My Jolly Sailor Bold

Upon one summer’s morning, I carefully 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’ll 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 coals,
May happiness attend him wherever he may go,
From Tower Hill to Blackwall, I’ll wander, weep and moan,
All for my jolly sailor, until he sails home.

My father is a merchant—the truth I now will tell,
And in great London City in opulence doth dwell,
His fortune doth exceed three hundred thousand gold
And he frowns upon his daughter, who loves a sailor bold.
A fig for his riches, his merchandise, and gold,
True love has grabbed at my heart; give me my sailor bold.

Should he return in pov’rty, 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,
Where many a pretty blooming young girl we did behold,
Reclining on the bosom of her 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.