Ah, were we judged by what we might have been, "H Sydney Dobell. HOW'S MY BOY? O, Sailor of the sea! How's my boy-my boy?" "What's your boy's name, good wife, "My boy John— He that went to sea What care I for the ship, sailor? My boy's my boy to me. "You come back from sea, And not know my John? I might as well have asked some landsman Yonder down in the town. There's not an ass in all the parish But he knows my John. "How's my boy-my boy? I'll swear you are no sailor, Brass buttons or no, sailor, Anchor and crown or no! Sure his ship was the 'Jolly Briton" ". 66 Speak low, woman, speak low!" "And why should I speak low, sailor, I'd sing him over the town! "How's my boy-my boy? Be she afloat or be she aground, I say, how's my John?" "Every man on board went down, Every man aboard her.” "How's my boy—my boy? What care I for the men, sailor? I'm not their mother How's my boy-my boy? Tell me of him, and no other! TOMMY'S DEAD. OU may give over plough, boys, YOU You may take the gear to the stead, All the sweat o' your brow, boys, Will never get beer and bread. The seed's waste, I know, boys, There's not a blade will grow, boys, "Tis cropped out, I trow, boys, And Tommy's dead! Send the colt to fair, boys,, He's going blind, as I said— Neither white nor red; There's no sign of grass, boys, You may sell the goat and the ass, boys, The land's not what it was, boys, And the beasts must be fed; You may turn Peg away, boys, Move my chair on the floor, boys, Let me turn my head: She's standing there in the door, boys, Your sister Winifred! Take her away from me, boys, Your sister Winifred! Move me round in my place, boys, Take her away from me, boys, As she lay on her death-bed- As she lay on her death-bed! And the lily as pale as she, boys, There's something not right, boys, The ground is cold to my tread; The sky is shrivelled and shred; And the eyes of a dead man's head! There's nothing but cinders and sand, The rat and the mouse have fed, And the summer's empty and cold; Over valley and wold, Wherever I turn my head, There's a mildew and a mould, And Tommy's dead. What am I staying for, boys? Since wife and I were wed; She was always sweet, boys, She knew she'd never see't, boys, I've been sitting up alone, boys, Put the shutters up, boys, Bring out the beer and bread; Make haste and sup, boys, For my eyes are heavy as lead: There's something wrong i' the cup, boys, There's something ill wi' the bread; I don't care to sup, boys, And Tommy's dead. I'm not right, I doubt, boys, I've such a sleepy head; I shall never more be stout, boys, |