OLD JACK.—A SONG.
Tune.—“The Exciseman”.
Not far from the village you’ll see,
A snug little mansion appear,
As pleasant I think as can be,
To divert all its inmates from care.
It’s embellish’d with pebbles and glass,
Which in buildings is rare to be seen;
To enliven the eye as you pass,
In the front is a very neat green.
One side there a clump of fir trees,
The other a garden with fruit,
With flowerets the ladies to please,
And a jasmine tree into boot.
A paddock adjoins the loved spot,
Another thing more you’ll denote;
For work-men a very neat cot,
With a very good round little moat.
At the end of the cottage oft lay,
The black little scot on the straw;
On whom do old Jack in the day
At times lay his delicate paw.
I dare not almost for my life,
Tell Jack what I really do think;
That the scot he likes well as his wife,
Except it is strong beer to drink.
But old Jack he is getting quite old,
Was always a good natured man;
You could not allure him by gold,
To act in a dishonest plan.
Few dare the old man to oppose,
Be him ever so much in the wrong,
For many he takes by the nose, [20]
Be they ever so stout or so strong.
He envies not those in fine gigs,
His mind he keeps constant at ease,
Pass his time with the bullocks and pigs,
And his master most commonly please.
May the master and man live as long,
As comforts on earth can be found;
Then be join’d to the heavenly throng,
Where angelical pleasures abound.
on the death
of
BEN GEE.
Alas, the dull bell his departure declares,
His wife and poor children are shedding those tears
That flows from sincerity’s bosom of grief,
Scarce can old time give a lapse from relief.
The widow to ease or the orphan protect,
He would never a minute in friendship neglect;
Sometimes ungrateful they each of them prov’d,
At tales of affliction his bosom was moved.
How cheerful he’d set tho’ hard blew the gale,
Amusing his friends with a voyager’s tale.
Ill nature did never his features deform,
His hopes were thro’ life to weather the storm.
Sometimes fickle fortune to him would prove kind,
Then he’d furl up his sails for a respite to mind;
When the mishaps of life to his bosom gave pain,
He would boldly embark on the ocean again;
In hopes that hereafter more lucky to be,
He would venture his all to the boisterous sea.
To a gloomy prison, with numbers hard press’d,
Oft thought of his home was greatly distress’d;
Yet the moment the tears of affliction was o’er,
Cherish’d a hope for to see them once more.
Return’d and no language those joys can impart,
When he press’d with affection his wife to his heart;
His children all gladden’d their Father to see,
Some hung round his neck, while some press’d his knee.
Pure friendship then enter’d their old friend to greet,
And happy was many, the sailor to meet.
They cried, your long absence have given us pain,
But thank God in safety we see you again.
’T was the last trip he made, pale sickness o’er-spread
The cheek once so rosy, and forced to his bed,
A Man that ne’er harbour’d a thought in his breast
To injure another or rob him of rest.
With calmness he cried, wife and children adieu,
My feelings foretel me I’m not long with you.
God fix my departure, and his will be done,
Lay me close by my house when my hour glass is run.
Complied were his wishes, for near is the grave,
Where Lieth the Body of Ben Gee the Brave.
ELEGY
on the deaths of
Mr. BEALE AND HIS DAUGHTER.
Late of Herts.
My Friends are fled from mortal eye,
God sent the just decree;
Let us submit to him on high,
Who made the Earth and Sea.
I hear again that death has paid,
A second visit where,
Lately dwelt a virtuous maid,
And parent’s tender care.
Dear Madam, let your troubled, breast,
This Earthly comfort find;
God alone can lull to rest
The widow’s downcast mind.
Late did your worthy partner say,
From death no one can flee;
Ere many months are pass’d away,
Our Nancy rests by me.
Clos’d in that spot from public view,
I’ve pointed out the grave;
Let pious thoughts stern grief subdue,
Jesus repentants save.
Adieu! he cried to all around,
That stood beside his bed;
Sweet mercies to us will abound,
If we by grace are led.
We know that our redeemer live,
Beside the God of all;
Who will our errors all forgive,
If we sincerely call.
Death came mantling on his brow,
With firmness still he prayed;
O God, on sinners mercy show,
Ere in the grave we’re laid.
His wife and children now deplore
Their loss with many a sigh,
And so does many labouring poor,
With many a weeping eye.
Truly he did assistance lend,
To those that stood in need,
The orphan in him found a friend,
A constant one indeed.
FINIS.
Walker, Printer, near the Duke’s Palace, Norwich.