First Line |
Page |
Verses |
Dear Tom this brown jug which foams with mild ale |
3 |
3 |
Here a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling |
4 |
3 |
Trust not man for he'll deceive you |
4-5 |
3 |
Trust not woman, she'll beguile you |
5 |
3 |
Such a Tom-boy before I had enter'd my teens |
5-7 |
4 |
Roving about, good fellows to meet |
7-8 |
6 |
Distress me with those tears no more |
8 |
3 |
On that lone bank where Lubin died |
9 |
4 |
Tho' prudence may press me |
9-10 |
2 |
Sails unfurl'd, the ship unmoor'd, The |
10 |
4 |
Tho' I am now a very little lad |
11 |
3 |
O you whose lives on land are pass'd |
12 |
3 |
Alas! they've torn my love away |
12-13 |
3 |
Eve her silver vestment wore, The |
13-14 |
5 |
Sons of Bacchus lets be gay |
14 |
2 |
Passing bell was heard to toll, The |
15-16 |
5 |
Man takes woman as his bane |
16-17 |
3 |
At sixteen years old you could get little good of me |
17-18 |
4 |
Tho' women, 'tis true, are but tender |
18 |
3 |
I'm jolly Dick the lamplighter |
19 |
4 |
You may say what you will, but Belinda's too tall |
20-21 |
7 |
From sweet bewitching tricks of love |
21-22 |
4 |
When first I sought fair Celia's love |
22 |
4 |
Topsails shiver in the wind, The |
22-23 |
3 |
Why don't you know me by my scars |
23-24 |
4 |
Dear madam, when ladies are willing |
24 |
2 |
I'm in love with twenty |
24-25 |
7 |
Buy my matches, ye maids, I have matches for all |
25-26 |
5 |
Sir Solomon Simons when he did wed |
26-28 |
7 |
Dapper-rid-tat-too is my natty name |
28-30 |
4 |
Young Mog arriv'd at woman's growth |
30-31 |
3 |
When I was at home I was merry and frisky |
31-32 |
3 |
For our country when with fav'ring gale |
32-33 |
3 |
Little does the towns-wife know |
33 |
3 |
In golden days, on rural plains |
34 |
5 |
Tho' neither in silks nor in sattins I'm seen [sic] |
34-35 |
3 |
On Richmond Hill there lives a lass |
35-36 |
3 |
Come, pretty Poll, from tears refrain |
36-37 |
3 |
Can you to the battle march away |
37-38 |
4 |
Bold Jack, the sailor, here he comes |
38-39 |
5 |
Now Henry has left me to plough the salt sea |
40 |
3 |
When spring returning decks the grove |
41 |
3 |
For Balt'more, when, with fav'ring gale |
42 |
3 |
Sweet rosy morning, The |
42-43 |
3 |
How poor is the man, tho' he wealth would possess |
43 |
2 |
Come, my Sylvia! come and bless! |
44 |
4 |
I've found my fair, a true love knot |
44-45 |
3 |
You, whose lives on land are pass'd |
45 |
3 |
Oh! think on my fate! once I freedom enjoy'd |
46 |
3 |
Western sky was purpl'd o'er. The |
47 |
3 |
Go tuneful bird, that glads the skies |
47-48 |
4 |
My friends all declare that my time is mispent |
48 |
4 |