SONGS AND BALLADS (continued 3)

I sing ye a ballad as round me ye stand, Which is for the honour of Old England: Old England, Old England; Which is for the honour of Old England. In the month of May, the year ninety-two, The Englishman did his old valour show: Old England, Old England, etc. We sent out our scouts the foe to descry When Cape de Hague we were sailing by Old England, etc. This was a good omen, we now understand, And Lewis hates Hague by sea or by land: Old England, etc. But in our Channel the battel was fought, And so the French fleet in a net was caught, Net was caught, net was caught; And so the French fleet in a net was caught. Yet Monsieur, expecting that all was his own, On Admirall Russell did boldly bear down: Old England, etc. He gave a broad-side, which was kindly took, And then the Britannia in thunder spoke, Thunder spoke, thunder spoke, And then the ‘Britannia’ in thunder spoke. Till in musquet shot she fires no gun, In compliment then salutes the French Sun, Old England, etc. And warms her sides so that for all her might She fairly tows off, and bids us good night: Old England, etc. Thus have we been taught in a tale or old song, French fury was never known to last long: Old England, etc. When Tourville had given the signal to flye, His squadrons, as ready, do westward, ho! ply: Old England, etc. Some of his lame geese, not able to bear Their heads above water, to the bottom they steer: Old England, etc. The rest we pursue in their stragling flight, And chase the poltrons most part of the night: Old England, Old England, And hey! for the honour of Old England. The next morning was foggy; but when it grew clear The chase was renew’d, and so was their fear: Old England, etc. We made all our sail, and gave ’em no rest. From point to point drove ’em, from west to east: Old England, etc. Those coursers, so brisk at the starting-place, Run heavily now through Alderney Race: Old England, etc. Into Cherburgh Bay three tall ones did run, Where a northern blaze burns up the south Sun: Old England, etc. ’Twas Heath did this feat; and Greenway another, For the Conquerant fell, in flames and in smother: Old England, etc. And Fowlis was daring, though he miss’d his prey; He flew at the Sun, but stoopt by the way: Old England, etc. But now we are making for Bay Le Hogue, Where on land, they say, are many a brogue: Old England, etc. These doughty wights, those true Irish Teagues Won’t let us come near ’em by several leagues: Old England, etc. Such gallant alliance the French much imports; They’ll save their friends’ ships, as they did their own forts: Old England, etc. But manning our boats, those wise ones we cozen, And burn in this bay thirteen to the dozen: Old England, etc. This action’s far greater than that of Lepanto, And merits alone a whole noble canto: Old England, etc. For, like the old Britains, our men did assail ’em In open boats, and naked we quail ’em: Old England, etc. We storm’d their fore-castles, their decks we did scale, And with their own canon we made ’em turn tale: Old England, etc. Earl Danby commanded the headmost boat, Which was in a moment from under him shot: Old England, etc. Then a musquet ball does graze on his shin, But still he goes on, more honour to win: Old England, etc. Not a captain was here but toss’d up his brands; The seamen were furies, with flames in their hands: Old England, etc. What bonfires we made on our Norman coast! Where William the Conqueror rules the roast: Rules the roast, rules the roast; Where William the Conqueror rules the roast. But now in all pomps, where great men appear, The post of honour is still in the reer: Old England, etc. Brave Russel can never enough be prais’d; Such trophies are owing as never were rais’d: Old England, etc. To his courage and conduct great honours are due: To all of the flag; the Red, White, and Blew: Old England, etc. To Delaval, Almonde, Shovell, Ashby, Rook, Whose names are all writ in Fame’s lasting book: Old England, etc. To Carter, the bold! who never can die; He only i’th’ bed of honour does lie: Old England, etc. His story is great, for he comes not an ace Behind Withrington in Old Chevy Chace. Old England, etc. Nay, he is before him, for he fought on his stumps, With joy in his face and not doleful dumps: Old England, etc. Stout Hastings shall live; shall ever be famed, With all our commanders, too long to be named: Old England, etc. What need we say more? there is no occasion; This French does excell the Spanish invasion: Old England, etc. The downfall of Lewis le Grand is reckon’d So far above that of Philip the Second: Old England, etc. ’Twas in eight eight Queen Bess swept the main, In ninety-two Queen Mary the same: Old England, etc. Now all English lads not enter’d their teens Shall chant forth the praise of those Protestant Queens, Protestant Queens! Protestant Queens! Shall chant out the praise of those Protestant Queens. Our London merchants will now live at ease, May trade without convoys all over the seas: Old England, etc. The New-Castle men may bring in their coals; And never must Petres say Mass in Paul’s, Mass in Paul’s! Mass in Paul’s! And never must Petres say Mass in Paul’s.

Joyful tydings I bring; let us merrily sing Till we make the whole nation with triumph to ring; For an admiral, he, by his conduct at sea, Now has made the poor French-men to come by the lee. This is but the beginning of what we intend For to shew them before the brave summer does end. A detachment sent out bravely scour’d about Till they put a whole fleet of French ships to the rout; We were four or five sail, who to fight never fail, And the one carry’d fiery flames in her tail. This, etc. To these merchants of France we did fairly advance; So good was our fortunate, prosperous chance That we put them in fear: to the shore they did steer, While we follow’d with thundering shot in the reer. This, etc. Some was sailing for Brest and St. Malo’s, we guest, To fair Dunkirk with stores and provision the rest; But their voyage we stay’d and fierce havock we made, While our thundering cannons against them we play’d. This, etc. Quoth the frighted Mounsieur, ‘To de shore let us steer, Here is coming five sail of de proud Englateer; Now, begar, let us run from de noise of deir gun, Or dey’ll serve us as dey did our dear Rising Sun.’ Yet this is but a taste, boys, of what we intend For to give them before the brave summer does end. As they fled in disgrace still we mended our pace, And, like true sons of thunder, we follow’d the chase, Where in harbour near shore thirty-eight sail or more We did set all on fire; in flames they did roar. This, etc. When our project did take, such a flame it did make, Just as if the seas had been a fiery lake; All their charges and cost of their cargo were lost: Now was ever poor French-men so plaguely crost? This, etc. It was on the tenth day of this sweet month of May When the valiant bold Britains did shew them this play, And we make no great doubt, e’er the summer is out, For to give them a sharp and more vigorous rout. This, etc. Boys, the work we’ll compleat with a most royal fleet, For we valiant tarpollins do scorn to retreat; Not a French-man we’ll spare; let them come if they dare On the ocean, brave Russel will fight with them fair. This is but a beginning of what he intends For to shew them before the brave summer it ends.

All you that will be England’s friends, be you rich or be you poor, Give ear to me and I’ll relate what happened in ninety-four. ’Twas in the month of December—mark well but what I say— The Plymouth, with five frigates more, set sail out of Cales Bay. Brave Killeygrove was commodore, bound up into the Streights, Where he lost his life with many more, and this was their hard fate. When we came off the Cape Boner, two ships we did espy, Which prov’d to be French men-of-war, and to us they drew nigh. They took us to be merchant-men, come down from the Levant, From Smyrna or from Scanderoon, from Venice or Mercant, Till bearing down before the wind, the truth of it to view, They took us to be men-of-war, and they found it to be true. O, then they tack’d, and we stood after, as fast as we could hie, But before it was full three o’clock to them we did draw nigh. O, then bespoke brave Killeygrove, to his men both brisk and free, ‘I make no doubt but in little time our prizes they will be.’ The French were not unwilling to fight, but to fire they did begin; Then we gave them a whole broadside, which made their ears to ring. We had not fir’d passing two broadsides, as I remember well, But there came an unlucky shot, by which brave Killeygrove fell. Then Raleigh was the second man that did take up the sword; And bravely he did manage it, as you may take my word. We had not been engaged there not past one glass or two, But that the Falmouth she came up, and she gave the last her due. Next came the little Adventure up, and her guns she fir’d so true She put Jack Frenchman to the rout, he knew not what to do. We being quite disabled, the Carlisle she made way After the biggest of the two, and she carry’d her the next day. But had our mast and tiller held, O! then they would have seen, Notwithstanding, for all the Carlisle, our prizes they should have been. But, to conclude, they were taken both, for all they were so bold, And soon after they were carried into Marseilles Mold.

Russel on the ocean, minding Tourville’s motion, Made them to run at the noise of our guns, And Toulon shall be their portion; The French must trot it home by land, Whilst Russel on the seas command. Sound the trumpet, beat the drum, while the French do run, Sound the trumpet, etc., sound, etc., while the French do run still before us. Now the spring’s a-coming, our English will be burning Your towns that be builded near the sea; You’ll find the sea-men booming; Then let your armies all advance, Yet we’ll lye on the coast of France, Sounding trumpets, beating drum, while the towns do burn, Sounding trumpets, etc., sounding trumpets, towns do burn unto ashes. The Turk and the barbarian, how the English fleet do scare ’em And make them to know, before they do go, That the French shall dread and fear ’em. Now, Monsieur, bring out all you can; We’ll fight you ship or man to man. Sound the trumpet, etc., sound, etc., man to man, we will fight ’em. Each brave English freeman will be a jolly seaman; With Russel we’ll go to fight the foe, For the honour of Old England. Let Tourville with his fleet then come; Some we’ll sink and some we’ll burn. Gun for gun we’ll give them too, while they cry, ‘Morbleu!’ Gun for gun, etc., gun, etc., while they cry, ‘We are routed!’ The Turks they are much grieved, altho’ they still believed That the French fleet could the English beat, But now they are deceived; In Toulon they all do sneak and hide, Whilst Russel in the Straights doth ride, Daring Tourville for to come, and bring out his fleet, Daring Tourville, etc., daring, etc., bring out his fleet, for to fight us. Since the French are frighted they by the world are slighted, For Russel the brave is resolved for to have The English nation righted; He cares not what the French can do, Since the Red squadron and the Blew Are full resolved for to be masters of the sea, Are full resolved for to be, are, etc., masters, etc., in spite of Monsieur.

As we was sailing on the main, Well laded with great store of gain, We was in danger to be ta’en: Five pirates ships appeared, Who sailed up with courage bold, As if they would not be contrould; But we brave noble hearts of gold Their courage never feared. We soon did understand their will, And therefore used our chiefest skill, Resolving there our blood to spill Rather than lose our Cæsar: We vow’d she should not be their prey, And therefore, boys, we show’d them play. It was upon the Sabbath day: No pirates could appease her. The master, flourishing his sword, Did comfort to us all afford, Both seamen, souldiers then on board, True courage to awaken; Then with one voice we all did cry, ‘We are resolved to make them fly, Or in the Cæsar we will dye, Rather than to be taken.’ Before the fight we this did do: Our bread into the sea we threw, To make room for the whole ship’s crew To fight and keep foes under: This truth can never be deny’d, We soon did quell their haughty pride By giving them a full broadside: Our cannons roar’d like thunder. Full five long hours there we fought, In the brave Cæsar, fierce and stout; At length we put them to the rout Who aimed at our treasure: We pour’d them in whole showers of lead, So that they tumbled down for dead And in the ocean made their bed, Where they may lie their leisure. Their admiral did want to be Aboard of Cæsar, this we see, That they might have rich plunder free, The thing which they delight in: But yet there was not one that dare To come on board of Cæsar there; They knew their lives we would not spare, So fierce we was for fighting. Good Fortune she our courage crown’d, Or else aboard on us they’d found The sum of fourscore thousand pound, Besides all other lading: Could they but once have seen us fall, Their booty then had not been small, Two hundred thousand pound in all; This would have spoil’d our trading. I hope we gave them all their due, Yet sav’d our coyn and cargo too. Believe me, this is perfect true, It is no feigned story: For though our foes were five to one, Yet we at last did make them run: And when we see our work was done To God we gave the glory, Who did indeed our rights maintain; For in this skirmish on the main Of us there was but one man slain, And seven others wounded: But those that sought our overthrow, They lost a many more, we know. Thus Providence did kindness show When we was so surrounded.

Come, all you brave boys, whose courage is bold, Will you venture with me? I’ll glut you with gold. Make haste unto Corona: a ship you will find, That’s called the Fancy, will pleasure your mind. Captain Every is in her, and calls her his own; He will box her about, boys, before he has done: French, Spaniard, and Portuguese, the heathen likewise, He has made a war with them until that he dies. Her model’s like wax, and she sails like the wind; She is rigg’d, and fitted, and curiously trimm’d, And all things convenient has for his design. God bless his poor Fancy, she’s bound for the mine. Farewel, fair Plimouth, and Cat-Down be damn’d: I once was part-owner of most of that land; But as I am disown’d, so I’ll abdicate My person from England to attend on my fate. Then away from this climate and temperate zone, To one that’s more torrid, you’ll hear I am gone With an hundred and fifty brave sparks of this age, Who are fully resolved their foes to engage. These northern parts are not thrifty for me; I’ll rise the Anterise, that some men shall see I am not afraid to let the world know That to the South Seas and to Persia I’ll go. Our names shall be blaz[on]ed and spread in the sky, And many brave places I hope to descry Where never a French man e’er yet has been, Nor any proud Dutchman can say he has seen. My commission is large, and I made it myself, And the capston shall stretch it full larger by half; It was dated in Corona, believe it, my friend, From the year ninety-three unto the world’s end. I honour St. George, and his colours I were, Good quarters I give, but no nation I spare; The world must assist me with what I do want; I’ll give them my bill when my money is scant. Now this I do say and solemnly swear: He that strikes to St. George the better shall fare But he that refuses shall suddenly spy Strange colours aboard of my Fancy to fly. Four chiviliges of gold in a bloody field, Environ’d with green, now this is my shield; Yet call out for quarter before you do see A bloody flag out, which is our decree. No quarters to give, no quarters to take; We save nothing living: alas! ’tis too late; For we are now sworn by the bread and the wine, More serious we are than any divine. Now this is the course I intend for to steer; My false-hearted nation, to you I declare I have done thee no wrong, thou must me forgive; The sword shall maintain me as long as I live.

Well may the world against us cry; for these our deeds most base, For which, alas! we now must dye, death looks us in the face, Which is no more than what’s our due, since we so wicked were, As here shall be declar’d to you. Let pyrates then take care. We with our comrades, not yet ta’en, together did agree, And stole a ship out from the Groyne, to roam upon the sea; With which we robb’d and plundered too, no ship that we did spare. Thus many a one we did undo. Let pyrats then take care. Our ship being well stored then for this our enterprise, One hundred and eighty men there was in her likewise: We pillag’d all we could come nigh, no nation we did spare, For which a shameful death we dye. Let pyrates then take care. We robb’d a ship upon the seas, the Gunsway call’d by name, Which we met near the East Indies, and rifled the same; In it was gold and silver store, of which all had a share; Each man 600 pounds and more. Let pirates then take care. Thus for some time we liv’d and reign’d as masters of the sea; Every merchant we detain’d and us’d most cruelly. The treasures took, we sunk the ship, and those that in it were That would not unto us submit. Let pirates then take care. Thus wickedly we every day liv’d upon others’ good, The which, alas! we must repay now with our dearest blood; For we on no one mercy took, nor any did we spare. How can we then for mercy look? Let pirates then take care. We thus did live most cruelly, and of no danger thought, But we at last, as you may see, are unto justice brought For outrages of villany, of which we guilty are, And now this very day must dye. Let pirates then take care. Now farewel to this wicked world, and our companions too; From hence we quickly shall be hurl’d to clear the way for you; For certainly if e’re you come to justice, as we are, Deserved death will be your doom. Then pirates all take care.

My name is Captain Kid, who has sail’ [who has sail’d], My name is Captain Kid, who has sail’d; My name is Captain Kid. What the laws did still forbid Unluckily I did while I sail’d [while I sailed, etc.]. Upon the ocean wide, when I sail’d, etc., Upon the ocean wide, when I sail’d, Upon the ocean wide I robbed on every side, With most ambitious pride, when I sail’d. My faults I will display while I sail’d, etc., My faults I will display while I sail’d; My faults I will display, Committed day by day [A line lost.] Many long leagues from shore when I sail’d, etc., Many long leagues from shore when I sail’d, Many long leagues from shore I murdered William More, And laid him in his gore, when I sail’d, Because a word he spoke when I sail’d, etc., Because a word he spoke when I sail’d, Because a word he spoke: I with a bucket broke His scull at one sad stroke, while I sail’d. I struck with a good will when I sail’d, etc., I struck with a good will when I sail’d; I struck with a good will, And did a gunner kill As being cruel still when I sail’d. A Quida merchant then while I sail’d, etc., A Quida merchant then while I sail’d, A Quida merchant then I robbed of hundreds ten, Assisted by my men, while I sailed. A banker’s ship of France, while I sailed, etc., A banker’s ship of France, while I sailed, A banker’s ship of France Before us did advance: I seized her by chance, while I sailed. Full fourteen ships I see when I sailed, etc., Full fourteen ships I see when I sailed; Full fourteen ships I see, Merchants of high degree; They were too hard for me when I sailed. We steered from sound to sound while we sailed, We steered from sound to sound while we sailed; We steered from sound to sound, A Moorish ship we found; Her men we stript and bound while we sailed. Upon the ocean seas while we sailed, etc., Upon the ocean seas while we sailed, Upon the ocean seas A warlike Portuguese In sport did us displease, while we sailed. At famous Malabar when we sailed, etc., At famous Malabar when we sailed, At famous Malabar We went ashore, each tar, And robbed the natives there, when we sailed. Then after this we chased, while we sailed, Then after this we chased, while we sailed, Then after this we chased A rich Armenian, graced With wealth, which we embraced, while we sailed. Many Moorish ships we took while we sailed, Many Moorish ships we took while we sailed, Many Moorish ships we took; We did still for plunder look; All conscience we forsook while we sailed. I, Captain Cullifoord, while I sailed, etc., I, Captain Cullifoord, while I sailed, I, Captain Cullifoord, Did many merchants board, Which did much wealth afford, while we sailed. Two hundred bars of gold, while we sail’d, etc., Two hundred bars of gold, while we sailed, Two hundred bars of gold And rix dollars manifold We seized uncontrolled, while we sailed. St. John, a ship of fame, when we sailed, etc., St. John, a ship of fame, when we sailed, St. John, a ship of fame, We plundered when she came, With more that I could name, when we sailed. We taken was at last, and must die, etc., We taken was at last, and must die; We taken were at last, And into prison cast: Now, sentence being past, we must die. Tho’ we have reigned awhile we must die, etc., Tho’ we have reigned awhile we must die; Tho’ we have reigned awhile, While fortune seemed to smile, Now on the British Isle we must die. Farewel the ocean main, we must die, etc., Farewel the ocean main, we must die; Farewel the ocean main: The coast of France or Spain We ne’er shall see again; we must die. From Newgate now in carts we must go, etc., [From Newgate now in carts we must goe;] From Newgate now in carts, With sad and heavy hearts, To have our due deserts we must go. Some thousands they will flock when we die, Some thousands they will flock when we die, Some thousands they will flock To Execution Dock, Where we must stand the shock and must die.

With Monmouth cap, and cutlace by my side, Striding at least a yard at every stride, I’m come to tell you, after much petition, The Admiralty has given me a commission: And now with Bully Tourville I’ll ingage, And try my fortune on a floating stage. What blustring tarr at this dares take offence, While I stand thus to prove my just pretence? Will he pretend to fight better than I? Ad’s death I’d tell him, ‘Damn you, sir, you lye,’ And then I’d ask him how they fought at Rye. Your Bantry business too was but a fetch, Where you call’d running, battering at a stretch; But you’ll reply your leaders were to blame, While I condemn you all to bear the shame. For who the Divel éer refus’d his meat Because another had no mind to eat? The Dutch were drunk, you barbarously say. Pray, next, do you be drunk too, so you stay, For ’twas your sober fighting lost the day. Old Albemarle wou’d say that men of war In navy stunk not half enough of tarr. Your o’ergrown pages and attorney’s clerks To fight and govern fleets are proper sparks. Then let the spruce land-pirats be content To swagger in their native element, And let tarpawlings rule by my consent: For things now look as if men took commission To damn all discipline and sow sedition, And fighting was the least of their ambition; No matter who comes home with broken bones, So you but come to touch the patacoons. The pitch of honour is desire of money; That paltry, coward vice has quite undone ye. You court preferment on no other score But to be poorly rich, or basely poor: For who would not propose a trip to Spain That has within his prospect double gain, To line his pockets, and to save his skin? For none must fight with merchants’ money in. Your heads run round with Mexico and Sevil; I wish this shipping plate was at the Devil. Wou’d the good King had but a just relation, What infamy, what sums ’t has cost the nation! He’d quickly damn your trade of importation, And add it to the Act of Navigation. ‘But how then shall we live?’ ye murm’rers say. ’S life! can’t you be content with double pay? Shew us your twofold merit, sirs, I pray. Some has got two commands by land and sea, While one might safely swear, might one be free, They’re neither flesh nor fish, nor good red herring, Those are your coll’nels, captains with a murrain. Boldly to those two elements y’aspire, But at an awful distance then you fire. A few there are, and they are very few, To whom a fairer character is due. Time was when captains went on there own errands, And in their pockets carried their press warrants; Now you imploy the villains of the fleet, While you date from the Downs in Bedford Street. But times are alter’d; ’tis not now as then, For now you press the money, spare the men. Those plain, dull fellows no such secrets found To make press warrants worth a hundred pound. It is our fate, our frailty, or disease, To trust our honour in such hands as these: Raw in their trade, their principles not right, With hearts too tender, and with heads too light, Too weak for council, and too nice to fight. Their bodies are not made of battering-stuff, Their cracknel carcasses not splinter-proof; And yet will fairly tell a sailor’s tale, But must attempt it in a coat of mail. Some swaggering bully snaps me short, and swears, ‘Damn me, these fellows wou’d be kick’d downstairs!’ Sir, by your leave, do you but fight at sea, And then kick down the Monument for me. The Parliament may plague us with taxation, But till they cure the grievance of the nation, Monsieur will make the narrow seas his station. Then what becomes of all our ancient rule, Our right from Edgar, and command from Thule? Believe me, sirs, it will be then confest, Your flag a dishclout, and your claim a jest. The hardy duke we mention’d, whose great name Stretch’d the blown cheeks of trumpet-sounding fame, Once boldly try’d what English men could do; But such examples who dare now pursue? A four daies’ fight he gloriously maintain’d, And what he lost in blood in honour gain’d; To keep that spotless he the ocean stain’d. Each day he tack’d, and fought from sun to sun, Against the odds at least of two for one; Had ye been there, sirs, what wou’d ye have done? He ne’er stood—‘Shall I, shall I keep a loof?’— But fought as if his skin was cannon-proof; Then all that can be said to do you right, You’ll keep a wind as long as he did fight.

Thus our new Government does subjects serve, And leaves them this sad choice: to hang or starve.

Good people, do but lend an ear, And a sad story you shall hear— A sadder you never heard— Of due desert and base reward, Which will our English subjects fright For our new Government to fight. Our seamen are the onely men That o’er the French did vict’ry gain; They kept the foe from landing here, Which would have cost the Court full dear; And when they for their pay did hope They were rewarded with a rope. The roaring canon they ne’er fear’d, Their lives and bloud they never spar’d; Through fire and flame their courage flew, No bullets could their hearts subdue. Had they in fight but flincht at all King James had now been in Whitehall. Thus England, and our new King too, Their safety to their valour owe; Nay, some did ’gainst their conscience fight To do some great ones too much right; And now, oh, barbarous tyranny! Like men they fought, like dogs they dye. Thousands of them their lives did lose In fighting stoutly with their foes, And thousands were so maim’d in fight That ’twas a sad and piteous sight; And when they hop’d their pay to gain They have their labour for their pain. Their starving families at home Expected their slow pay would come; But our proud Court meant no such thing, Not one groat must they have till spring; To starve all summer would not do, They must still starve all winter too. It might a little ease their grief, And give their mis’ry some relief, Might they in trade ships outward go, But that poor boon’s denied them too, Which is as much as plain to say, You shall earn nothing, nor have pay. Their poor wives with care languished, Their children cried for want of bread, Their debts encreast, and none would more Lend them, or let them run o’th’ score. In such a case what could they doe But ask those who money did owe? Therefore some, bolder than the rest, The officers for their own request; They call’d ’em rogues, and said nothing Was due to them untill the spring: The King had none for them, they said Their betters, they must first be paid. The honest seamen then replied They could no longer want abide, And that nine hundred thousand pound Was giv’n last year to pay them round: Their money they had earnt full dear And could not stay another half-year. A council then they streight did call Of pick-thanks made to please Whitehall, And there they were adjudg’d to dye; But no man knows wherefore, nor why. What times are these! Was’t ever known ’Twas death for men to ask their own? Yet some seem’d milder than the rest, And told them that, their fault confest, And pardon askt and humbly crav’d, Their lives perhaps might then be sav’d; But they their cause scorn’d to betray Or own’t a crime to ask their pay. Thus they the seamen’s martyrs dyed, And would not yield to unjust pride; Their lives they rather would lay down Than yield it sin to ask their own. Thus they for justice spent their blood To do all future seamen good. Wherefore let seamen all and some Keep the days of their martyrdom, And bear in mind these dismal times, When true men suffer for false crimes; England ne’er knew the like till now, Nor e’er again the like will know. But now suppose they had done ill, In asking pay too roughly, still When ’twas their due and need so prest, They might have pardon found at least; The King and Queen some mercifull call, But seamen find it not at all. To robbers, thieves, and felons they Freely grant pardons ev’ry day; Only poor seamen, who alone Do keep them on their father’s throne, Must have at all no mercy shown: Nay, tho’ there wants fault, they’l find one. Where is the subjects’ liberty? And eke where is their property? We’re forc’d to fight for nought, like slaves, And though we do we’re hang’d like knaves. This is not like Old England’s ways: ‘New lords, new laws,’ the proverb says. Besides the seamen’s pay, that’s spent, The King for stores, ships, and what’s lent, Does owe seven millions at the least, And ev’ry year his debt’s encreast; So that we may despair that we One quarter of our pay shall see. Foreigners and confederates Get poor men’s pay, rich men’s estates; Brave England does to ruine run, And Englishmen must be undone. If this trade last but one half-year Our wealth and strength is spent, I fear. God bless our noble Parliament, And give them the whole government, That they may see we’re worse than ever, And us from lawless rule deliver; For England’s sinking, unless they Do take the helm, and better sway.

You pretty maids of Greenwich, of high and low degree, Pray never fix your fancys on men that go to sea; The seamen’s wives lead careful lives when at the very best, For, in my mind, in stormy wind they can take but little rest. Besides the many dangers that are upon the seas, When they are on the shore they will ramble where they please; For up and down in sea-port town they court both old and young: They will deceive; do not believe the sailor’s flattering tongue. I give you this advice now, as you may understand, It being at the time when seamen come to land, For up and down in Greenwich town the seamen they do trade, And he doth boast that spends the most; oh! he’s a jolly blade. They likewise treat their sweet-hearts when they are on the shore, But when they are gone perhaps you may never see them more; To-day they wed, at night they bed, to-morrow go to sea: Therefore I say, as well I may, a landman still for me. The seamen they are gone to sea, and leave there wives at home, To take what care they can; for there parts they’l take none; They tell their friends they do depend upon their husbands’ pay, And run in debt, while they expect their money every day. Suppose you have a sailor, that sails before the mast; If he’s the best of husbands his breath is but a blast: The roaring waves their wills will have—there’s no man can withstand— And he may sleep in the ocean deep whilst you are on the land. Suppose you have a captain, a person of great fame; Yet still there is great danger in sailing on the main. The fates unkind in stormy wind may lay his honour low, And then his wife, with careful life, laments his overthrow. Give me an honest tradesman, of high or low degree; I’ll never fix my fancy on a man that goes to sea. A tradesman’s wife’s a happy life, if he’s an honest man: He’ll take a share in all the care; deny it if you can.

You writ that we drank liquor free, but for your writing so You are to blame—nay, blush for shame—since it was nothing so. To the Tune of O so ungrateful a creature. Why does the poets abuse us, we that are seamen’s poor wives? Have they not cause to excuse us, knowing our sorrowful lives? We are, alas! broken-hearted, as we can very well prove, When from our joys we are parted, those loyal husbands we love. You that declare we are jolly do but abuse us, we find, For we are most melancholly, always tormented in mind: While that our husbands are sailing on the tempestuous seas Here we are sighing, bewailing; nothing affordeth us ease. Here you have newly reported that we are girls of the game, Who do delight to be courted. Are you not highly to blame, Saying we often are merry, punch is the liquor we praise, Though we are known to be weary of these our sorrowful days? How could you say there was many wives that did drink, rant, and sing, When I protest there’s not any of us that practice this thing? Are we not forced to borrow, being left here without chink? ’Tis in a cup of cold sorrow if we so often do drink. Tho’ we have little to nourish us while our husbands are there, Merchants in London they flourish through their industrious care. They are the stay of the nation, men of undaunted renown; Why should a false accusation run the poor seamen’s wives down, Saying we swallow’d our liquor with a great gossipping crew, Making our tongues to run quicker then they had reason to do? Thus they would blast all our glory by the soft wits of their brains. He that invented that story was but a fool for his pains. We are so far from such pleasure, making of jolly punch-bowls, That we lament out of measure, every woman condoles; When she in bed should lye sleeping, if the high winds they do roar, There she in sorrow is weeping, fearing to see him no more. They are to dangers exposed, as we may very well guess. How can our eye-lids be closed in such a time of distress? You that are free from that [terror], having your husbands secure, Little consider the horror that we do dayly endure. Tho’ there is joy in our meeting when they come safe from the main, Yet ’tis a sorrowful greeting when we are parted again: Landmen in a full fruition feeds on the fat of the land; This is a happy condition, having all things at command. Tho’ we have not such a plenty, yet I can very well prove That there is not one in twenty but who her husband doth love: You that have caus’d those distractions, writing a story not true, May be asham’d of your actions, and thus I bid you adieu.

Molly. You’re welcome, my Billy, to the English shore; I hope you’ll not cross the rough seas any more. Many a day too, and many a night, My heart grieved sore ’cause you were out of sight; But now, to my comfort, I see you again. Oh, never, dear Billy, Oh, never, dear Billy, Sail more on the main. Billy. Dear Molly, said Billy, the joy of my heart, Daily I thought of you since we did part; And when the roaring waves mounting high they did move, In the greatest danger I thought on my love. The billows did foam, and the rocks they were nigh, Yet nothing but death, yet nothing but death Shall my love part and I. Molly. I thank thee, my dear, for thy firm love to me In the midst of thy dangers upon the rough sea; Each night in my bed still as down I was lain I dreamed of shipwracks upon the salt main; But now I do find from these dangers I’m free, Since him that I love, since him that I love Is come safe unto me. Billy. Indeed, my dear Molly, the Powers above Preserv’d me from dangers for thy tender love, For I have been where thundering cannons did roar, Their bullets like footballs flying from the shoar; The danger of tempest and cannon balls too I have undergone, I have undergone For the sake, love, of you. Molly. My dearest, it’s true, for the fault is in me, For thou wouldst have wed, but I said, ‘Go to sea.’ But when thou wert gone how my heart was opprest! I scarce had a minute of pleasure and rest, For by day all my fear was of danger to thee, And by night I did dream, and by night I did dream Still of storms on the sea. Billy. My dear, thou dreamst right, for e’re we got home For several days we had storm after storm. We lost all our masts and our tackle to boot, In tempestuous nights on the ocean did float. But, thanks unto Heaven, we had no men lost, And the brave Royal Sov’rain, the brave Royal Sov’rain Come safe to our coast. Molly. Oh my dear precious, my Billy, my joy, There’s nothing my happiness now can destroy; For since thou art [safe] from all cannon and storms Thy person to me has a million of charms. Oh, stay then on shore; never venture again Upon the rough seas, upon the rough seas, But with me, love, remain. Billy. Thy love unto me now is dearer than life, And happie am I since thou wilt be my wife, And while I’m on shore still with thee I will stay, Imbracing thy charms, love, by night and by day, Till our admiral doth sail with the fleet on the main; Yet kind Providence, I hope, yet kind Providence, I hope, Brings me safe back again.

Oh, we sail’d to Virginia, and thence to Fayal, Where we water’d our shipping, and then we weigh’d all. Full in view on the seas, boys, seven sails we did espy; Oh, we manned our capstan and weigh’d speedily. The first we came up with was a brigantine sloop, And we ask’d if the others were as big as they look’d; But turning to windward as near as we could lie, We found there were ten men-of-war cruizing by. Oh! we drew up our squadron in very nice line, And boldly we fought them for full four hours’ time; But the day being spent, boys, and the night coming on, We let them alone till the very next morn. The very next morn the engagement prov’d hot, And brave Admiral Benbow receiv’d a chain shot; And when he was wounded to his merry men he did say, ‘Take me up in your arms, boys, and carry me away.’ Oh! the guns they did rattle, and the bullets did fly, But Admiral Benbow for help would not cry. ‘Take me down to the cockpit; there is ease for my smarts. If my merry men see me it will sure break their hearts.’ Our brave Captain Crosbie proved coward at last, For he stood at bo-peep behind the main mast; He stood at bo-peep and did quiver and shake For fear that those French dogs his dear life should take. The very next morning, by break of the day, They hoisted their top sails and so bore away; We bore to Port Royal, where the people flocked much To see Admiral Benbow carried to Kingston Church. Come, all you brave fellows, wherever you’ve been, Let us drink to the health of our King and our Queen; And another good health to the girls that we know, And a third in remembrance of brave Admiral Benbow.

Come, all ye seamen bold, lend an ear, lend an ear, Come, all ye seamen bold, lend an ear: ’Tis of our admiral’s fame, Brave Benbow called by name, How he fought on the main you shall hear, you shall hear, How he fought on the main you shall hear. Brave Benbow he set sail for to fight, for to fight, Brave Benbow he set sail for to fight; Brave Benbow he set sail With a sweet and pleasant gale; But his captains they turned tail in a fright, in a fright, But his captains, etc. Says Kirby unto Wade, ‘I will run, I will run,’ Says Kirby unto Wade, ‘I will run. I value not disgrace, Nor the losing of my place; For my enemies I’ll not face with a gun, with a gun, For my enemies,’ etc. ’Twas the Ruby and Noah’s Ark fought the French, fought the French, ’Twas the Ruby and Noah’s Ark fought the French; For there was ten in all, Poor souls, they fought them all; They valued them not at all, would not flinch, would not flinch, They valued them, etc. Hard fortune that it was, by chain shot, by chain shot, Hard fortune that it was, by chain shot, Our admiral lost his leg, And of his men did beg, ‘Fight on, my British boys; ’tis my lot, ’tis my lot; Fight on,’ etc. While the surgeon dressed his wounds thus he said, thus he said, While the surgeon dressed his wounds thus he said: ‘Let my cradle now in haste On the quarter-deck be placed, That mine enemies I may face till I’m dead, till I’m dead, That mine enemies,’ etc. And there bold Benbow lay, crying, ‘Boys,’ crying, ‘Boys,’ And there bold Benbow lay, crying, ‘Boys,’ ‘Let us tack about once more; We’ll drive them all on shore: I value not a score, nor their noise, nor their noise, I value not a score,’ etc. [Unsupported thus he fought, nor would run, nor would run, Unsupported thus he fought, nor would run Till his ship was a mere wreck, And no man would him back, For the others would not slack to fire a gun, fire a gun, For the others, etc. For Jamaica then at last he set sail, he set sail, For Jamaica then at last he set sail, Where Wentworth he did try, And those cowards that did fly And from the French in fright turned tail, turned tail, And from the French, etc. And those found most to blame, they were shot, they were shot, And those found most to blame, they were shot; Brave Benbow then at last, For grief of what was past, In a fever died at last, by hard lot, by hard lot, In a fever, etc.]

Muse will have her song; hark! she merrily sings, The praise of a Queen that has beaten two Kings: Of Ormond and Rook too, and how they fell on, And flat as a flounder laid Monsieur and Don. Bright Eugene and Marlborough shou’d live in our rime, And other brave heroes too, had we but time: But heroes excuse us, for now Muse and I go, To raise to the stars the dead-doers at Vigo. You Monsieurs and Dons, if with losses you meet, Yet don’t be discourag’d, we’ll pay off your fleet. Cries a hawk from the wing, the eagle-ey’d Hardy, Game! game! royal game! we shall take ’em all tardy: In Vigo they ride, men of war, galleons, The might of the Monsieurs and pride of the Dons: Lead on, great commander, sink, burn, take the Plate; ’Twill all be our own, if we don’t come too late. We’ll brisk up old England with fame and with plunder: We’ll win’t, tho’ we charge thoro’ lightning and thunder. You Monsieurs and Dons, if with losses you meet, Yet don’t be discourag’d, we’ll pay off your fleet. Sir George sends the news to the stout Hogen Mogen, Then squadrons we join without any proroguing: Soon Vigo we reach, where a deodand cloak, A cloke sent from heaven, wraps us and our oak. Unseen we consult, and resolve to break in, But not with our first rates, least the brine be too thin: On the thirds high in view, are the first rate commanders, This rums the brisk seamen, and brandys the landers: You Monsieurs and Dons, if with losses you meet, Yet don’t be discourag’d, we’ll pay off your fleet. My dear Baladina, let’s stop and take breath: One glass and no more then; for halting is death. Here’s a health to the Queen. I’ll pledg’t; one had said, Sir, speech up your men that they may’nt be afraid. Afraid? And a speech? says a sailor there by, Sir, you slander the fleet, and your country bely. Let cowards be speecht, that spur is here vain; The English need rather the curb and the rein. You Monsieurs and Dons, if with losses you meet, Yet don’t be discourag’d, we’ll pay off your fleet. The Second Part. Great Ormond first lands with his jolly marines, Then fit to serve Anna the greatest of Queens: In order they march, two thousand and all, All handsom young men, all lusty and tall. Of the Dons and their guns they do but make sport, Defy their whole army, and ravish their fort: They had blockt up their port with mast, cable, and chain, But Hobson soon taught ’em ’twas labour in vain. You Monsieurs and Dons, if with losses you meet, Yet don’t be discourag’d, we’ll pay off your fleet. Your boom is now cut, and your fort is now taken, And now, rogues, where are you? Now where is your bacon? Your Shaterino, we shall make him to skip; But, scorning to yield her, he burns his tall ship: ’Twas a forest alone, ’twas a new Rising Sun, But alas! this must set, as the former had done. Surviving confounders against us still roar, Excuse them this once and they’ll do so no more. You Monsieurs and Dons, tho’ with losses you meet, Yet don’t be dismay’d, we have paid off your fleet. Now after work, wages, we’ll laugh and relate, O, what a rich cordial is plunder and plate! Both Monsieurs and Dons had been many moons rigging And thousands of hands many years had been digging: But (O, ’tis to them a sad tale to be told!) For us ’twas they rigg’d, and digg’d silver and gold. The dreadful now quake, and the poor galleons Surrender rich cargo to tars and dragoons. But what is’t to us if with losses they meet? If we had their money, we paid off their fleet. O, Britain, be thankful for such a good Queen! The like since great El’zabeth never was seen: Be thankful for statesmen who don’t rob and starve us; For sea and land worthies that fight to preserve us: Be thankful for Ormond, the Churchills, and Rook; But yet, let me tell you, God never will brook Your cursing and swearing, your lying and cheating; These winds are contrary, they’ll hinder defeating. Let Lewis repent too; for what can he gain, Who looses his soul for the kingdoms of Spain.

Who does not extol our conquest marine? Courage and conduct, Rook and Tolouse, ’Twas the sharpest engagement that ever was seen. Courage, etc. An action so glorious was never yet known, Courage, etc., Where no ship was taken, and no trophy won. Courage, etc. ’Tis plain that the French by Sir George were out-shot. Courage, etc. They only th’ advantage, we victory got. Courage, etc. Their fleet a whole day we did terribly maul, Courage, etc., And pursued them two more without pouder or ball. Courage, etc. The flag-man that madly the close fight began, Courage, etc., Had lost all his squadron and not sav’d a man, Courage, etc., Had not the cool admiral, to prudence inclin’d, Courage, etc., The distance maintain’d in spight of the wind. Courage, etc. We conquer’d the French, but had they been beat, Courage, etc., Our conquest, tho’ glorious, had been more compleat Courage, etc. If our hero aboard no laurels has got, Courage, etc., Yet he triumphs at home and is victor by vote. Courage, etc.

As brave Sir Rooke Tholouse did beat, So brave Tholouse beat him; But whensoe’er they meet again George will his jacquet trim. They both did fight, they both did beat, They both did run away; They both did strive to meet again The quite contrary way.

I am in a consternation at my now approaching death; It’s my woful lamentation e’re I do resign my breath I shall write this fatal morning, which I mean to leave behind. Let my ruine be a warning evermore to all mankind. Often have I sail’d the ocean, with a proud, aspiring heart, Aiming still at high promotion, far above my due desert. Having lost my first commission, I cou’d not be satisfy’d Till the steps of grand ambition led me to the fall of pride. Wholesome laws and human reason could not guide nor govern me: Therefore did I practice treason—nay, unto a high degree. In the Nightingale I sailed, and oppos’d our gracious Queen; Law has over me prevailed; justice now steps in between Me and all those flights of honour which I eagerly persu’d, Fighting under the French banner; but this day I must conclude My sad life, with tears of sorrow, which I in abundance shed. I can bid my griefs good morrow, but my joys are from me fled. Had I been but true and loyal to her present Majestie, Then I had never stood the tryal or by lawes been doom’d to dye; But I suffer as a traytor ’gainst the Queen and Government; Sure there cannot be a greater grief to make the heart relent. O, that ship which I purloined was the Nightingale by name, In the which I once designed to have purchas’d lasting fame: But by chance she was retaken, for indeed we could not fly. Now of friends I am forsaken, since my death is drawing nigh. When I pass along the city towards Execution Dock I shall meet with little pity, every one at me will mock: On me they will cast reflections, which will cause much discontent; Let this quail the fond affections of the proud and insolent. Farewell to the joy and pleasure which I formerly have had: Now my griefs are out of measure, my heroick heart is sad; All my comforts are departed, there is nothing left but grief, Conscience wounded, broken-hearted, Lord, afford me some relief. Blessed Father, don’t forsake me in the bitter pangs of death. Of thy tender mercy take me, when I shall resign my breath, To thy glorious habitations, which are free from care and strife. Farewel to all tribulations which attends our humane life. Now the sad and dismal hour of my death is drawing nigh; Tho’ the fates may seem to lower let the loving standers-by Grant me now their prayers and pity, which does worldly wealth excel. Now I end my mournful ditty and you see my last farewel.

Now of noble, hardy men of might, And those that with valour can heartily maintain In the bloody field King Charles’ right, To make him happy on the royal throne of Spain, Of these I mean to sing While fame is on the wing, Glad tydings to convey, How we the other day Did many laden transports take On the seas, with much ease, By the right renowned Sir John Leake. Now the French have lost their trusty friend, Who used to inform them of all our State affairs; On his letters they did still depend, By which we oft were drawn into fatal snares; He’s gone, he’s gone with shame. Now valiant men of fame Can prosper when they go, And daunt the daring foe, Making their stubborn hearts to ake, As they find Fortune kind To the right renowned Sir John Leake. Under his command the royal fleet With transports and tenders was for Lisbon bound. This passage ’twas his chance to meet The French, which he did manfully encompass round, A hundred sail and more, As they was passing o’re Towards the banks of Spain, All loaded well with grain. We ninety of those barks did take, Which was there, by the care Of the right renowned Sir John Leake. When our flying streamers they beheld, And stout men-of-war, which was likewise rarely man’d, They were with exceeding sorrow fill’d. A thousand times in vain they wish themselves on land. Aloud they cry’d, ‘Morblew.’ Alas! that wou’d not do. The British lyon bold, Which scorns to be controul’d, Caused their stubborn hearts to ake; Took they were by the care Of the right renowned Sir John Leake. This vast fleet of barks was then convey’d Under the protection of three French men-of-war. Finding they by us captives were made, Alas! they rung their hands and cry’d aloud, ‘Begar, De Britains bold are come, With cannon, trumpet, drum, To seize upon our corn, And make us all forlorn.’ This was the mourn which they did make; For they found they were bound To submit to valliant Sir John Leake. Cloathes for many thousands were on board Those barks which was taken, and naval stores likewise: Barley, oats, and wheat, which did afford Much comfort to the army of the Grand Allies; For well we may conclude, They having store of food, And other comforts still, They’ll fight with right good-will And of the French strange havock make; Then let’s pray, night and day, For the right renowned Sir John Leake. To fair Barcelona they have brought Those rich laden cargoes, worth many thousand pounds. O the French commander little thought They should meet with crabid Fortune’s fatal frown: But so it came to pass; Each looking like an ass At their unhappy doom, How they did fret and foam, While we joy and triumph make, Drinking still, with good-will, To the right renowned Sir John Leake.

‘To your quarters, my lads; we are now within shot; Let your guns be all loose in their tackle, Your ports be knock’d open, and every thing got In a right ready order for battle. See, see that the decks and the gun-room be clear, And take care that your matches be lighted; Tho’ she boldly bears down she shall find when she’s near That we bold Brittains scorn to be frighted. ‘Up noise of trumpets; be brisk; hail our prize. Hark: she answers again with her trumpets. She’s resolv’d to engage; to the windward she plys. See, her colours are out and her drum beats. Hold fast, jolly gunner; let Monsieur begin; We are able, my boys, to receive him. If he galls us at first, when we get him close in, We will make him submit e’er we leave him. ‘Cheer up, golden boys; we are never the worse, Tho’ sh’as pour’d in a broad-side upon us; She only has rak’d us a little: no force, Jolly lads, have the enemy done us. Their turn shall be next. Port easy, edge nigh her; Be sure bear your guns to a tittle. God give us good luck, and now, gunner, give fire. Zounds! starboard; now shear off a little. ‘Huzza! my good lads; that was done to our mind. She’s our own; we shall certainly have her. See, see, she bears up with a stiff gale of wind, That her leaks may be stopped which we gave her. Port, port, for she shoots ahead from us apace; Hoist the topsail and bear briskly after; Now, gunner, with good store of langril and case Let the guns be all loaded for slaughter. ‘Thus, thus; keep her thus; well steer’d, my good boys, I find we shall soon be upon her. Now, lads, for the gold that’s aboard of the prize; It will all be your own when you’ve won her. Port easy, edge tow’rds her, and run up her side. Now under our lee we have got her; As stout as she seems we shall humble her pride. Now, gunner, give fire and have at her. ‘See, see how the enemy lye heads and points. Our shot have done great execution; We have shatter’d their limbs, and so mangled their joints That they are all in a bloody confusion. Now board ’em, my lads; see you[r]lashes are clear; Huzza! and couragiously enter. I hope we shall find e’ery Brittan that’s here Will be bold in so brave an adventure. ‘How they hide between decks; by their skulking they show That the French are but puny bravadoes. Wounds! cut up her hatches, and ply ’em below With your stinkpots and hand granadoes. Avast: they submit and cry out for their lives. Good quarter we’re ready to grant ye. If you’ll lay down your arms, and come out of your hives, And obey me as I shall command ye.’ “Yea, yea, we surrender.” ‘Then haul down your sails, And furl ’em without opposition; For he that crys “Quarter,” and after rebels, Shall be hanged without any compassion. Now loose all your lashings and shear off the ship. We are clear. Go and hoist out the shallop. Bring the pris’ners on board, but not load her too deep, Least the ocean should swallow ye all up.’ ‘Be sure you take care of the captain and those In commission, and civilly use ’em; For tho’ they are pris’ners, as well as our foes, ’Tis beneath British souls to abuse ’em. Good fortune to them the success might have gave; Let us therefore respectfully treat ’em; For tho’ they are conquered they yet may be brave, Tho’ but cowards to those who have beat ’em, ‘How chear yee, my lads? is not this jolly sport? See how Fortune invites you to fight on. Stand in with our prize to the next merry port; Tow her in for the honour of Brittan. Now fling up the bowl; bring an anchor of Nantz; Let the doctor thank God for His mercies; Then we’ll drink the Queen’s health to our captives of France With a French man-of-war at our arses.’

1st Woman. Hark! hark! alas! what fatal news is come! It strikes a terror great thro’ Christendom. 2nd Woman. What is it, neighbour? Pray, to me unfold. 1st Woman. The sadest news that ever mortal told. 2nd Woman. Hold me not in suspence, good neighbour, pray, But tell me quickly what you have to say: I hope our ship and all in her is well; I long to hear you. Pray, come quickly tell. 1st Woman. Here is a letter—O prepare your ears!— From Gosport Hospital. Let floods of tears Flow from your eyes: the gallant Edgar’s gone. Ah! neighbour, neighbour, well may we make moan. Your husband dear and mine, and many more, Are blown up in the air, near thirty score, By fatal chance of powder; by one blast Our tender husbands now have breath’d their last. Here comes a messenger can tell the rest; I cannot speak, I am so much opprest. Come, gentle messenger, relate their woe, And tell, in brief, the truth of all you saw. Messenger. I was at Spithead that time, and saw the sight. I was amaz’d; my soul it did affright: Five hundred persons blown up in the air; Their shrieks and cries no mortal cou’d declare. Some short-allowance mony was to be paid That fatal day, for which on board they stay’d. They merry were, and little did they dread That the next moment they should all be dead. Removing gun-powder some hours they was; That powder wrough[t] their dismal woes, alas! Thro’ some neglect fire to th’ powder got, And all these people kill’d upon the spot. Blown in an instant up, at once indeed; That dreadful blow makes hearts of stone to bleed. Like roaring thunder gave a dreadful crack; Both ship and people quickly went to wrack. Legs, arms, heads, hands, feet, hips, bones, back and thighs By fire and powder flew up to the skies. Shatter’d at once in shivers up they flew, And in an instant fled from mortal view. Their sudden shrieks, gone just before they went, Did eccho shrilly, and tho’ all was bent To help them in distress, yet it was vain, Their ship in thousand pieces rent in twain. 2nd Woman. O wretched sight! O fatal was the day! O my dear husband, art thou fled away? Was this thy fatal exit from this world? No grave! but peace-meal was thy carcass hurl’d. O heavy message! the sad tidings spread: O my dear husband, are you from me fled? My soul sinks deep with grief for this my loss, In deep despair my parting soul is toss’d. 1st Woman. Ah, neighbour, neighbour, you are not alone. Here’s hundreds of us to lament and moan Our poor unhappy husbands’ fatal fall. Sweet Jesus Christ take pity on us all, Children and widows send up doleful cries; Their lamentations pierce quite thro’ the skies: Bereft of earthly joys, with grief opprest, ’Tis God alone can ease each troubled breast. Their earthly stay and staff from them is gone, Wherefore they must depend on God alone. And our good Queen will pity of them take; Then grant them help for blessed Jesus’ sake. One man of all that number is alive, But is so weak he cannot long survive. Then let us all prepared be for death, Since none knows when we must resign our breath. By providence the captain just before, With’s lady too, did chance to go ashore. Some other officers and sailors too Are sav’d, and did that danger quite eschew. Then let us all our sinful lives amend, Since God such punishments to mortal send. Let’s bear in mind this tragedy just past, And strive to live as each day was our last.

Come and listen to my ditty, all ye jolly hearts of gold, Lend a brother tar your pity who was once so stout and bold; But the arrows of God Cupid, alas! have made me rue, Sure true love was ne’er so treated as I am by scornful Sue. When I landed first at Dover she appeared a goddess bright. From foreign parts but just come over I was struck with so fair a sight; On the shore pretty Susan walked near to where our frigate lay, And altho’ so near the landing, I, alas! was cast away. When first I hail’d my pretty creature, the delight of land and sea, No man ever saw a sweeter, I’d have kept her company; I’d fain have made her my true love, for better or for worse, But, alas! I could not compass her for to steer the marriage course. Once no greater joy or pleasure could have come into my mind, Than to see the bold Defiance sailing right before the wind, O’er the white waves as she danced, and her colours gaily flew; But that was not half so charming as the trim of lovely Sue. On a rocky coast I’ve driven where the stormy winds do rise, Where the rolling mountain billows lift a vessel to the skies; But from land, or from the ocean, little dread I ever knew, When compared to the dangers in the frowns of scornful Sue. Long I wonder’d why my jewel had the heart to use me so, Till I found by often sounding she’d another love in tow; So farewell hard-hearted Sukie, I’ll my fortune seek at sea, And try in a more friendly latitude, since in yours I cannot be.

Fair Sally lov’d a bonny sailor, With tears she sent him out to roam, Young Thomas taking leave did tell her He left her with his heart at home. She view’d the seas from off the hill, And as she turn’d her spinning-wheel, Sang of her bonny sailor. The wind grew loud and she grew paler To see the weathercock turn round, When lo! she spied her bonny sailor Come whistling o’er the fallow ground: With nimble haste he leap’d the stile, Fair Sally met him with a smile, And hugg’d her bonny sailor. Fast round the waist he took his Sally, But first around his mouth wip’d he; Like home-bred spark he could not dally, But press’d and kiss’d her with a glee. ‘Through winds, and waves, and dashing rain,’ Said he, ‘thy Tom’s return’d again, To bring a heart for Sally.’ ‘Welcome!’ cry’d she, ‘my constant Thomas, Tho’ out of sight, ne’er out of mind, Tho’ seas our hearts have parted from us, Yet still my thoughts were left behind; So much my thoughts took Tommy’s part, That time nor absence from my heart Could drive my constant Thomas.’ ‘This knife the gift of lovely Sally, Which still I’ve kept for her dear sake, A thousand times in am’rous folly Her name has carv’d upon the deck. Again this happy pledge returns, To shew how truly Thomas burns, How truly burns for Sally.’ ‘This thimble thou didst give to Sally, Whene’er I see I think on you. Then why should Tom stand shilly shally When yonder steeple’s in our view?’ Tom, never to occasion blind, Now took her in the coming mind, And went to church with Sally.

How pleasant a sailor’s life passes, Who roams o’er the watery main! No treasure he ever amasses, But cheerfully spends all his gain. We’re strangers to party and faction, To honour and honesty true, And wou’d not commit a base action For power or profit in view. Then why should we quarrel for riches, Or any such glittering toys? A light heart and a thin pair of breeches Goes through the world, brave boys. The world is a beautiful garden Enrich’d with the blessings of life, The toiler with plenty rewarding, Which plenty too often breeds strife. When terrible tempests assail us, And mountainous billows affright, No grandeur or wealth can avail us, But skilful industry steers right. The courtier’s more subject to dangers, Who rules at the helm of the State, Than we that, to politicks strangers, Escape the snares laid for the great. The various blessings of nature In various nations we try. No mortals than us can be greater, Who merrily live till we die.

Life is chequer’d—toil and pleasure Fill up all the various measure. See the crew in flannel jerkins Drinking, toping flip by firkins; And as they raise the tip To their happy lip, On the deck is heard no other sound, But prithee Jack, Prithee Dick, Prithee Sam, Prithee Tom, Let the can go round. Chorus. Then hark to the Boatswain’s whistle, whistle! Then hark to the Boatswain’s whistle, whistle! Bustle, bustle, brave boys, Let us sing, let us toil, But let’s drink all the while, For labour’s the price of our joys, For labour’s the price of our joys. Life is chequer’d—toil and pleasure Fill up all the various measure: Hark! the crew with sun-burnt faces, Chanting Black-ey’d Susan’s graces; And as they raise their notes Thro’ their rusty throats On the deck is heard no other sound, But prithee Jack, prithee Dick, Prithee Sam, prithee Tom, Let the can go round. Then hark, etc. Life is chequer’d—toil and pleasure Fill up all the various measure. Hark! the crew their cares discarding With huffe-cap or with chuck-farthing: Still in merry pin Let ’em lose or win, On the deck is heard no other sound But prithee Jack, prithee Dick, Prithee Sam, prithee Tom, Let the can go round. Then hark, etc.

Will you hear of a bloody battle, lately fought upon the seas? It will make your ears to rattle and your admiration cease: Have you heard of Teach the rover, and his knavery on the main; How of gold he was a lover, how he lov’d ill-got [ten] gain? When the Act of Grace appeared Captain Teach and all his men Unto Carolina steered, where they us’d him kindly then; There he marry’d to a lady, and gave her five hundred pound, But to her he prov’d unsteady, for he soon march’d off the ground. And returned, as I tell you, to his robbery as before: Burning, sinking ships of value, filling them with purple gore. When he was at Carolina, there the Governor did send To the Governor of Virgin[i]a, that he might assistance lend. Then the man-of-war’s commander, two small sloops he fitted out; Fifty men he put on board, sir, who resolv’d to stand it out. The lieutenant he commanded both the sloops, and you shall hear How before he landed he suppress’d them without fear. Valiant Maynard as he sailed soon the pirate did espy; With his trumpet he then hailed, and to him they did reply: ‘Captain Teach is our commander.’ Maynard said, ‘He is the man Whom I am resolv’d to hang, sir, let him do the best he can.’ Teach replied unto Maynard, ‘You no quarter here shall see, But be hanged on the mainyard, you and all your company.’ Maynard said, ‘I none desire of such knaves as thee and thine.’ ‘None I’ll give,’ Teach then replied; ‘my boys, give me a glass of wine.’ He took the glass and drank damnation unto Maynard and his crew, To himself and generation, then the glass away he threw. Brave Maynard was resolv’d to have him, tho’ he’d cannons nine or ten: Teach a broadside quickly gave him, killing sixteen valiant men. Maynard boarded him and to it they fell with sword and pistol too; They had courage, and did show it, killing of the pirate’s crew. Teach and Maynard on the quarter fought it out most manfully; Maynard’s sword did cut him shorter, losing his head he there did die. Every sailor fought while he, sir, power had to wield his sword, Not a coward could you see, sir, fear was driven from aboard; Wounded men on both sides fell, sir, ’twas a doleful sight to see, Nothing could their courage quell, sir; O they fought couragiously. When the bloody fight was over we’re informed by a letter writ, Teach’s head was made a cover to the jack-staff of the ship; Thus they sailed to Virginia, and when they the story told How they killed the pirates many, they’d applause from young and old.

Come all ye valiant seamen of courage stout and bold, That value more your honour more than misers do their gold; When we receive our orders we are obliged to go O’er the main to proud Spain, let the wind blow high or low. It is the valiant Canterbury, as I to you shall tell, Since Providence has sav’d my life in such a manner well, And all our whole ship’s company as well as I do know, When we were in despair in the Bay of Biscay, oh! The eighteenth of September from Spithead we set sail, With the Romney in our company, blest with a pleasant gale, And so we kept together to the Bay of Biscay, oh! Till anon the storm came on and the wind began to blow. Then seeing of the storm come on the Romney bore away And left the Canterbury, for she could no longer stay. And when they came to Gibraltar they told the people so, That they thought we were lost in the Bay of Biscay, oh! But as Providence would have it, it was not quite so bad; But first we lost our mizen-mast, and along with it a flag, The next we lost our main-mast, two of our guns also, And five men were drownded then in the Bay of Biscay, oh! When the main-mast went away it gave a dismal stroke, And in the larboard-quarter a great hole thro’ it broke, Whereby the sea came roaring which made our gun-room flow, And we rowl’d and we shoal’d in the Bay of Biscay, oh! Then our fore-mast went away at four o’clock at night, Our men [were] in our fore-top, which put us in a fright, Poor souls we could not save them but overboard did go: They were lost with the mast in the Bay of Biscay, oh! It being dark and dismal besides a dreadful night, One man upon the fore castle was killed out right, With a ring upon his finger in pieces broke also, There he lay till next day when we overboard him throw. We stove our barge and long boat and hove them overboard, Because we had no tackle or else we might have lower’d. What with the sea roaring in which made our chests to flow, And we rowl’d and we shoal’d in the Bay of Biscay, oh! We lay in that condition full seven or eight days, Till our furnace tumbled down, which put us in a maze For we could get no victuals dress’d as I am very sure, We did eat all raw meat till we came to Gibraltar. As for our admiral and captain, they are stout hearts of gold, Besides our three lieutenants of courage stout and bold, And all our whole ship’s company we made a gallant show, Altho’ we were in despair in the Bay of Biscay, oh! The storm being quite over we got up jury-masts, And steer’d away to Gibraltar, to which we came at last, And when we came to Gibraltar on shore the yawl did go, For to tell what befel in the Bay of Biscay, oh! Within a day or two after we came into the mole. The people all came flocking down, our ship to behold: They said it was the strangest thing that ever they did know, We ne’er repine but drink wine and drown all woe. As for oatmeal and peas, we ne’er got any of that: Our purser H——s put ’em in his pocket to make his guts fat. But when we did come home, boys, we paid him off his score, Tho’ [he] knew ’twas our due, it help’d to increase [his store].

Good people, give ear, I’ll tell you a story, Will tickle your ears, if you wish Britain’s glory; For in rhyme sure the like was ne’er yet laid before ye, Which nobody can deny. The Spaniards of late so haughty are grown, They pretend both our towns and our ships are their own, And the latter they take still, ’tis very well known, Which, etc. Hereupon we sent word they would find it the best To give over these pranks, for we liked not their jest, And they gravely replied they would weigh our request, Which, etc. But still they went on highly pleased with the joke, Our traders were taken, our merchants were broke, Resolved if they could our stern wrath to provoke, Which, etc. So our wrath was provoked, and our rage was so great, That a fleet was equipped, those proud Spaniards to beat, And we sent for Dutch help in a violent heat, Which, etc. So the Dutch came to help us with twelve men-of-war (For the Dutch like the Devil injustice abhor, And they knew that the Spaniards had not played us fair), Which, etc. So to Spithead they went, and at Spithead have lain, But design very soon to scower out the main, To retrieve us our honour and humble proud Spain, Which, etc. But when to this purpose the fleets are to weigh, I am sure yet no Briton will venture to say, But this I am sure, they will sail when they may, Which, etc. But in the meantime, as in line they are laid, Most wisely they are of a double use made: To our nobles diversion, to our foes they give dread, Which, etc. For the gentry all round, and nobility too, To Portsmouth ride post this Armada to view, As the first English fleet was set out for a show, Which, etc. But as France will not bear Christian blood to be shed, Notwithstanding a Wager himself’s at the head, Fat bucks in great number have bled in their stead, Which, etc. For the Cardinal thinks the same end we fulfil If we bear the expense, tho’ the fleet does lie still, For we so frighten Spain they will do what we will, Which, etc. So the fleet lies at anchor, the chaplains read prayers, The ladies are learning our tarpawling airs, And each cook for each day some new dishes prepares, Which, etc. The treats are of venison, of rack-punch, and jelly, Chaire entière have the ladies as some people tell ye And few will return without tarr in their belly, Which, etc. So when sail they will, they will leave us at home A brood of young sailors for ages to come, Who will ’list volunteers at the sound of a drum, Which, etc. On this score alone the expense were well made, For sailors are wanting for war both and trade, So the scheme for the public was very well laid, Which, etc.

Come all you jolly sailors bold, Who always scorn to be controul’d; But freely us’d to range the seas, And plow the ocean where they please; But now are oppos’d and plundered by those Guarda Coastas belonging to Spain; But this I can tell, would we thump them but well, Our merchants might have their own again. Our merchants have been long abus’d, Our ships have been taken, our men misus’d; And tho’ we often did complain, No restoration e’er could gain; But still are put by, with some fallacy, Altho’ we’re masters of the main; But this I can tell; wou’d we thump them but well, Our merchants might have their own again. ’Cause Captain Jenkins did them oppose, They cut off his ears and slit his nose, And then his hands together bound, And to the yard arm drew him up and down; Then with a jear, they gave him his ear, Saying ‘Take it to your master’ in disdain. But our King I can tell, loves his subjects so well, That he’ll curb the haughty pride of Spain. So insolent they did behave, They of our sailors did make slaves, And work’d all day hard as they cou’d. With musty horse beans for their food, Or else a little dish of stinking stock-fish; Not fitting unto the dogs to throw, These men would delight to do themselves right, If to war with the Spaniards we go. Fifty-two sail of ships (they say) In nine years time they’ve took away. A very tragical account, To what great sums must this amount; Our rights to in[v]ade and spoil our trade, High time for our merchants to complain. I hope to see the day this long score they must pay, And make them refund it all again. For these vile crimes they’ve an excuse, And say they suffer great abuse; [line missing] And bring their pieces of eight away, This I must own by some has been done, But let them only have the blame; ’Tis hard to condemn all the rest for them, For rogues will be rogues while the world remains. Our gracious King and parliament To right our merchants are fully bent; For they have been too long abus’d, And by false pretences have been amus’d. But now I’m glad to find our Government so kind. To redress our merchants who complain, For this I can, etc. With taking our ships they’re not content, But want our towns on the continent; As Georgia and Carolina brave, They boast and brag they soon will have. But we hope that our fleet their designs will defeat, When they approach the coast of Spain, For this I can, etc. There’s Giberaltar and Portmahone, They very fain would make their own; It grieves them much, we’ve been told, That two such places we should hold. Giberalter’s the key, ’tis well known of that sea Call’d by the name of the Mediterain. For this I can, etc. Come jolly sailors, far and near, To man our fleet with speed prepare; With Admiral Haddock freely go, True British valour for to show; And brave boys boldly fight our merchants for to right, Free plunder, boys, will crown your pain, For this I can tell, would we thump them but well, Our merchants might have their own again.

Let every loyal soul rejoyce, And joyn with me in heart and voice, Since now we have a happy choice, France and Spain to bring under. Fall on, brave boys, without delay, Brave Haddock will his guns display, And quickly make of Spain a prey, And give his men the plunder. Next, merchants, let your voices ring, O’er flowing bowls we’ll cheerful sing, With many thanks unto the King, For granting us protection. No longer we’ll be in the dark, Since we have got letters of marque, We’ll make Jack Spaniard for to smart And pay for the Convention. Spithead shall no more with us groan, Nor we poor sailors make our moan, We’ll alter Jack Spaniard’s tone, Though they so long have wanted. For now we shall be kept in pay, Our wives next year appear so gay; Of Spanish gold we’ll make a prey, With courage most undaunted. No more of trade let us complain; Our antient rights we shall maintain, Brave Britain’s isle flourish again By the new declaration. We’ll learn Spain in this present war Our merchant captains for to fear, With us they have run their jest too far, In their base depredations. Our shops shall soon be open’d wide, By humbling Jack Spaniard’s pride, And our poor tradesmen full employ’d, To their great satisfaction. Then let us all in love unite, And stand for the King and country’s right; Boldly with proud Spain we’ll fight, And thus end all distraction.

You brave English sailors that plow the ocean wide, There are no better fellows in all the world beside; Give ear unto a bloody fight to you I will display Between a Spanish man-of-war, and the Kent, near Cator Bay. The Lennox and the Orford was cruising thereabout, And by a Spanish man-of-war they quickly were spy’d out. Under French colours she down upon us bore, Thinking we were two merchant ships which had of riches store; The third she thought a man-of-war our convoy for to be, And soon she tho’t to have taken us, if not more force than she; But whilst our English man-of-war did preparations make, And when that she came up with her, it prov’d a sad mistake. She carried five hundred seamen, four hundred marines, Most of them Irish fellows, who fought with [courage keen]; Seventy-four guns she mounted, all of the largest size, With which she thought of our ships to make a noble prize, But she was much mistaken, as plainly doth appear, For we have made a prize of her, and she’s arrived here. The Lennox, Captain Manning, receiv’d the first broadside, Which carried away his foremast, and his bowsprit beside; This sad unhappy accident he would no longer stay; He was so sore disabled, was forc’d to bear away; But for to shew his courage bold altho’ distressed sore, He did a thundering broadside into the Spaniard pour. The next run up the Kent, with Captain Durell bold, Who gave to them a good broadside, like jolly hearts of gold, Which scar’d the Spanish captain so, he was just going to strike, So certainly he had it done, but for an Irish tike, Which was his first lieutenant, who with the men combin’d; He said ‘I’ll fight the ship myself, the captain we’ll confine. ‘Now come, my loving countrymen, with courage play your parts, For if the English take us, we are sure of our deserts; ’Tis better manfully to fight, and here to die at sea, For if the English take us now, we shall all hanged be.’ With that they gave a loud huzza, unto him thus did cry, ‘You shall from hence our captain be, we’ll fight until we die.’ Like jolly hearts of gold they made their cannons roar, Into the Kent without delay a full broad-side did pour; Which noble Captain Durell bold did soon return again; Full fifty of the Spanish men by that broad-side were slain. Broad-side for broad-side, nine hours we did fight, Till we at length did take them, our cause being just and right. Yard-arm and yard-arm, for hours there [we] lay; With great guns, small arms, and cutlasses we made a bloody fray; Dead men in numbers lay about, our scuppers fill’d with blood, Which made the seas [a]round us so like a purple flood. Three fingers from one hand brave Captain Durell lost; But yet he was not daunted, still he maintain’d the cause. The third it was the Orford, who had spectator been, But could not come to help us, nor join the bloody scene; He hove his ship up to the wind, and brought some guns to bear, When the desperate saw that, his heart sunk down with fear; He was so sore disabled, and was so flutter’d then, To which he had already lost above five hundred men. But then this Irish desperate did also order then Two guns to point down in the hold, to sink both ship and men. O! this unhappy order fill’d his men with horrid dread, When instantly a cannon-ball came and took off his head. They made no more resistance, but down their colours took, And to the Orford now come up, immediately she struck. So now these Irish desperates, their case it must look sad; To fight against King and country, their cause was very bad. Here’s health to all our admirals, and the captains also, Likewise to every brave seaman aboard with them that go. And may the bowl successful flow to all our British fleet, Wishing they may Jack Spaniard drub, where’er with them they meet.

Come loyal Britons all rejoyce with joyful acclamations, And join with one united voice upon this just occasion; To Admiral Vernon drink a health, likewise to each brave fellow Who with that noble admiral was at the taking of Porto Bello. From Jamaica he did sail with Commodore Brown to attend him, Against the Spaniards to prevail, for which we must commend him, At Porto Bello he arriv’d where each brave gallant fellow With Admiral Vernon bravely fought, at the taking Porto Bello. Two men-of-war of twenty guns, likewise five Guarda Costa’s They in the harbour quickly took, to surrender they were forc’d, sir; Then the town he summons’d strait, to surrender at his will O, Which they refusing he did bumbard the town of Porto Bello. He did bumbard it above two days, and they again return’d it; The bombs and morters loud did play, he vow’d that he would burn it: Which when they came to understand, and that he was so brave a fellow They did surrender out of hand, the town of Porto Bello. Then with his men he went on shore who strait began to plunder, ’Tis as they serv’d our ships before, and therefore is no wonder. With plenty of rum and good strong wines, our men did soon get mellow Then swore that never a house should stand in the town of Porto Bello. The governor to the admiral sent and to him made an offer Of thirty thousand pieces of eight the houses to save did proffer. Which the admiral did accept with a right and free goodwill O, And therefore let the houses stand in the town of Porto Bello. Their Iron Castle he destroy’d, and all their guns he seized. The Spaniards ne’er was more anoy’d; he did just what he pleased. The South Sea snow he did release, and many a stout English fellow Whom they had rob’d upon the seas, and carried into Porto Bello. All their brass guns he took away, the iron ones he nailed And then threw them into the sea, before from thence he sailed, Many a jolly sailor’s pouch was cram’d with white and yellow, For they from plunder could not be kept in the town of Porto Bello. Besides, brave Vernon freely gave amongst his men as follows, Who bravely did themselves behave, full thirty thousand dollars, This must their courage animate; each tar is a rich fellow, And this is good encouragement for the taking Porto Bello. When he had stayed there nineteen days, with just resentment fir’d, Their forts demolished and castles rase’d he from them then retired, But first he to Panama sent for many a gallant fellow, Who in prison lay confin’d to be brought to Porto Bello. While trumpets they did loudly sound and colours were displaying, The prizes he with him brought away while sailors were huzzaing. And when they to Jamaica come, a glorious tale to tell O Of the noble action they had done in taking of Porto Bello. To Admiral Vernon toss off a glass, may heaven protect and defend him, And when he has the Spaniard thump’d, may a safe return attend him To Comodore Brown toss another down, and to each gallant fellow Who did so bravely play their parts at the taking of Porto Bello.