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THE
ROCHESTER LASS.
IN Rochester City a young damsel did
dwell,
For wit and for beauty none could her
excel,
Admired she was and had many a suitor.
But one youth above all he loved her
full well,
This charming young lad he was a brisk
sailor,
Long time had he been ploughing the
watery main,
The enemy insulted the British flag royal,
He was summoned to go with them again
This jolly young sailor as true as reported,
Had but a very few weeks on the shore,
But has he and his true love together
were walking
By a large press he from her was tore,
They cried we perceive you are a young
sailor
That's fit to fight for your country and
King,
And we want sailors you must plough the
ocean,
No excuse we will have you must face
the bold.
It was early one morning as the day was
dawning,
This blooming young fair one a letter
receiv'd
'Twas to inform her the ship had weigh'd
anchor,
With grief and vexation this fair one
was grieved,
She said O the waves they do prove cruel,
They robbed me of one I esteemed so
dear,
My mind is tormented with grief and
vexation,
While from her bright eye fell many a
tear,
It was wrote in these words love don't be
surprised,
Once more I'm compell'd to plough the
rough sea,
But nevertheless my dear girl don't be
greived,
To you and you only constant I'll be,
Though many a fair one I shall see there's
no doubt on't
When our ship is in port or the harbour
she lays.
No one shall induce me to think of another
While I am away I hope in return you
will do so by me.
So adieu my dear Sally till next time I see
you,
Our ship's bound to India all with a
free gale,
Quite early tomorrow the day is appointed
All hands must prepare to go and not
fail,
So heavens protect you until next
meeting,
Which I hope will soon be when the
wars may be o'er,
And then my dear Sally we will be united
in sweet harmony,
And lead our lives happy when secure
on the shore.
Gaily the Troubadour
TOUCHED HIS GUITAR.
GAILY the Troubadour touch'd his guitar,
As he was hasteaing home from the war ;
Singing, From Palestine hither I come,
Lady love, lady love, welcome me home.
She for the troubadour hoplesaly wept ;
Sadly she thought of him while cabers slept,
Singing in search of thee, would I might roam,
Troubadour, Troubadour, come to thy home.
Hark ! 'twas the troubadour breathing her name,
And from the battlements softly he came,
Singing, From Palestine hither I come,
Lady love, lady love, welcome me home !
Henson, Printer, &c., Lower End of Bridge
Street, Northampton.