Hearts of oak

Hearts of Oak.

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COme chear up my lads, 'tis to glory we ſteer,
to add ſomthing new to this wonderfull year
To honour we call you, not preſs you like ſlaves
For who is ſo free as we ſons of the waves?
Hearts of oak are our ſhips, hearts of oak are our men,
We always are ready;
Steddy, boys, ſteddy;
We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.

We never meet our foes but we wiſh them to ſtay,
They never meet us but they wiſh us away:
If they run then we follow, and drive them aſhore,
For if they wont fight us, we cannot do more.
Hearts of Oak are our ſhips, &c.

Monſieur Thurot in the abſence of Boyce,
Went over to Ireland to brag the dear joys;
Near Man, Elliot met him, and gave him a blow,
Which ſent him to tell it to Pluto below,
Hearts of oak are our ſhips, &c.

They talk to invade us, theſe terrible foes,
They frighten our women, our children, and beaux
But if their flat bottoms in darkneſs come o'er,
Sure Britons they'll find to receive them on ſhore,
Hearts of oak are our ſhips, &c.

We'll make them to run, and we'll make them to ſweat
In ſpite of the devil and Bruſſels Gazette.
Then chear up my lads, with one heart let us ſing
Our ſoldiers, our ſailors, our ſtateſmen, and king,
Hearts of oak are our ſhips, &c.

Clout the Cauldron.

HAve you any pots or pans?
Or any broken chandlers?
I am tinkler to my trade.
And newly come frae Fanders.
As ſcant of ſilver as of grace,
Diſbanded we've a bad run;
Gar tell the lady of the place,
I'm come to clout her caldron,
Fa adri, didle, didle, &c.
Madam, if you have any wark for me
I'll do't to your contentment,
And dinna care a ſingle flea,
for any man's reſentment;
For lady fair tho' I appear
To every one a tinker,
Yet to yourſelf I'm bold to tell,
I am a gentle jinker,
Fa adri, didle, &c.
Love Jupiter into a ſwan
turn'd for his lovely Leda;
He like a bull o'er meadows ran,
to carry aff Europa:
Then may not I as well as he,
to hear your Argos blinker,
And win your love like mighty Jove
Thus hide me in a tinker?
Fa adri, didle, &c.
Sir you appear a cunning man,
But this fine plot you'll fail in,
For there is neither pot nor pan,
of mine you'll drive a nail in:
then bind your budget on your back,
and nails up in your apron;
For I've a tinker under tack,
that uſed to clout my caldron,
Fa adri, didle, &c.