Ah! you lubberly landsmen don't know when you're well;

  Hadst thou known half the hardships of which I can tell!

  The sailor has no place of safety in store—

  From the tempest at sea, to the press-gang on shore!

  When Roguery rules all the rest of the earth,

  God be thanked in this corner I've got a good birth.

  Talk of hardships! what these are the sailor don't know!

  'Tis the soldier my friend that's acquainted with woe,

  Long journeys, short halting, hard work and small pay,

  To be popt at like pidgeons for sixpence a day!—

  Thank God! I'm safe quarter'd at Botany Bay.