YOUNG HENRY OF THE RAGING MAIN.
On a summer’s morn the day was dawning,
Down by the pleasant river side,
I saw a brisk and lovely maiden,
And a youth called “England’s Pride”!
He was a tight and smart young sailor,
Tears from his eyes did fall like rain,
Saying, adieu, my lovely Emma,
I’m going to plough the raging main.
Cried Emma—Henry will you leave me
Behind, my sorrow to complain?
For your sweet features, lovely Henry,
I may ne’er behold again!
See, Emma dear, our ship’s weighed anchor,
Tis folly, Love, for to complain,
Though you I leave, I’ll ne’er deceive you,
I’m bound to plough the raging main.
Said Emma, Stay a little longer,
Stay at home with your true love,
But, if you enter, I will venture,
I swear by all the powers above!
I’ll venture with my lovely Henry,
Perhaps great honour I may attain,
She cried, I’ll enter and boldly venture
With Henry on the raging main.
Cried Henry,—Love, don’t be distracted,
Perhaps you may be cast away,
’Tis for that reason, cried young Emma,
That behind I will not stay.
I’ll dress myself in man’s apparel,
So, dearest Henry, don’t complain,
In jacket blue, and tarry trousers,
I will plough the raging main.
Then on board the brig Eliza,
Henry and his Emma went;
She did her duty like a sailor,
And with her lover was content.
Her pretty hands, once soft as velvet,
With pitch and tar appeared in pain,
Though her hands were soft, she went aloft,
And boldly ploughed the raging main.
The Eliza brig was bound for India,
And ’ere she had three weeks set sail,
From land, or light, one stormy night,
It blew a bitter, and heavy gale.
Undaunted, up aloft went Emma,
’Midst thunder, lightning, wind and rain,
With courage true, in a blue jacket,
Did Emma plough the raging main.
Twelve hours long the tempest lasted,
At length quite calm it did appear,
And they proceeded on their voyage,
Emma, and her true love dear.
When just two years they’d been sailing,
To England they returned again,
And no one did suspect young Emma,
Ploughing on the watery main.
In England, and, for the matter of that, on the Continent as well, since this century was born, some trifle has tickled the people, and has been reiterated, until every catch-word has become a nuisance. In the early part of the century, for instance, “Has your mother sold her mangle?” “Does your mother know you’re out?” and, “Before you could say Jack Robinson” (which has passed into a recognized saying), were in everyone’s mouth. It is not often that these catch-words can be traced to their origin, but the latter seems to have arisen in the Ballad of
JACK ROBINSON.
The perils and the dangers of the voyage past,
And the ship at Portsmouth arrived at last.
The sails all furled and the anchor cast,
The happiest of the crew was Jack Robinson.
For his Poll he had trinkets and gold galore,
Besides Prize Money quite a store,
And along with the crew, he went ashore,
As Coxwain to the boat, Jack Robinson.
He met with a man, and said, “I say,
Perhaps you may know one Polly Gray?
She lives somewhere hereabout:” the man said, “nay,
I do not indeed,” to Jack Robinson.
So says Jack to him, “I have left my ship,
And all my messmates, they gave me the slip.
Mayhap you’ll partake of a good can of flip?
For you’re a good sort of fellow,” says Jack Robinson.
In a public-house, then, they both sat down,
And talked of Admirals of high renown,
And drank as much grog as came to half a crown,
This here strange man and Jack Robinson.
Then Jack call’d out the reckoning to pay,
The landlady came in, in fine array,
“My eyes, and limbs, why here’s Polly Gray!
Who’d thought of meeting here?” says Jack Robinson.
The landlady staggered against the wall,
And said, at first, she didn’t know him at all,
“Shiver me,” says Jack, “why here’s a pretty squall,
D——n me, don’t you know me? I’m Jack Robinson!
Don’t you remember this handkerchief you giv’d me?
’Twas three years ago, before I went to sea,
Every day I’ve looked at it, and then I thought of thee,
Upon my soul, I have,” says Jack Robinson.
Says the lady, says she “I have changed my state.”
“Why! you don’t mean,” says Jack, “that you’ve got a mate?
You know you promised——” Says she, “I could not wait,
For no tidings could I gain of you, Jack Robinson,
And somebody, one day, came up to me and said,
That somebody else, had somewhere read
In some newspaper, as how you were dead.”
“I’ve not been dead at all,” says Jack Robinson.
Then he turn’d his quid, and finish’d his glass,
Hitch’d up his trousers, “Alas! alas!
That ever I should live to be made such an ass!
To be bilked by a woman,” says Jack Robinson.
“But to fret and to stew about it’s all in vain,
I’ll get a ship and go to Holland, France and Spain,
No matter where, to Portsmouth I’ll ne’er come again.”
And he was off before you could say Jack Robinson.
Here is a variation, such as I never met with before, of the time-honoured Ballad of
BOLD WILLIAM TAYLOR.[47]
I’ll sing you a song about two lovers,
Who from Lichfield town did come,
The young man’s name was William Taylor,
The maiden’s name was Sarah Naylor.
Now for a Sailor William enlisted,
Now for a Sailor William’s gone,
He’s gone and left his charming Sally,
All alone, which made her mourn.
She dressed herself in man’s apparel,
Man’s apparel she put on,
And set out to seek her own true lover,
For to find him she is gone.
One day she was exercising,
Exercising among the rest,
A silver locket flew from her jacket,
And exposed her milk-white breast.
O, then the Captain stept up to her,
And asked her, what brought her there
All for to seek for my own true lover,
For he has proved to me severe.
If you are come to find your lover,
You must tell to me his name,
His name it is bold William Taylor,
And from Lichfield town he came.
If your lover’s name is William Taylor,
He has proved to you severe,
He is married to a rich lady,
He was married the other year.
If you’ll rise early in the morning,
In the morning by break of day,
There you’ll see bold William Taylor,
Walking with his lady gay.
Then she called for a brace of pistols,
A brace of pistols I command,
And then she shot bold William Taylor
With his bride at his right hand.
O, then the captain was well pleaséd,
Well pleaséd with what she’d done,
And soon she became a bold commander,
On board a ship of all her own men.
Then the Captain loved her dearly,
Loved her dearly as his life,
And it was but three days after,
Sarah became the Captain’s wife.
