On the bonny coasts of Barbary.
From A Sailor’s Garland.
[42] trucks: mast-head caps.
The Smuggler
O my true love’s a smuggler and sails upon the sea,
And I would I were a seaman to go along with he;
To go along with he for the satins and the wine,
And run the tubs at Slapton when the stars do shine.
O Hollands is a good drink when the nights are cold,