| First Line |
Page |
Verses |
| 'Twas past meridian half past four |
3-4 |
12 |
| Cease, rude boreas, boisterous railer |
4-7 |
18 |
| Come each gallant lad |
7 |
6 |
| You all must have heard of the learned pig |
8-9 |
7 |
| Sir Solomon Simons, when he did wed |
10-11 |
5 |
| I was call'd knowing Joe by the boys of our town |
11-12 |
3 |
| Our immortal poet's page |
13-16 |
8 |
| For England when with favouring gales |
16 |
3 |
| Ye sons of France awake to glory |
16-18 |
4 |
| I am a jolly gay pedlar |
18-19 |
3 |
| Fresh and strong the breeze is blowing |
21-22 |
2 |
| Sweet briar grows in the merry green wood, The |
22-23 |
7 |
| While high the foaming surges rise |
23-24 |
3 |
| Fickle bliss, fantastic treasure |
24 |
3 |