Lyr Add: The Sailor's Will

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: The Sailor's Will
From: Snuffy
Date: 22 Sep 04 - 08:56 AM

Yankee Doodle or Girl I Left Behind Me would both fit

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: The Sailor's Will
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 22 Sep 04 - 06:43 AM

It's amazing what gems might lie in that collection waiting to be rediscovered. I hope someone finds a good tune for this and starts singing it. Thanks, Q, for posting it.

Subject: Lyr Add: THE SAILOR'S WILL
From: Q (Frank Staplin)
Date: 20 Sep 04 - 05:07 PM

Lyr. Add: THE SAILOR'S WILL

Since all must die, as well as I,
Let all like me prepare;
From fate to fly, is vain to try,
This all mankind declare.

Then while I'm well, I'll make my will,
'Lest sudden death befall me;
That I may find, myself resigned,
When fate shall please to call me.

Then, thus as under, I surrender,
Myself, and all I'm worth;
First let the grave, my body have,
Full six feet deep in earth.

Six tars dead drunk, to bear my trunk,
In coffin heart of oak;
And let six more, jog on before,
With each a pipe to smoke.

Let grog and flip. to wet the lip,
In plenty go around;
But let no eye presume to cry,
Because I'm underground.

Instead of sighs, and weeping eyes,
Sing songs of mirth and laughter,
For who can tell what heav'n or hell,
My fate may be hereafter.

Be sure with liquor. to ply the vicar,
As long as he can stand;
And when that he no more can see,
Then tip him t'other can.

Unto my wife, chief joy of life,
My worldly store I give;
With all I have, if aught I save,
In money while I live.

Two pair of shoes, and three of hose,
My best new velvet breeches;
Besides a pair not fit to wear,
With divers colour'd stitches.

My watchman's coat, of stuff so stout,
To fear no wind nor rain;
My jacket too, of good true blue,
And trowsers void of stain.

My woolen cap and small round hat,
Of macaroni make;
My shirts of check, my oaken stick,
Which stoutest heads would break.

My sealskin pouch, my silver watch,
My hammock bed and bolster,
A broken glass to see her face,
My pistols, case and bolster.

An empty cask, a powder flask,
My shot, pouch, bag and wallet;
An old firelock, with broken stock,
I beg she'll overhaul it.

A great arm'd chair, in good repair,
And two just all to pieces;
A few old plates, a pair of grates,
And three old Cheshire cheeses.

A tub of pork just bought from Cork,
A pound or two of bacon,
My sunday wig, my sow and pig,
And a well-fatten'd capon.

A rusty spade, a Penknife blade,
A sword without a handle;
A box of lint, my steel and flint,
And half a small wax candle.

Then, this my will let all fulfil,
Though whimsical I call it;
Nor landsman dare, with haughty air,
To criticise or maul it.

Printed by Thompson, East-Smithfield. No date but type suggests 1800-1820 at the latest. Firth c.13(220), Bodleian Collection.
Ballads

Is there an author known for this well-written broadside?