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      The Wooden Walls

       of Old England

IN the model I'm bringing before ye,
If here you'll be taking a trip ;
I'll juſt ſhew you Britian's own glory
Made out in the ſhape of a ſhip.
'Tis the thing that preſerves all our treaſure,
Makes all our oppoſers afraid,
Brings riches and honours, and pleaſure,
And ſwimmingly carries on trade.
                         Wid my ſmalliloo, &c.

The lad who firſt ſet them a going,
Deſerv'd all the world for his pains,
His ſtomach wid ſenſe it was flowing,
His hat cover'd plenty of brains.
For before theſe ſame ſhips were invented,
The water was all at a ſtand,
And iſlands at ſea were contented
To viſit each other by land.
                         Wid my ſmalliloo, ctc.

When England began to be building,
And likewiſe dear Ireland alſo,
Such pitching and painting and gilding,
No mortal ſure never did know.
By my foul, it made great alteration,
To ſee the folks how they did fail
Upon ſhips between each of the nations,
I'm told it quite knock'd up the mail.
                         Wid my ſmalliloo, &c.

Then the Frenchmen, the devil receive 'em,
Built ſhips, rafts, and flat-bottom'd boats,
And ſwore tho' no foul would believe 'em,
They'd come and be cutting our throats.
Howe, Duncan, St. Vincent, and Nelſon,
Went over to quiet the fuſs,
And convinc'd the Mounſeers pretty well ſoon,
They were only a building for us.
                         Wid my ſmalliloo, &c.

                        Shelmerdines, printers.