, fhall humbler be;
This old truth of Britons knowing,
As they're brave they will be free.
May all English lads like you, boys,
Prove on fhore true hearts of gold,
To their King and Country true, boys,
And be neither bought or fold.
Let the landmen without party
A&t like brethren of the flood,
To our caufe alone be hearty,
And that caufe for Britain's good.
NANSY's to the green wood game,
To hear the gowdfpink chatt'ring,
And Willie he has followed her,
To gain her love by flatt'ring:
But a' that he cou'd fay or do,
She geck'd and scorned at him:
And ay when he began to woo,
She bid him mind wha gat him.
What ails ye at my dad, quoth he,
My minny or my aunty?
With croudy moudy they fed me,
Lang kail, and ranty tanty :
With bannocks of good barley-meal,
Of thae there was right plenty,
With chapped flocks fu' butter'd well;
And was not that right dainty?
Although my father was nae laird,
'Tis daffin to be vaunty,
He keepit ay a good kail yard,
A ha' house and a pantry:
A good blew bonnet on his head,
An ourlay 'bout his craggy;
And ay until the day he dy'd,
He rade on good shanks naggy.
Now wae and wander on your fnout,
Wad ye hae bonny Nanfy?
Wad ye compare yourfel to me,
A docken tull a tanfy?
I have a wooer of my ain,
They ca' him fupple Sandy,
And well I wat his bonny mou'
Is fweet like fugar candy.
Wow, Nanfy, what needs a' this din,
Do I not ken this Sandy?
I'm fure the chief of a' his kin,
Was Rob the beggar randy:
His minny Meg upo' her back
Bare baith him and his billy;
Will ye compare a nafty pack
To me, your winfome Willy?
My gutcher leav'd a good braid fword,
Tho' it be auld and rufty,
Yet ye may tak it on my word,
It is baith ftout and trufty:
And if I can but get it drawn,
Which will be right uneasy,
I fhall lay baith my lugs in pawn,
That he shall get a heezy.
Then Nanfy turn'd her round about,
And faid, Did Sandy hear ye,
Ye wadna mifs to get a clout,
I ken he difna fear ye:
Sae had your tongue and fay nae mair,
Set fome where elfe your fancy;
For as lang's Sandy's to the fore,
Ye never shall get Nanfy.
ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd
The ftreamers waving in the wind,
When black-ey'd Sufan came on board;
Oh! where fhall I my true-love find?
Tell me, ye jovial failors, tell me true,
If my fweet William fails among the crew?
William, who high upon the yard
Rock'd with the billows to and fro, Soon as her well known voice he heard, He figh'd, and caft his eyes below; The cord flides fwiftly thro' his glowing hands, And quick as light'ning on the deck he stands.
So the fweet lark, high pois'd in air,
Shuts clofe his pinions to his breast, (If chance his mate's fhrill voice he hear) And drops at once into her neft: The nobleft captain in the British fleet, Might envy William's lips thofe kifles fweet.
O! Sufan, Sufan, lovely dear!
My vows fhall ever true remain,
Let me kifs off that falling tear,
We only part to meet again:
Change as ye lift, ye winds! my heart fhall be
The faithful compass that ftill points at thee.
Believe not what the landmen fay,
Who tempt with doubts thy conftant mind; They'll tell, the failors, when away,
In every port a mistress find:
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee fo,
For thou art present wherefoe'er I go.
If to fair India's coaft we fail,
Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright,
Thy breath is Afric's fpicy gale,
Thy skin is ivory fo white :
Thus every beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in
my foul some charms of lovely Sue.
Tho' battles call me from thy arms,
Let not my pretty Sufan mourn;
Tho' cannons roar, yet, safe from harms,
William fhall to his dear return:
Love turns afide the balls that round me fly,
Left precious tears fhould drop from Sufan's eye.
The boatfwain gave the dreadful word,
The fails their fwelling bofom spread,
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