The topfail yards point to the wind, boys,
See all clear to reef each courfe;
Let the fore-fheet go, don't mind, boys,,
Tho' the weather fhou'd be worfe.
Fore and aft the fpritfail-yard get,,

Reef the mizen, fee all clear;.

Hands up, each preventure brace fet,.
Man the fore yard; cheer, lads, cheers.

Now the dreadful thunder's roaring!
Peals on peals contending clafh!
On our heads fierce rain falls pouring,,
In our eyes blue light'nings flafh.
One wide water all around us,

All above but one: black sky!

Diff'rent deaths at once. furround us :
Hark! what means. yon dreadful cry?

The foremaft's gone, cries ev'ry tongue out,.
O'er the lee, twelve feet 'bove deck!
A lake beneath the cheftree's fprung out !
Call all hands to clear the wreck.

Quick, the lanniards cut to pieces,
Come, my hearts, be ftout and bold ;;
Plumb the well, the leak increases,.

Four feet water's in the hold!.

While o'er the fhip the wild waves beating,,
We for wives and children mourn :
Alas! from hence there's no retreating,,
Alas! to them there's no return!

Still the leak is gaining on us,

Both chain-pumps are choak'd below!
Heav'n have mercy here upon us!
Only HE can fave, us now.

On the lee beam is the land, boys,
Let the guns o'er board be thrown ;
To the pumps come ev'ry hand, boys,
See her mizzen-mast is gone.

The leak we've found, it cannot pour faft,
We've lighten'd her a foot or more;
Then up and rig a jury foremaft,

She's tight, fhe's tight, boys, wear off fhore.

Now, once more, on joys we're thinking,
Since kind Fortune fav'd our lives;
Come,, the cann, boys, let's be drinking
To our fweet-hearts, and our wives.

Fill it up, about fhip wheel it ;:

Clofe to lips the brimmer join.

Where's the tempeft now? who feels it?
None--our danger's drown'd in wine.

SONG 178.

MAY EVE, OR KATE OF ABERDEEN.

THE

HE filver moon's enamour'd beam.

Steals foftly through the night,

To wanton in the winding ftream,,
And kifs reflected light.

To courts begone, heart foothing fleep,
Where you've fo seldom been ;
Whilft I my wakeful vigil keep
With Kate of Aberdeen.

The nymphs and fwains expectant wait,
In primrose chaplets gay,
'Till morn unbars her golden gate,
And gives the promis'd May.
The nymphs and fwains fhall all declare,
The promis'd May, when feen,
Not half fo fragrant, half so fair,

As Kate of Aberdeen.

I'll tune my pipe to playful notes,
And roufe yon nodding grove,

Till new-walk'd birds diftend their throats,
And hail the maid I love.

At her approach the lark mistakes,

And quits the new-drefs'd green: Fond birds, 'tis not the morning breaks, 'Tis Kate of Aberdeen !

Now blithefome o'er the dewy mead,
Where elves difportive play,

The feftal dance young fhepherds lead,
Or fing their love-tun'd lay;

Till May in morning robe draws nigh,
And claims a virgin queen,
The nymphs and fwains exulting cry,
"Here's Kate of Aberdeen !”

SONG 179.

THE YELLOW-HAIR'D LADDIE.

THE yellow-hair'd laddie fat down on yon brae,

Cries, milk the ewes, laffie, let nane of them gae; And ay he milked, and ay fhe fang,

The yellow-hair'd laddie shall be my goodman.

And ay fhe milked, &c.

The weather is cauld, and my claithing is thin, The ewes are new clipped, they winna bught in : They winna bught in tho' I fhou'd die,

O yellow-hair'd laddie, be kind to me.

They winna bught in, &c.

The goodwife cries butt the house, Jenny, come ben,

The cheese is to mak, and the butter's to kirn ;
Tho' butter, and cheese, and a' fhou'd four,
I'll crack and kifs wi' my love ae haff hour;
It's ae haff hour, and we's e'en mak it three,
For the yellow hair'd laddie my husband shall be.

SONG 180.

To the Tune of the foregoing. IN April when primrofes paint the fweet plain, And fummer approaching rejoiceth the swain ;

The yellow-hair'd laddie would oftentimes go To wilds and deep glens where the hawthorn trees grow.

There under the shade of an old sacred thorn, With freedom he fung his love's ev'ning and morn; He fang with fo faft and enchanting a found, That fylvans and fairies unfeen danc'd around.

The fhepherd thus fung, Tho' young Maya be fair,

Her beauty is dafh'd with a scornfu' proud air ; But Sufie was handfome, and fweetly cou'd fing; Her breath like the breezes perfum❜d in the spring.

That Madie in all the gay bloom of her youth, Like the moon was unconftant, and never spoke truth;

But Sufie was faithful, good humour'd, and free, And fair as the goddess which sprung from the fea.

That mamma's fine daughter, with all her great dow'r,

Was aukwardly airy, and frequently fow'r ;
Then, fighing, he wifh'd, wou'd parents agree,
The witty sweet Susie his mistress might be.