Old Ballads | Page 5

That
this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.
What sights of fine folks he oft row'd in his wherry! 'Twas clean'd out
so nice, and so painted withal; He was always first oars when the fine
city ladies In a party to Ranelagh went, or Vauxhall. And oftentimes
would they be giggling and leering, But 'twas all one to Tom their
gibing and jeering; For loving or liking he little did care, For this
waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.
And yet but to see how strangely things happen, As he row'd along,
thinking of nothing at all, He was ply'd by a damsel so lovely and
charming, That she smil'd, and so straightway in love he did fall. And
would this young damsel but banish his sorrow, He'd wed her to-night,
and not wait till to-morrow; And how should this waterman ever know
care, When, married, was never in want of a fair.
Charles Dibdin.

CALLER HERRIN'.
Wha'll buy caller herrin'? They're bonnie fish and halesome farin'; Buy
my caller herrin', new drawn frae the Forth. When ye were sleeping on
your pillows, Dreamt ye aught o' our puir fellows, Darkling as they face
the billows, A' to fill our woven willows. Buy my caller herrin', They're
bonnie fish and halesome farin'; Buy my caller herrin', new drawn frae
the Forth. Caller herrin', caller herrin'.
An' when the creel o' herrin' passes, Ladies clad in silks and laces,
Gather in their braw pelisses, Toss their heads and screw their faces;
Buy my caller herrin', They're bonnie fish and halesome farin'; Buy my
caller herrin', new drawn frae the Forth.
Noo neebor wives, come, tent my tellin', When the bonnie fish ye're
sellin' At a word be aye your dealin', Truth will stand when a' things
failin'; Buy my caller herrin', They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
Buy my caller herrin', new drawn frae the Forth. Wha'll buy my caller
herrin'? They're no brought here without brave darin', Buy my caller

herrin', Ye little ken their worth. Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? O ye
may ca' them vulgar farin'; Wives and mithers maist despairin', Ca'
them lives o' men. Caller herrin', caller herrin'.
Lady Nairne.

A HUNTING WE WILL GO.
The dusky night rides down the sky, And ushers in the morn; The
hounds all join in glorious cry, The huntsman winds his horn. And a
hunting we will go.
The wife around her husband throws Her arms to make him stay: "My
dear, it rains, it hails, it blows; You cannot hunt to-day." Yet a hunting
we will go.
Away they fly to 'scape the rout, Their steeds they soundly switch;
Some are thrown in, and some thrown out, And some thrown in the
ditch. Yet a hunting we will go.
Sly Reynard now like lightning flies, And sweeps across the vale; And
when the hounds too near he spies, He drops his bushy tail. Then a
hunting we will go.
Fond echo seems to like the sport, And join the jovial cry; The woods,
the hills the sound retort, And music fills the sky. When a hunting we
do go.
At last his strength to faintness worn, Poor Reynard ceases flight; Then
hungry, homeward we return, To feast away the night. And a drinking
we do go.
Ye jovial hunters, in the morn Prepare then for the chase; Rise at the
sounding of the horn And health with sport embrace. When a hunting
we do go.
Henry Fielding.

HEARTS OF OAK.
Come, cheer up, my lads! 'tis to glory we steer, To add something more
to this wonderful year: To honour we call you, not press you like slaves:
For who are so free as the sons of the waves? Hearts of oak are our
ships, Gallant tars are our men; We always are ready: Steady, boys,
steady! We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.

We ne'er see our foes but we wish them to stay; They never see us but
they wish us away; If they run, why, we follow, or run them ashore;
For if they won't fight us, we cannot do more. Hearts of oak, etc.
Britannia triumphant, her ships sweep the sea; Her standard is Justice--
her watchword, "Be free!" Then cheer up, my lads! with one heart let
us sing, "Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, and king." Hearts of
oak, etc.
David Garrick.

THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN.
I'll sing you a good old song, Made by a good old pate, Of a fine old
English gentleman, Who had an old estate; And who kept up his old
mansion At a bountiful old rate, With a good old porter to relieve The
old poor at his gate-- Like a fine old English gentleman, All of