| Upon one summer’s morning,
|
| I carelessly did stray,
|
| Down by the Walls of Wapping,
|
| Where I met a sailor gay,
|
| Conversing with a young lass,
|
| Who seem’d to be in pain,
|
| Saying, William, when you go,
|
| I fear you will ne’er return again.
|
| My heart is pierced by Cupid,
|
| I disdain all glittering gold,
|
| There is nothing can console me
|
| But my jolly sailor bold.
|
| His hair it hangs in ringlets,
|
| His eyes as black as cole,
|
| May happiness attend him wherever he M
|
| may go,
|
| From Tower Hill to Blackwall,
|
| I will wander, weep and moan,
|
| All for my jolly sailor,
|
| Until he sails home.
|
| My heart is pierced by Cupid,
|
| I disdain all glittering gold,
|
| There is nothing can console me
|
| But my jolly sailor bold.
|
| My father is a merchant—
|
| The truth I now will tell,
|
| And in great London City
|
| In opulence doth dwell,
|
| His fortune doth exceed
|
| ₤300, 000 gold,
|
| And he frowns upon his daughter,
|
| Who loves a sailor bold.
|
| A fig for his riches,
|
| Jis merchandize, and gold,
|
| True love is grafted in my heart;
|
| Give me my sailor bold:
|
| My heart is pierced by Cupid,
|
| I disdain all glittering gold,
|
| There is nothing can console me
|
| But my jolly sailor bold.
|
| Should he return in poverty,
|
| From o’er the ocean far,
|
| To my tender bosom,
|
| I’ll press my jolly tar.
|
| My sailor is as smiling
|
| As the pleasant month of May,
|
| And often we have wandered
|
| through Ratcliffe Highway,
|
| Many a pretty blooming
|
| Young girl we did behold
|
| Reclining on the bosom
|
| Of her jolly sailor bold.
|
| My heart is pierced by Cupid,
|
| I disdain all glittering gold,
|
| There is nothing can console me
|
| But my jolly sailor bold.
|
| My name it is Maria,
|
| A merchant’s daughter fair,
|
| And I have left my parents
|
| And three thousand pounds a year,
|
| Come all you pretty fair maids,
|
| Whoever you may be
|
| Who love a jolly sailor
|
| That ploughs the raging sea,
|
| While up aloft, in storm,
|
| From me his absence mourn,
|
| And firmly pray, arrive the day,
|
| he’s never more to roam.
|
| My heart is pierced by Cupid,
|
| I disdain all glittering gold,
|
| There is nothing can console me
|
| But my jolly sailor bold.
|
| My heart is pierced by Cupid,
|
| I disdain all glittering gold,
|
| There is nothing can console me
|
| But my jolly sailor bold. |