The Lass that Loves a Sailor.
The moon on the ocean was dimmed by a ripple,
Affording a checkered light.
The gay jolly tars passed the word for a tipple,
And the toast,—for ’twas Saturday night.
Some sweetheart or wife
He loved as his life,
Each drank, and he wished he could hail her;
But the standing toast,
That pleased the most,