The sailor's farewell

The topsails shiver in the wind,

The ship she casts to sea;

But yet my soul, my heart, my mind,

Are, Mary, moor'd by thee:

For though thy sailor's bound afar,

Still love shall be his leading star.

Should landsmen flatter when we're sail'd,

O, doubt their artful tales;

No gallant sailor ever fail'd,

If Cupid fill'd his sails:

Thou art the compass of my soul,

Which steers my heart from pole to pole.

Sirens in ev'ry port we meet,

More fell than rocks and waves;

But sailors of the British fleet

Are lovers and not slaves:

No foes our courage shall subdue,

Although we've left our hearts with you.

These are our cares; but if you're kind,

We'll scorn the dashing main,

The rocks, the billows, and the wind,

[The pow'rs of France and Spain.

Now Britain's] glory rests with you,

Our sails are full, sweet girls, adieu!