SONGS AND BALLADS (continued 4)

As near Porto Bello lying On the gently swelling flood, At midnight, with streamers flying, Our triumphant navy rode; There while Vernon sat all glorious From the Spaniards’ late defeat, And his crew with shouts victorious, Drank success to England’s fleet, On a sudden shrilly sounding, Hideous yells and shrieks were heard; Then, each heart with fear confounding, A sad troop of ghosts appear’d, All in dreary hammocks shrouded, Which for winding-sheets they wore, And with looks by sorrow clouded, Frowning on that hostile shore. On them gleam’d the moon’s wan lustre, When the shade of Hosier brave His pale band was seen to muster, Rising from their watery grave. O’er the glimmering wave he hied him, Where the Burford rear’d her sail, With three thousand ghosts beside him, And in groans did Vernon hail. ‘Heed, O heed our fatal story,— I am Hosier’s injur’d ghost,— You who now have purchased glory At this place where I was lost! Though in Porto Bello’s ruin You now triumph free from fears, When you think on our undoing, You will mix your joy with tears. ‘See these mournful spectres sweeping Ghastly o’er this hated wave, Whose wan cheeks are stain’d with weeping— These were English captains brave! Mark those numbers pale and horrid— Those were once my sailors bold! Lo! each hangs his drooping forehead, While his dismal tale is told. ‘I by twenty sail attended Did this Spanish town affright: Nothing then its wealth defended But my orders not to fight. Oh! that in this rolling ocean I had cast them with disdain, And obey’d my heart’s warm motion, To have quell’d the pride of Spain! ‘For resistance I could fear none, But with twenty ships had done What thou, brave and happy Vernon, Hast achieved with six alone. Then the Bastimentos never Had our foul dishonour seen, Nor the sea the sad receiver Of this gallant train had been. ‘Thus, like thee proud Spain dismaying, And her galleons leading home, Though condemn’d for disobeying, I had met a traitor’s doom; To have fallen, my country crying, He has play’d an English part, Had been better far than dying, Of a griev’d and broken heart. ‘Unrepining at thy glory, Thy successful arms we hail; But remember our sad story, And let Hosier’s wrongs prevail. Sent in this foul clime to languish, Think what thousands fell in vain, Wasted with disease and anguish, Not in glorious battle slain. ‘Hence with all my train attending, From their oozy tombs below, Through the hoary foam ascending, Here I feed my constant woe: Here the Bastimentos viewing, We recall our shameful doom, And, our plaintive cries renewing, Wander through the midnight gloom. ‘O’er these waves for ever mourning Shall we roam depriv’d of rest, If to Britain’s shores returning You neglect my just request. After this proud foe subduing, When your Patriot friends you see, Think on vengeance for my ruin, And for England sham’d in me!’

Once more, brave boys, let us proclaim Brave noble Admiral Vernon’s fame, With Sir Chaloner Ogle too: They now have made the Spaniards rue; For Carthageen they now have ta’en, And laid it level with the ground; Seven castles so brave their town could not save, For Vernon and Ogle have beat them down. Last March we did from Jamaica sail With a fair and gentle gale; Vice-Admiral Vernon of the Blue, Sir Chaloner Ogle, Rear-Admiral too, With Lestock Commodore, we made our cannons roar, And two-and-twenty frigates besides: Thirty ships of the line, a sight very fine, Before Carthageen at anchor to ride. Bocachica Castle first we took, Which made the Spaniards blue to look; That being of the largest force, The other six did fall of course: With our cannons and bombs we dismounted their guns, And our colours did on their Castles raise: Then toss off a glass, and about let it pass, To Admiral Vernon’s and Ogle’s praise. For twelve hours’ space we bombarded the town, Before we brought their proud spirits down; We fir’d so smart that they thought we were mad, At length to surrender they were glad. We did so cannonade, and such breaches we made, And many of their houses set in a flame; They did submit to fate, and the town surrender[ed] To Admiral Vernon, the scourge of Spain. The Shrewsbury she did suffer most, And many of her sailors were lost; Her cable broke, on the Castles she drove, And there expected she would have stove; But kind Providence stood in her defence: Much shatter’d at last she clear’d her way. Her jolly sailors bold, those noble hearts of gold, All the time shew’d the Spaniards gallant play. Don Blass with six ships in the harbour lay, And soon we shew’d him British play; We made that proud and hectoring Don Coward-like from his ship to run; Tho’ his ship he forsook, two captains we took And unto England brought them home; Let th’ insulting foe and proud Don know Vernon can conquer wherever he comes. Six galleons did there remain, Which by our fleet were burnt or ta’en: And tho’ their treasure was on shore Yet we found a sufficient store; For plunder, my boys, did crown our joys After that strong place we had won: We did revel and roar and booze it on shore, And forgot all the dangers we had run. In the king’s store-house we found The value of several thousand pounds, Which with great joy we brought away, And did on board our ships convey: Our success was crown’d with plunder we found, While the cowardly Spaniards from us fled; So great was their fear, they would not us come near, For Vernon had fill’d them all with dread. When we had all their treasure seiz’d, And freely plunder’d where we pleas’d, And none but rubbish did remain, Their store-houses we set on flames: Thus we burnt them down quite unto the ground: A heap of ashes for to view; Let the cowards know, tho’ they did insult us so, What noble Admiral Vernon can do. Our jolly tars, brave, noble hearts, And the brave marines did play their parts; The officers their orders gave, Which the men performed as brave. They never did flinch, nor gave back an inch, But sweet revenge was all their cry: They scorn’d for to run from the mouth of a gun, But with Vernon and Ogle would conquer or die. For the proud Queen of Spain we care not a fart! For Carthageen she may break her heart; Of Don Blass, that cowardly tool, Brave Vernon did make an April fool: For ’twas upon that day we made him run away, Unto our noble admiral’s fame: Then fill a brimming glass, and round let it pass, To Admiral Vernon and Ogle’s name. Come, brave boys, a health begin, And fill your glasses to the brim; A health to Admiral Vernon brave; To Sir Chaloner Ogle another we’ll have; To each jolly tar and marine that was there, Whose courage the[n] was bravely seen; To Lestock, Commodore, and many thousands more, Who assisted at taking of Carthageen.

Come you jovial British fellows, listen, pray, to what I write, Honour jolly English sailors, for their nation they do fight; It was with courage most undaunted from Port Rhode the Sapphire sail’d, By mishap our cable parted, but we soon the Spaniards quell’d. A full intent to batter Vigo, our full force was only forty guns, Which to them does plainly show, sir, what courage in the English runs; With spreading sails we plough’d the ocean, the seas indeed ran mountains high, Not fearing death to gain promotion, with proud Spain our valour try. All along their coast we sailed, the wind it blowed very hard; Our main-top-sail yard it failed, but we it did not regard. We did soon their harbour enter, they prepared for us were, And we boldly in did venture without any dread or fear. As soon as ever we came nigh them they did fire at us first; We not wanting to pass by them immediately our anchor cast. And up went our bloody pennant and defy’d their cannon-ball, We made to run both landlord and tenant, and behind to leave their all. No quarters from them we requir’d, they did see us boldly bent; Kill or be kill’d we designed, that indeed was our intent. Then our cannon roar’d like thunder, sweeter musick who could hear? They did make our foes to wonder, fill’d their hearts with dread and fear. Their privateers at anchor lying we did sink before their face; Women with their children crying from the town did run a-pace. By us their prison was confounded: to some it proved a happy day; Such as were not kill’d or wounded took to their heels and run away. Their nunnery did feel our fury, their blind zeal could not them save; Some in confusion and great hurry were sent by us to their grave. About their ears their houses tumbled, which no doubt did grieve them sore; Was ever haughty Spain so humbled by one small ship as now before? Two thousand shot and more we fir’d at their churches, forts, and town, It made us laugh till we were tir’d to see their houses tumble down: Seventeen hundred and forty-four, sir, January the fifteenth day, That we made the Spaniards rue, sir, our most noble British play. We had in this bold action one man killed, and no more; Which I think was enough to vex ’em, they having many in their gore. Had the day but longer lasted, and our ship not damnify’d, We’d made them surrender, we protested, or would all have surely dy’d. We then soon for Lisbon sailed, where we got wine our hearts to cheer. At Vigo widows their fates bewailed, and curst the time that we came there. I wish that all our brave commanders, who sail the seas for Britain’s right, May like bold Holmes prove Alexanders, not fearing death when they do fight. May he meet with a just treatment from our nation for the same, For so bold and brave defeatment none but cowards can him blame. Little Laughton, our third lieutenant, did at that time great valour show; King and country’s bold defendant, beloved by all that does him know. Bring us wine, let it be sherry, fill the glass up to the brink; Drown all sorrows and be merry; to our noble captain drink. Pray God send our royal master George the Second long to reign, For to meet with no disaster, but the victory always gain.

Brave Admiral Matthews has been on the main, With a true British heart, against France and Spain; Resolving to fight for old England once more, And make them knock under before he gives o’er; For there never was such a bold fleet, as they say, Sent out by Old England this many a day. He had not long been on the sea, it is true, Before [that] in sight there appear’d in his view Twenty-eight sail of the French and proud Spain, Who swiftly w[ere] sailing along the salt main. Then he cry’d, ‘My brave boys, look, see how they ride! I hope in small time we shall soon cool their pride.’ We hoisted our sails, and away then we went, With our guns all ready, and hearts likewise bent, Until that we come to the view of them all; Then strait our brave admiral unto us did call, At the word of command to make ready with speed, ‘For I think the proud Dons will fight us indeed.’ But the wind prov’d contrary, we could not pursue, Altho’ that we had them so full in our view; And for to deceive us they did lay in wait, Thinking we should follow them up to the Straits: Though our good God was pleas’d to alter the wind, Yet fortune unto us it proved unkind. There is an old proverb I’ve lately thought on, ‘When you think of a friend you’re sure to find none’; For when that I thought to see Lestock come by, He was five miles a distance, and would not come nigh; But for all that misfortune, we never could start, We pursued after them with a true British heart. A mile’s distance next day, they at us did fire, But in half an hour we to them drew nigher, Until that we came within pistol-shot, Then we did let fly; and why should we not? As we sent ’em one broadside, another did come, Which made our cannons [to] play, bomb! bomb! Our admiral then took his glass in his hand, To espy what he could, as you shall understand; A double shot came unto him so nigh, That it took off the place where his arm did lye. But for that misfortune, and all that foul play, He held ’em six hours in hot battle that day. The night being come, they straightway gave o’er, And went off with their cripples; we see ’em no more. But now that the war is proclaim’d against France, When we see them again we’ll make ’em to prance; And if ever they into our presence do come, We’ll make our cannons play ‘Britons, strike home.’ Then straightway we left them in grief to complain, Whilst we are carousing along the salt main. Pray God bless our fleet, and his Majesty too, And grant them success wherever they go. Concluding as this, and my song to end, In Matthews’ brave ship these verses were penn’d.

Come all you brave sailors that plough on the main, And hear of the brave Captain Hornsby by name; How bravely he acted and play’d his own part, That he made the proud Frenchmen to quake in their hearts. The French captain came up, and said, ‘You English dog, strike.’ ‘Not so,’ said brave Hornsby, ‘I first chuse to fight, To strike to a Frenchman I hold it so base, That I rather chuse to die in this place.’ The Frenchmen then boarded his vessel straightway, And brave Captain Hornsby did shew them fine play; He fought them five hours, five hours or more, ’Till thirty-six Frenchmen lay dead in their gore. All the men that he had on his ship were but eight, And yet to a Frenchman he scorn’d for to strike; Tho’ he had but one man for the Frenchman’s ten, He both burnt his vessel and drown’d all his men. Come, all ye brave sailors that plough on the main, Remember the brave Captain Hornsby, by name; And if that a Frenchman commands you to strike, Give answer like Hornsby, you first chuse to fight. If you take a good courage, and have a strong faith, Trust in your Creator, he’ll ne’er you forsake; If you have but one man for the Frenchman’s ten, You may both sink his vessel and drown all his men. Now brave Captain Hornsby, as I have been told, Has got as a present a medal of gold; Besides a fine chain of gold so bright, Because the proud French he so bravely did fight. Likewise every man in his ship, as we hear, Has had five pounds paid him down for his share; The boys forty shillings a piece they have got For standing so bravely against the French shot. Now all you brave heroes that heareth this song, I beg you excuse if any, thing be wrong; For I am no poet, nor scholar I swear, But I love loyal subjects I vow and declare. So let’s all in the praise of Hornsby now sing, For whom bonfires did blaze, and bells they did ring; To hear of this battle so gallantly got, And he and his men so preserved from the shot. And now to conclude of brave Hornsby so bold, I wish he was master of a million of gold; For fighting so boldly against the proud French, And laying them low in a watery trench. Tho’ he had but one man to the Frenchman’s ten, Yet he sunk both his vessel, and drown’d all his men.

Captain Cobb in Lynn doth dwell, a man of worthy fame, He went on board the bold Bacchus, a ship of lovely fame, fal lal lal, etc. From Lynn to Port there we were bound, and for to load with wine; And as we were returning home, a privateer espyed. Our master bold said, ‘Every man stand true [un]to his gun; And let us give them a full broadside, and see if we can them shun.’ No sooner we had fired at them, but the Spaniards returned the same; We tacked our ship about again, and gave them [a]thump for their pain. The second broadside the Spaniard [fired] they wounded our captain sore, ‘For quarters, quarters,’ our captain [cried]; ‘No, damn it,’ the boatswain swore, ‘Go you down into your cabin, and leave all things to me; I’ll warrant I’ll make them all stand true, and will gain the victory.’ We had no more than fourteen men, and two boys which made sixteen; We fought with a hundred and twenty-four men, and cleared our way of them. There were thirty of them boarded us, a dreadful sight to see, I could not get my gun to fire, and sore it did grieve me. A blunderbuss I took in hand, and did them sweetly bang; Some we drove into the sea, and some on the deck lay slain. And the rest of them that was left alive, their arms we took from them; And stowed them close down in their hold, till to England we came. We began at four in the afternoon, and fought while eight at night; And before we had fired at her larboard side on her we ’spyed a light. No sooner [had] we fired at her, no more of her we could see, God knows whether we sunk her, or whether she run away. The Heavens above alone did us love, o’er our enemies to prevail; So we set sail and away we came, with a fine and pleasant gale. When to old England we come, and our merchants do hear of the same, I hope they will some kindness shew, and reward us for our pains. If every Englishman like us would fight upon the sea, They need not fear to sail the seas, nor to face the enemy.

Come all you jolly sailors that to the seas are bent, I’ll tell you of a story that shall make your hearts relent, It’s of the Princess Royal, that gallant ship of fame, Commanded by bold Captain Lee by name. On the seventh of February from the Nore we did sail, Our topsails a flying with a fine and pleasant gale, But no further then the Gun-fleet that night could we go Where we lost our pinnace and three men in her also. So then for the Gun-fleet we quickly did sail, All for the Downs with a fine and pleasant gale, And when we came down there our orders were so, No further then the Downs our ship was to go, And there for to wait to join our fleet, All with Sir John Norris the French fleet to meet. On the seventh day our fleet they came in, Expecting at Dungeness the French fleet to trim. So then from the Downs we quickly did sail, All for Dungeness the French to prevail, But then off Folkstone we was forc’d to bring to, Where the French fleet did appear in our view. Our captain on board the admiral he went, To let him know our losses it was our full intent, The admiral he order’d us to Spithead with speed, But our thiler being broke we turn’d back again. Four anchors we lost which grieved us full sore, To think we had but one anchor and cable more, So we stear’d for the Downs and when we came there We let go our last anchor in despair. Right on the Goodwin Sands O the wind it did blow, Which fill’d our whole ship’s company all full of woe. But thanks be to God our cable it did hold, Which saved the lives of so many sailors bold. So now my lads since the danger it is o’er, How merry we will be boys if e’er we get on shore, With full flowing bowls the bumpers shall go round With our lasses upon our knees our sorrows to drown. So now to conclude and end my song, It was a brisk young sailor unto the ship belong’d It was a brisk young sailor that these lines did make, And o’er a can of flip his heart would never ake.

Good people all, pray give attention, to this fatal tragedy, Which I am bound to mention of the gallant Victory: Fourteen hundred souls did perish, and are to the bottom gone, Oh! the dismal grief and horror of their widows left alone. When we first from Spithead sailed, convoy unto Lisbon bound, They with good flip and punch regaled a brave new ship both right and sound: A hundred and ten guns she mounted, all of brass so smart and clean, The best ship in the Navy counted, but alas! no more is seen. But the voyage proved fatal, as by the sequel we shall find, For as she was home returning, she was off Scilly left behind In a dreadful storm of lightning, and of hail and thunder too, And has never since been heard of, the fatherless have cause to rue, From Alderney we’ve information that they heard that stormy night, At least ninety guns to fire which did them something affright: But as the more the storm increased it gave them more room to guess That some ship upon the ocean, was in sad and deep distress. We saw floating some days after some spare yards were drove on shore, On which was the name Victory, this gave us suspicion more: That the noble ship was stranded on the Gaskets was our fear, Long we waited with impatience, but no news of them could hear. The brave gallant Admiral Balchen with fourteen hundred men beside, If she’s lost, went to the bottom, and all at once together died: Oh! the dismal grief and horror if one had been there to see, How they all were struck with horror when sunk down the Victory. O! the sad and dismal story, I’m griev’d when I the same relate, So many blasted in their glory and at once shared the same fate: Some thinking on their wives and children, and some on their parents dear, Sunk to the bottom in a moment, and no time to say a prayer. O Victory! thou wast unlucky, but once before was out at sea, In the night run foul of the Lion, and her carved work took away: Now thou art gone to the bottom with a jovial company, An admiral, marines and sailors, most unhappy Victory! Oh! the grief of mournful widows, and their children fatherless, And the grief of tender parents, is more than what I can express: Some lamenting for their sweethearts overwhelm’d with grief we see, Each one laments his dear relation, Oh! the fatal Victory! Children crying for their fathers, widows weeping in distress, God will surely be their comfort, and protect the fatherless. He’ll be a husband to the widow that loves honest industry, And does give them His protection; farewell fatal Victory!

Come pity me, young maidens all, Who am brought into wretched thrall, My love was prest away to sea, And is on board the Victory. When of him I did take my leave, He said, ‘Dear Judy, do not grieve; Altho’ I absent from you be, Stout is our ship, the Victory. ‘Brave Balchen is a gallant man, And will conduct us safe to land; Then my dear Judy I shall see, When safe returns the Victory.’ Ah! John, indeed my heart did fail, When you to Lisbon was to sail, For dangers they are great at sea, Oh! now where is the Victory. O John, my lovely sailor dear, My heart is sore opprest with fear; A letter, true love, send to me, From on board the Victory. No cruel balls has hurt my dear, No fatal rocks you have come near, Nor taken by an enemy, You nor the gallant Victory. Nine hundred men on board you have, A jolly crew both stout and brave As ever did go out to sea, God send safe home the Victory. Dear Johnny, I at Portsmouth wait, And watch for you early and late, Wishing each moment for to see Come sailing in the Victory.

Come all you jolly seamen, that’s willing to enter On board of the Duke, your lives for to venture, On board of the Duke, she’s called by name, She cruizes the seas for old England’s fame. Fal, etc. The fourth day of May from the Downs we set sail, O, we were blest with a very fine gale: And with the Prince Frederick being our Commodore, We steered away, boys, for the Canary shore. Fal, etc. The tenth day of July, it being very clear, We espy’d three ships belonging to Mounsieur; O, these three ships were coming from Peru, With gold and silver, boys, all in our view. Fal, etc. A broadside from these French dogs we did receive, But quickly two for one O we did them give: But then at length they would no longer fight, ‘Our ships are a sinking’ for quarter they cry’d. Fal, etc. We hoisted out our pinnace, went to them straitway, We boarded two of their ships the very same day; We brought all the prisoners on board our own ship, Our hearts then within us began for to leap. Fal, etc. Then we went to Kingsale, being the nearest place, That we durst go to for to show our face: Where we had good wine and punch in gollore, And rum and brandy, boys, all in good store. Fal, etc.

Come jolly sailors, join with me, Come jolly sailors, join with me, To fight with Anson for renown, That we the French pride may pull down! We’ll take ’em all upon the seas; We’ll take ’em all upon the seas; We’ll make ’em strike where’er we meet, Or serve ’em all as we’ve done these. My boys, you heard what we have done, (bis) Ten sail of men-of-war we took, And made the merchant-men to run; Our admiral he ordered then, (bis) Three men-of-war to chase ’em all, To sink and take whate’er they can. The Centurion first led the van, (bis) And held ’em till we came up; Then we their hides did sorely bang, Our broadsides we on them did pour, (bis) We gave the French a sower d[r]ench, And soon their topsails made them lower. And when they saw our fleet come up, (bis) They for quarters call’d without delay, And their colours they that moment struck O! how we did rejoice and sing, (bis) To see such prizes we had took, For ourselves and for George our King. O! now, my boys, I’m come on shore, (bis) I’ll make you drink before we part; Such luck I never had before. Here is a health to those brave men, (bis) That did command this noble fleet, Bold Anson and brave Warren. My boys our prizes is arrived, (bis) Which when the people they did see, It did their very hearts revive. With joy and mirth we spent the night, (bis) In drinking loyal healths all round, It was such a welcome sight. Our ships are all a fitting up, (bis) Again with Anson we will go, I wish we may have but good luck. My boy, I’d have you to go too, (bis) For Anson is a lucky man, Where’er he comes he makes ’em rue. This is the second time you’ve seen (bis) The waggon loads of money come, And all taken by brave Anson. Come now, my boys, drink off a glass; (bis) Let’s not forget now we’re come home, Each bold sailor’s pretty lass.

1 Ring, ring out our bells! and to Calais from Dover Let our cannons loud roar carry France the news over, That the balance of land and sea war we’ve brought home, And our prizes, at Portsmouth, pay their Bergen-opzoom. So Huzzah! to King George, boys; long, long may he reign, By the right of old England, long lord of the main! So Huzzah! to King George, etc. 2 Now hark! and you’ll hear (and with truth ’twill be told) How the seas have been swept by his true hearts of gold: In the month of October, to West Indies bound, A fleet so becrowded with numbers we found, Tho’ our ken could not count ’em, our first chasing gun Observ’d ’em less forward to fight than to run. Tho’ our ken could not count ’em, etc. 3 All, all hands aloft, and away ’fore the wind, Full sail sped their merchants, from convoys behind; Yet, to do their tall ships the true honour we owe ’em, Tho’ to beat was above ’em, to fly was below ’em. But their cargoes, in danger, had no time to talk; So like pigeons they flew from our bold British Hawk. But their cargoes, in danger, etc. 4 Now broadsides to broadsides, smash! thro’ and thro’ boring, Made the sea seem a forest of lions all roaring! But the Severn’s bruised ribs felt our shot fly so sore, That her loud fifty mouths never spoke a word more. So silenc’d we left her, without more concern, To be catch’d, as we saw, by our frigates astern. So silenc’d we left her, etc. 5 Of their Trident our Devonshire came alongside, And souse! in her guts, such a dose did she hide, That the rummaging pills almost work’d her to death, For she soon, like the Severn, lay gasping for breath. Then bounce! came their Terrible—foul on a Tartar; But she too sung small, till she cry’d out for quarter. Then bounce! came their Terrible, etc. 6 Now shatter’d and batter’d (Morbleu! such a sight!) Their Thunder knock’d under, and stole off by night; When six of their squadron, that scarcely could creep, We lugg’d and tugg’d home, in our harbours to sleep. And so large were their hulks, tho’ we ply’d ’em with rubbing, To be sure their thick hides took a good deal of drubbing. And so large were their hulks, etc. 7 And now, the next year, when the prizes we’ve made By our own hands are mann’d out, we’ll drive a French trade; While the sea is our market, for squadrons we’ll barter, And give for first rates only bullets and quarter! So, Huzzah! to King George, boys; long, long may he reign, By the right of old England, long lord of the main. So, Huzzah! etc. 8 While our salt water walls so begird us about, And our cruisers, and bruisers, keep good looking out, What force need old England to fear can offend her, From France, or from Spain, or a Popish Pretender? So, Huzzah! to King George, boys; long, long may he reign, By the right of old England, long lord of the main. So Huzzah! etc.

Let every loyal Briton sing Prosperity to George our King; He that refuses let him swing, As many has done before him; But I shall raise my chearfull voice, Let Englishmen with me rejoice, For valiant Knowls, huzza! brave boys, The sailor does admire. Hispaniola and Louis Port Afforded Englishmen brave sport. Brave news, brave news for the British Court, Those places both are taken; We’ve taken Pondicherry too. Another scene appears in view: Jago de Cuba soon must rue, If I am not mistaken. It is such valiant acts as these That makes Mounsieur cry out for peace: Morblue hostilities pray cease And I’ll return all Flanders! Let all true Britons fill their bowls, A health to that hero Admiral Knowls, A health to our Brittish sailors bold That fought with this brave comander. Another glass to the sailors brave That with him such proofs of valour gave; Confusion to the rebel slave That does refuse to drink it! Let all true Britons fill their bowls: A health to hero Admiral Knowls, A health to our British sailors bold That fought with this brave commander.

I. All ye noble British spirits that midst dangers glory sought, Let it lessen not your merit that a woman bravely fought: Cupid slily first inroll’d me, Pallas next her force did bring, Press’d my heart to venture boldly for my love and for my King. II. Sailorlike, to fear a stranger, straight I ventured on the main, Facing death and every danger, love and glory to obtain; Tell me, you who hear my story, what could more my courage move?— George’s name inspired with glory, William was the man I lov’d. III. When from William Susan parted she but wept and shook her hand; I, more bold (tho’ tender-hearted), left my friends and native land; Bravely by his side, maintaining British rights, I shed my blood, Still to him unknown remaining, watch’d to serve and do him good. IV. In the midst of blood and slaughter, bravely fighting for my King, Facing death from every quarter, fame and conquest home to bring; Sure you’ll own ’tis more than common, and the world proclaim it too, Never yet did any woman more for love and glory do.

A prentice I was at Wapping-new-stairs, And a smart young lad was I; But that old blackguard old W——d, He inform’d, and had forty shillings for me. It was on the last day of February, In the year of fifty-five: He had me taken out of bed; When my friends heard it, lord! how they cry’d. My mother and my cousin both They on board of the tender came with speed, And thro’ the grates to them I talk’d, It was enough to make any heart to bleed. My mother and my cousin both, They in a boat did go ashore. Then from the Tower we set sail, For the Yarmouth rideing at the Nore. In happen’d on a Sunday morning We arrived at the Nore; The commodore fir’d his signal gun For the women all to go ashore. And when unto the ship I went, They put me in a great surprize; There I heard some swearing and some cursing, And some damning their precious eyes, To think that the commodore fir’d his signal For all their wives to go ashore; There was some crying and some sniffling, Crying ‘My dear, I shall see you no more.’ Then from the Nore we did set sail, And unto Spithead we was bound. It was a pretty sight to see The lasses lin’d round Portsmouth town. Then from the Yarmouth I was sent On board of Captain, so-call’d by name; There I fell sick on board of her, And to Gosport hospital sent for the same. There for three long months I stay’d, And very bad I was indeed; But I got well and away I went On board of the Captain with speed. I had not been on board her long Before the fleet they all did sail, From Spithead to St. Helens, boys, With a fine and pleasant gale. And when to St. Helens, boys, we came, The wind at west was very high; Sir Edward Hawke hove out his signal, For to come to anchor that very night. Sir Edward he hove out another signal, For the captain’s boat to come with speed, It was for to turn over fifty hands, On board of the Ipswich indeed. And when alongside of the Ipswich we came, I boldly in her jump’d in: And a-cruizing the Channel I went in her, And the French dogs we did sweetly trim. We’d not been out above six weeks Before the news to us was brought: Then to take, sink, burn, and destroy All the French ships we came athwart. It happen’d on a Sunday morning, As we was on our starboard tack, Between the hours of nine and ten, Three sail of Frenchmen we did take. We fir’d a shot and hoisted our colours, Then to let them see what we was; As soon as they came along side us They saw we was English boys, Then straitway they haul’d down their colours, And unto us they did strike; And they know’d that they must sink, If they had offer’d for to fight. We took five more, which made us eight, And away to Spithead, boys, we went. And now, my lads, we’re come to an harbour, We can go to rest with great content. So all young men that row in the lighters Keep yourselves free from a press-gang, And when ever you come athwart old W——d For my sake give him a hearty damn.

Come join with me, you Britons bold, Ne’er let your country be sold; We’ll let the French to understand, We’ll fight them both by sea or land, With hearts of steel and sword in hand, Like Britons bold. Brave Prince George shall command Our English [army], boys, by land; And when we meet our enemy, We’ll let them know we’ll fight or die, And quickly make them for to fly From Britons bold. Brave Anson and Hawke, brave Mostyn and West, They are all admirals of the best; And brave Boscawen we’ll not pass by, For he will either fight or dy, And from the French he’ll never fly, He is a Briton bold. In brave Plymouth Harbour near the main, There’s a hundred sail of French ships we’ve ta’en; Already, boys, they have a drench, We have many thousands of the French, Confin’d in close imprisonment, By Britons bold. Our Parliament they do agree That all these ships shall prizes be. There’s many a thousand pound in gold, For many a jolly sailor bold, Who did his enemies controul, Like Britons bold. Proud Lewis says, we understand, That he will invade our British land; But if he dare to show his face Before Prince George’s royal grace, We’ll make them glad to quit the place, Like Britons bold. Come, my boy, and let us go To fight the proud, insulting foe; Come, let us finish what’s begun, And see what is for to be done, We have oft-times beat them four to one, Like Britons bold. May God protect us in the field, Against our enemies’ sword and shield; Then fear not Charley’s Highland plods, Nor yet proud Lewis’s wooden gods, But scourge them with good English rods, Like Britons bold. God bless great George upon the throne, And may he now enjoy his own; May God preserve him day and night, And let him long enjoy his right, He is all loyal souls’ delight. [Like Britons bold.]

You sailors all of courage bold, Now a true story I will unfold; How we behaved you soon shall hear, On board the Terrible privateer. We touch’d at Plymouth, it was for men, Unto the seas we went again, And being blest with a pleasant gale, Hop’d with our enemies to prevail. We had not long been on the sea, Before a Frenchman we did see; He was well rigg’d, and come from France, Her name was call’d the bold Valance. We crowded all the sail we could, Our thundering cannons fire we would; Many a gallant sailor fell, On board the ship call’d the Terrible. Powder and ball did fly so fast, Four hours and a half this fight did last, But a sad misfortune us befell, On board the ship call’d the Terrible. We boldly gave them gun for gun, Till the blood out of our scuppers run, Our captain and our [mate] being slain, We could no longer the fight maintain. To board us then they did begin, And stript us naked to the skin; They put us all in the hole together, Where twenty-seven poor souls were smother’d. They sail’d with us to the first sea port, And bound us in prison strong; Where full nine months we did lay, Before the Carteel did fetch us away. Here’s a health unto our British fleet, Grant they with these privateers may meet, And [have] better luck than the Terrible, And sink those Mounsiers all to hell.

The muse and the hero together are fir’d, The same noble views has their bosom inspir’d; As freedom they love, and for glory contend, The muse o’er the hero still mourns as a friend; So here let the muse her poor tribute bequeath, To one British hero—’tis brave Captain Death. The ship was the Terrible—dreadful to see! His crew was as brave and as valiant as he; Two hundred or more was their full complement, And sure braver fellows to sea never went. Each man was determined to spend his last breath In fighting for Britain and brave Captain Death. A prize they had taken diminish’d their force. And soon the brave ship was lost in her course; The French privateer and the Terrible met, The battle began all with horror beset: No heart was dismay’d, each bold as Macbeth, The sailors rejoiced, so did brave Captain Death. Fire, thunder, balls, bullets, were soon heard and felt, A sight that the heart of Bellona would melt; The shrouds [were] all torn and the decks fill’d with blood, And scores of dead bodies were thrown in the flood; The flood, from the time of old Noah and Seth, Ne’er saw such a man as our brave Captain Death. At last the dread bullet came wing’d with his fate, Our brave captain dropt, and soon after his mate; Each officer fell, and a carnage was seen, That soon dy’d the waves to a crimson from green; Then Neptune rose up, and he took off his wreath, And gave it a triton to crown Captain Death. Thus fell the strong Terrible, bravely and bold, But sixteen survivors the tale can unfold; The French were the victors, tho’ much to their cost, For many brave French were with Englishmen lost. For thus says old Time, ‘Since Queen Elizabeth, I ne’er saw the fellow of brave Captain Death.’

Come all you brave Britons wherever you be, Fill up your glasses to brave Blakeney; O’er a full flowing bowl our voices shall ring, Huzza for brave Blakeney, and God save the King. Sing tantarara shoot Byng, etc. Here’s a health to brave Blakeney, so stout and so bold, Who the fort of St. Philip so bravely did hold; Had he been reinforced by Admiral Byng, He’d not yielded St. Philip unto the French King. Sing tantarara, etc. And when that he came unto the British shore, The bells they did ring and the guns they did roar, In a full flowing bowl his valour shall ring, Huzza for brave Blakeney and shoot Mr. Byng. Sing tantarara, etc. I had like to have forgot our brave Captain Carr, When Admiral Byng call’d a council of war; He boldly made answer, ‘The King sent all we To defend fort St. Philip, and help brave Blakeney.’ Sing, etc. Then he left Admiral B., and away he did steer, In spite of the guns of the great Galissionère, [sic] In the fort of St. Philip he landed his men, And sank the brave Dolphin in the harbour then. Sing, etc. So God save our admirals who are loyal and right, For their King and country like Blakeney they’ll fight. And those who are treach’rous in a halter let swing, Huzza for brave Blakeney, and God save the King. Sing, etc.

Mr. Cleveland, I pray, to their lordships you’ll say We are glad and rejoice above measure: When you have read what is writ you, you’ll laugh till it split you, And so give me joy of my pleasure. We’d a wind, you must know, as fair as could blow, And therefore in days just eleven, We had sail’d from the shore, full ten leagues or more, And saw nought but the ocean and heaven. Then seventeen ships came licking their lips. And crying out, ‘Fee, faw and fum’; Bigger each than Saint Paul; guns, the devil and all; And, egad, looking wondrous glum. But no matter for that, who says pit-a-pat? We tack’d, and we stood to the weather; We tack’d quite about, right and left, brave and stout, And so we were sideways together. Souls five score and two, maugre all they could do, We took in a tartan alive; Six hundred did sail in the vessel so frail, But our hundred had eat up the five. But of this by the bye; for now we drew nigh To each other—quite close—nay, ’tis true; Six times two of the line, large, grand, bright and fine; Five frigates! but look’d rather blue. ‘Fair honour,’ quoth I, ‘in thy arms let me die, And my glory burn clear in the socket’; Not an ounce more of powder, or a gun a note louder, So the d[irections] I put in my pocket. Brave West led the van, I follow’d amain; Such closing, and raking, and work, With foresails and braces all flutt’ring in pieces, ’Twould have melted the heart of a Turk. But the devil, in spite, to blast our delight, Got aboard the Intrepid, his daughter; Made her jump, fly, and jumble, reel, elbow, and tumble, And drove us quite out of the water. And now, being tea-time, we thought it was the time To talk over what we had done; So we put on the kettle our tempers to settle;— And presently set the fair sun. Our council next day, in seemly array, Met, sat, and debated the story: We found that our fleet at last might be beat, And then, you know, where is the glory? Moreover, ’twas plain, three ships in the van Had their glasses and china all broke; And this gave the balance, in spite of great talents, Against us—a damnable stroke! Without fear of reproaches, as sound as your roaches, Of glory we’ve sav’d our whole stock; ’Twere pity, indeed, to lose it, or bleed, For a toothless old man and a rock.

Give ear, ye sons of glory, Of greater deeds I sing Than e’er were recorded in story, All done by great Admiral Byng. Sing, sing, O rare Admiral Byng. It was in the very same sea, sir, His father’s fleet did swim: His father fought well, we agree, sir, But his father was nothing like him. Sing, sing, O great Admiral Byng. At first he came to Gibraltar, Where he was [for] succours to call; But wisely his orders did alter, And took no succours at all. Sing, sing, O wise Admiral Byng. While Portmahon was invaded, And Blakeney defended the fort, In the sea for a while he paraded, And then took a peep at the port. Sing, sing, O bold Admiral Byng. At length he descried the foe, sir, Whom he bravely determined to beat, If he cou’d without striking a blow, sir, Or hurting his Majesty’s fleet. Sing, sing, O brave Admiral Byng. And when the engagement began, sir, The admiral stuck to his plan; For he fought without firing a gun, sir, Or loosing a single man. Sing, sing, O rare Admiral Byng. West gallantly charg’d in the van, sir, Without dismay or fear; But Byng, who would not risk a man, sir, Kept cautiously snug in the rear. Sing, sing, great Rear-Admiral Byng. At length the French run away, sir, As Frenchmen are apt to do: But he scorn’d to give them foul play, sir, So he civilly run away too. Sing, sing, generous Admiral Byng. For behaving so well in the ocean, At least he deserves well a string; And if he wou’d sue for promotion, I hope they will give him his swing. Swing, swing, O rare Admiral Byng!

I said unto brave West, ‘Take the van, take the van,’ I said unto brave West, ‘Take the van.’ I said unto brave West, ‘As you like fighting best, I in the rear will rest, Take the van.’ Brave West did boldly act in the van, in the van, Brave West did boldly act in the van; As he did boldly act, I call’d my own ships back; Else he’d put the French to wrack Near Mahon. Oh! woe to cursed gold! ohon! ohon! Oh! woe to cursed gold! ohon! Oh! woe to cursed gold; For Minorca I have sold, That gallant place of old, With Mahon! It’s decreed by the King, I do hear, I do hear, He’s decreed it the nation to please, It’s decreed by the King, I’ll be shot by my marines, For the misdeed I have deen On the seas.

I am a sailor bold, and press’d to served the King, I am sent upon an errand some laurels home to bring: I am now on the coast, boys, where they are to be had, But alas! I dare not gather them, which makes me raving mad. Mad, boys, mad. Alas! I dare not gather them, which makes me raving mad. It’s enough to make a dog mad, to see a pudding creep. If he could not get at it, he’d bark and howl and weep; Methinks I see the laurels grow and easy to be had, Alas! I dare not gather them, which makes me raving mad. Mad, boys, mad, etc. My master has a nosegay, but it is not compleat, Tho’ the royal rose of England is excellently sweet; The laurel and French lilly in plenty may be had: Alas! I dare not gather them, which makes me raving mad. Mad, boys, mad, etc. The Derbyshire and Cheshire boys by Henry were sent To fetch the Flower-de-Luce home, and chearfully they went; They brought it home to England which made their hearts full glad; But if their hands had been confin’d they all had been stark mad, Alas! I dare not gather them, which makes me raving mad. Mad, boys, mad, etc. If I without my errand to England do return, Alas! I fear in effigy my body they will burn; The boys will hollow after me, as I do pass along, And evry Grub-street printer will curse me in a song. Song, boys, song. And every Grub-street printer will curse me in a song.

Come all ye jolly sailors with courage stout and bold, Come enter with bold Sawyer, he’ll cloath you all in gold; Repair on board the old Nassau, As fine a ship as e’er you saw, We’ll make the French to stand in awe; She’s mann’d with British boys. Commander Keppel with his good design, Commanded the squadron, five sail of the line, The Prince Edward of forty guns, The Firedrake and Furnace bombs, To take Goree it must be done, By true British boys. The 29th of October from Spithead we set sail, Kind Neptune convey’d us with a sweet and pleasant gale, So steering on the Barbary shore, Distance about twelve leagues or more, The wind at west aloud did roar; Stand by, ye British boys. So, steering on the lee-shore until the break of day, We spy’d a lofty sail on the Barbary shore to lay, In great distress she seem’d to be, Her guns all overboard threw she, Which prov’d the Lichfield for to be, With all her British boys. The wind blowing hard, we could give them no relief, A stretching on the lee shore we touch’d at Teneriff. So watering the ships at Santa Cruz, Taking good wine for our ship’s use, We sold our cloaths good wine to booze, Like brave British boys. Our ship being water’d and plenty of good wine, We hoisted up our top-sails and crost the tropic line. The wind at west the leading gale, Our gallant ship did sweetly sail; Steady along she ne’er will fail, With all her British boys. ‘Steady a port! don’t bring her by the lee! Yonder is the flag-staff at Goree, I do see.’ We brought the city within sight, Anchor’d in Goree bay that night, Clear’d our ships ready to fight, Like brave British boys. Early next morning the Prince Edward of forty guns Was station’d off the island to cover our two bombs, The old Nassau she led the van, With all her jovial fighting men, The drums did beat ‘to quarter stand,’ Like brave British boys. We sail’d up to their batteries as close as we could lay, Our guns from the top and poop aloud did play, Which made the French cry ‘Morbleu! Diable! what shall we do? Here comes bold Sawyer and all his crew, They’re all British boys.’ Then, follow’d by the Dunkirk and Torbay, The guns aloud did rattle and shells did play, Which made the French their batteries shun, And from their trenches for to run, The flag was struck, the fight was done, O huzza! my British boys. The Nassau and Dunkirk and Torbay of renown, Three as fine ships as belong to the crown, The only ships that fought so free, In taking of the isle of Goree, They are all British boys. Boast not of Frenchmen nor yet of Maclome, [sic] Sawyer’s as big a hero as ever you did hear, Whilst the shot around him did flee, In engaging twice the isle of Goree, As valiant men as ever you see, They are all British boys. Here’s a health to King George our sovereign majesty, Likewise to bold Sawyer that fought the French so free, Our officers and all our crew Are valiant men as e’er you knew, So here’s a health to each true blue, My brave British boys.

Come all you brave seamen that plows on the main, Give ear to my story [I’m] true to maintain; Concerning the Lichfield that was cast away On the Barbary shore by the dawn of the day. The tenth of November, the weather being fine, We sailed from Kingsale, five ships of the line, With two bombs and two frigates with transports also, We was bound unto Goree to fight our proud foe. The 29th of November, by dawn of the light, We spied land that put us in a fright, We strove for to weather, but we run quite aground, The seas mountain high made our sorrow abound. Our mast we cut away, our wreck for to ease, And being exposed to the mercy of the seas; Where one hundred and thirty poor seamen did die, Whilst we all for mercy most loudly did cry. Two hundred and twenty of us got on shore; No sooner we landed but strip’d by the Moors, Without any subsistence but dead hogs and sheep, That was drove on shore by the sea from the ship. For seven days together we thus did remain, Our bodys quite naked for to increase our pain; Till some Christian merchant that lives in the land, [He] sent us relief by his bountiful hand [sic], Unto our fleet the same fate did share, [sic] Then unto Morocco we all marched there, Where they are captives in slavery to be, Till old England thought proper for to set them free. When the black king we all come before, He stroked his long beard, and by Mahomet he swore, ‘They are all stout and able and fit for the hoe, Pray to my gardens, pray let them go.’ We had cruel Moors our drivers to be, By the dawn of the day at the hoe we must be; Untill four o’clock in the afternoon, Without any remission, boys, work was our doom. If that you offer for to strike a Moor, Straightway to the king they will have you before, Where they will basternade you till you have your fill, If that will not do, your blood they will spill. So now in Morocco we shall remain, Untill our ambassador cross[es] the main; Where our ransom he’ll bring, and soon set us free, And then to Gibraltar we’ll go speedily. So now, my brave boys, to old England we’re [bound], We will have store of liquors our sorrow to drown. We will drink a good health, success never fall [sic] [Bad] cess to the bawd and the whores of Kingsale.

You heroes of England, I pray you attend Unto these new verses, which lately were penn’d; It’s of a bloody battle, I tell you plain, Fought by Captain Hotham on the raging main. His ship she is called Melampe by name, Of thirty-six guns, a fine frigate of fame; As he was a cruising one day by great chance, He espied a frigate belonging to France Who many rich prizes from England had ta’en, When Hotham espied her on the raging main. ‘I’m glad that I’ve found her,’ he then did reply; ‘Thou shalt go to England, or else by thee I’ll die.’ The wind being fair, we soon her overtook, She was full of men, and boldly they look; She turned then upon us, with abundance of pride, And instantly gave us a thundering broadside. We gave them another, as good as they sent; To take, or be taken, was our full intent. Their metal was heavy, yet we did not care, But stood to our quarters, and did them not fear. Like true British heroes our guns we did play, ‘Fight boldly,’ says Hotham, ‘we shall win the day. When as she is ta’en, for your valour so rare, Ev’ry man in the ship shall have his just share.’ The Southampton she then triumphant did ride, Brave Gilchrist he gave them a warming broadside. With true British courage our guns we did load, Which brought down her masts close by the board. Upon Gilchrist’s shoulder a ball did graze; But the wound was not fatal, the Lord be prais’d; And tho’ he was so wounded, he smiling did say, ‘She is so disabled, she can’t run away.’ She struck to us quickly, we boarded her then, We killed her more than an hundred men; The father and son they both captains were, And dy’d of their wounds, for truth we do hear. Sure valianter captains never drew breath, Than Gilchrist and Hotham, unless it was Death. God prosper them both unto their lives end; By a true loyal subject these verses were penn’d.

The fourteenth of [Nov]ember, in Torbay as we lay, Bold Hawke did hoist his flag, sir, and came on board that day. Kind Neptune did protect us, with a sweet and pleasant breeze, We hoisted up our topsails, [to cross] the raging seas. We had not crossed the raging seas full thirty leagues or more, We spy’d a sail to windward, and down on us she bore. O then he hail’d our admiral, and thus to him did say: ‘The French fleet’s all sailed out, sir, and bound for Quiberon Bay.’ ‘Can you tell me at what distance, and where about they lay?’ ‘O yes, kind sir,’ he then replied, ‘it’s thirty leagues to-day. There’s twenty-two sail of the line to leeward of us do lie, All clean and tight for action as ever you did see.’ Then up bespoke our captain bold, to Edward Hawke did say: ‘This is the finest news, sir, that’s brought to us this day.’ Then Hawke himself soon mounted upon the lofty yard; His wings were spread at large, my boys, and after them we steer’d. The fifteenth of [Nov]ember, the morning being clear, When twenty-two sail of the line to leeward did appear. All hands! all hands! did rattle, a glorious sight to see; Unto the fight prepar’d, my boys, like lions bold and free. We steer’d unto the French fleet as near as we could ly, Till twelve of them engaged us, and that most speedily. They made a bloody battle, the like was never seen; The first broadside we gave them, boys, we laid them on their beams. ‘Oh! that’s a glorious broadside,’ our admiral replies; ‘Now give them such another, their ships will be a prize.’ Like thunder on the French fleet our cannons they did roar, We sunk the pride of France, my boys, all on their native shore. O! don’t you see the pride of France to the depths is going down, With many a dismal sigh, sir, and many a grievous groan. Conflans was sore affrighted, he could no longer stay; The rest of them turn’d tail, my boys, like cowards ran away. O, then they steer’d for Corjack Bay, where we led them a dance, It proved to be the fatal blow that sunk the crown of France. The Rising Sun we burn’d, and the poor Prince likewise, And two of them we sunk, my boys, and one we made our prize. So now the fight is over, fill up a flowing bowl; Whilst we’re upon the raging seas there’s none can us controul. Here’s a health to all commanders that are loyal just and true, Likewise unto Sir Edward Hawke, and the Royal George’s crew.

The wat’ry god, great Neptune, lay In dalliance soft and amorous play On Amphitrite’s breast; When uproar rear’d its horrid head, The Tritons shrunk, the Nereids fled, And all their fear confess’d. Loud thunder shook the vast domain, The liquid world was wrapt in flame, The god amazed spoke: ‘Ye winds go forth and make it known Who dares to shake my coral throne, And fill my realms with smoke!’ The winds, obsequious at his word, Sprung strongly up t’ obey their lord, And saw two fleets a-weigh: The one, victorious Hawke, was thine; The other, Conflans’ wretched line, In terror and dismay. Appal’d, they view Britannia’s sons Deal death and slaughter from their guns, And strike the deadly blow, Which caused ill-fated Gallic slaves To find a tomb in briny waves, And sink to shades below. With speed they fly and tell their chief That France was ruin’d past relief, And Hawke triumphant rode. ‘Hawke!’ cry’d the fair, ‘pray who is he That dare usurp this power at sea, And thus insult a god?’ The winds reply: ‘In distant lands There reigns a king who Hawke commands; He scorns all foreign force; And when his floating castles roll, From sea to sea, from pole to pole, Great Hawke directs their course. ‘Or when his winged bullets fly To punish fraud and perfidy, Or scourge a guilty land, Then gallant Hawke, serenely great, Tho’ death and horror round him wait, Performs his dread command!’ Neptune with wonder heard the story Of George’s sway and Britain’s glory, Which time shall ne’er subdue; Boscawen’s deeds, and Saunders’ fame, Join’d with brave Wolfe’s immortal name, Then cry’d, ‘Can this be true? ‘A king! he sure must be a god! Who has such heroes at his nod, To govern earth and sea! I yield my trident and my crown, A tribute due to such renown! Great George shall rule for me!’

Come cheer up, my lads, ’tis to glory we steer, To add something new to this wonderful year: To honour we call you, not press you like slaves, For who are so free as we sons of the waves? Hearts of oak are our ships, Hearts of oak are our men, We always are ready, Steady, boys, steady, We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again and again. We ne’er see our foes but we wish them to stay; They never see us but they wish us away: If they run, why we follow, and run them on shore, For if they won’t fight us, we cannot do more. Hearts of oak, etc. They swear they’ll invade us, these terrible foes, They’ll frighten our women, and children, and beaux; But should their flat-bottoms in darkness get o’er, Still Britons they’ll find to receive them on shore. Hearts of oak, etc. We’ll still make them run and we’ll still make them sweat, In spite of the Devil and Brussels Gazette. Then cheer up, my lads, with one voice let us sing, Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, and King. Hearts of oak, etc.

The twenty-first of February, as I’ve heard the people say, Three French ships of war came and anchored in our bay: They hoisted English colours and landed at Kilroot, And marched their men for Carrick without further dispute. Colonel Jennings being there, at that pretty town, His heart it was a-breaking while the enemy came down; He could not defend it for the want of powder and ball, And aloud to his enemies for ‘quarter’ did call. As Thurot in his cabin lay he dreamed a dream: That his grandsire’s voice came to him and called him by his name, Saying, ‘Thurot, your’e to blame for lying so long here, For the English will be in this night, the wind it bloweth fair.’ Then Thurot started up, and said unto his men: ‘Weigh your anchors, my brave lads, and let us begone; We’ll go off this very night, make all the haste you can, And we’ll steer south and south-east, straight for the Isle of Man.’ Upon the next day the wind it blew north-west, And Elliot’s gallant seamen they sorely were oppressed; They could not get in that night, the wind it blew so high; And as for Monsieur Thurot, he was forced for to lie by. Early the next morning, as daylight did appear, Brave Elliot he espied them, which gave to him great cheer. It gave to him great cheer, and he to his men did say: ‘Boys, yonder’s Monsieur Thurot, we’ll shew him warm play.’ The first ship that came up was the Brilliant without doubt, She gave to them a broadside, and then she wheeled about; The other two then followed her, and fired another round. ‘Oh, oh! my lads,’ says Thurot; ‘this is not Carrick town.’ Then out cried Monsieur Thurot, with his visage pale and wan: ‘Strike, strike your colours, brave boys, or they’ll sink us—every man; Their weighty shot comes in so hot on both the weather and the lee; Strike your colours, my brave boys, or they’ll sink us in the sea.’ Before they got their colours struck great slaughter there was made, And many a gallant Frenchman on Thurot’s decks lay dead; They came tumbling down the shrouds, upon his deck they lay, While our brave Irish heroes cut their booms and yards away. And as for Monsieur Thurot, as I’ve heard people say, He was taken up by Elliot’s men and buried in Ramsey Bay. Now for to conclude, and put an end unto my song, To drink a health to Elliot, I hope it is not wrong; And may all French invaders be served the same way; Let the English beat the French by land, our Irish boys on sea.

Observe this true relation, and listen unto me; ’Tis of a bloody battle, lately fought upon the sea, By brave Captain O’Brian and his bold English tars, Commander of that gallant ship, the Temple man-of-war. The pretty little Griffin did bear her company; And as they were a-sailing by chance they did espy, Nigh unto Martinico they did espy there fair, Three privateers belonging to the French, and after them did steer. O’Brian said, ‘My English lads, now is the only time To cool the lofty Frenchmen’s pride as they sail in their prime’; They answered their captain, ‘We will the Frenchmen scare, We’ll venture life and limbs with you in the Temple man-of-war.’ The wind it proved fair, and we after them did steer, And in a little time, brave boys, we did to them draw near; A broadside then we gave them, which made the Frenchmen stare, They little dream’d so nigh they’d got the Temple man-of-war. The pretty little Griffin behaved most manfully, Like showers of hail from our two ships our fiery balls did fly; The privateers they all three struck to us immediately, And from their batteries they fir’d, but could not us come nigh. We turned [unto] their batteries and briskly fired away, Until their guns and walls, brave boys, came tumbling in the sea; Their forces they did run for fear, they were so sorely scar’d, At the pretty little Griffin bold and the Temple man-of-war. Then further in the harbour two ships we did espy, Also a strong grand battery, and at them we let fly. For four days we did stay there, and every night and morn We did give them a grand salute, and we fired our evening guns. Two batteries we did then destroy, and five ships took away, And brought them safe to Guadaloupe, where now they all do stay. There is but one [man] kill’d, behold, and five that wounded are, In the pretty little Griffin bold and the Temple man-of-war.

Give ear, true Britons to my song, and joyful acclamations; ’Tis the noble deeds now done by our own relations. While Albemarle did command, Pocock and General Keppel: Let Moro Fort, and Spaniards vaunt if Britons be unable. Against Havannah we set sail, with a fleet of combination; Land troops we likewise had on board, to pay off Spain’s aggression. We moor’d our ships, and landed our troops, the Spaniards came down raging; But they found we were true British boys, as we their fury were swaging. We chac’d the Spaniards thro’ the woods, and hunted them like mawkin, And turn’d up hundreds in their fuds, the rest ran homeward quaking. For though they came in thousands on, our fire would make them scatter, But we true Britons kept our ground, while blood did run like water. The Spaniards judg’d the Moro’s fort the Briton’s strength would banter, But when we blew it up i’ the air, they tuned another chanter. Bold Harvey with three noble ships their walls by sea did batter, While we bombarded it on land, and did their out-works clatter. But never was heard such woful thuds as the Cambridge and Marlborough [did give ’em] The Dragon fired as brisk as they, but for smoak none could perceive them. The Cambridge got her captain shot, and a hundred more beside him, Brave Harvey then his station quit, for five long hours he try’d them. But finding it bomb and cannon proof, we then did give it over, And sprung a mine below their walls, which split the rocks in shivers. Some Spaniards went up with the blast, which made their fellows wonder, Such a hideous roar ne’er heard before, it far exceeded thunder. Then we approach’d upon a breach, our firelocks cock’d and ready, Where the Spaniards met us for a brush, imploring on their Lady To aid Velasco a Spaniard bold, a valiant sea commander, Who vow’d for to defend his fort, while Marza kept up his standard. O, then began the bloody fray, with bayonets and broad swords champing, Through bones and bellies we made our way, and dying men under us trampling; Of seven hundred Spaniards here, scarce left alive was eighty, Velasco by his standard fell, whose deeds were counted mighty. Then to Havannah we did march, and trenches rais’d like mountains, Then cut away their water pipes, which supplied them with fresh fountains, Our batteries then began to play, with roars aloud like thunder, Which dash’d their walls and chimnies down, yet loath for to knock under. O, then with bombs and fiery balls, threatened their utter ruin, Which rais’d such cries, as pierc’d the skies, for mercy they were suing. [Juan] de Prado to British tars was loath to be subjected, But brave Albemarle told him his fate was then to be ransacked, Or buried in the city’s ruin, him and his whole fraternity; This made him to subjection yield, and so they were disarmed; All stores and treasures of the place are bought by Briton’s glory, Seven ships; their arms and everything, and that’s a noble story. O, then with honour we lin’d their gates, and bravery to our wishing, And turn’d Don Spaniard from their posts, which they held by commission; May our noble King prosper long, and all his brave commanders, Who bravely led on Britain’s sons, to knock down popish standards.

Ye brave British sailors, true sons of the main, Who scorn to submit to the insults of Spain, Leave to landsmen their politick schemes and their talk, And enter on board the Lord Anson and Hawke. These two noble heroes, whose names our ships bear, Made the Spaniards to tremble, the Frenchmen to fear; Secure of success, then, your fortune ne’er balk, But enter on board the Lord Anson and Hawke. Let the wise politicians of France and of Spain, Threat to take from Great Britain her rule o’er the main; Their plate ships shall pay for their arrogant talk, If they come but in sight of the Anson and Hawke. The wages, the ingots, the wealth of Peru, The Spaniards are getting and hoarding for you; You shall ride in your coaches, whilst cowards shall walk, Who durst not engage in the Anson and Hawke. Then aboard, my brave lads, and with hearts stout and true, The road unto riches and glory pursue; That your wives may dress fine, and your children may talk Of your noble exploits in the Anson and Hawke. Here’s a health to King George, and his consort so true, May their laurels sit pleasing and well on their brow; To Hutchinson and Dickson, who for courage never baulk, Then fill up your glasses, boys, to the Lord Anson and Hawke. Huzza, brave boys, the Lord Anson and Hawke.

Ye seamen who’ve a mind to go in pursuit of new adventures, Repair on board the Blandford, with Captain Stonehouse enter, Who cruizing goes to meet his foes, such pastime sure must please us, We’ll prizes make of all we take; this will to fortune raise us. Here is our chief encouragement, our ship belongs to Bristol, Poor Londoners when coming home, they surely will be press’d all: We’ve no such fear when home we steer with prizes under convoy, We’ll frolick round all Bristol town, sweet liberty we enjoy. Why should we here our time delay, in London void of pleasure, Let’s haste away to Biscay Bay, and ransack there for treasure. Here we must creep and play bo-peep, to shun the damn’d press masters, We live in strife, even die in life, confin’d by catch-pole bastards. A health to Captain Stonehouse, success attend the Blandford, Five guineas is advanced us, come then let us enter on board; With the Blandford’s guns we’ll smoak the Dons, their ragged staff we’ll humble, Jack Frenchmen too shall cry morbleu, we’ll give them cause to grumble. Come fill your flowing glasses, let us drink and be merry; Take leave of all your lasses, we can no longer tarry; Girls, never fear, ye soon shall hear of the Blandford’s safe arrival, To Bristol town then haste ye down, your sweethearts to revive all.

Tom. How goes it, brother Jack? You are grown such a beau now, Had I but seen your back damn me if I had known you, Brother Jack. Jack. What cheer, old messmate Tom? You look as if you’d cry now; But I have news from home will make you jump mast high now, Messmate Tom. Since our brave towering Hawke has shown the French his talons, ’Twill soon be peace they talk; if so we’ll drink off gallons To brave Hawke. Tom. Huzza! my hearty cock! For this news damn all sorrow, I’ll pawn my shirt and frock, but I’ll get drunk to-morrow, Hearty cock! Jack. When all the ship are paid we’ll lead a merry life, boy; Blood! then how we’ll parade with ev’ry one his wife, boy, When we’re paid. Tom. Nay, some will have their pairs, they’ll be so open-hearted; And brimstones will have chairs, that rather should be carted, All in pairs, Jack. Our proud lieutenants then, those empty flashing sporters, May pimps turn to great men, companions to their porters, Not proud then. Tom. Our midshipmen now beaux, it makes me laugh to think, boys, Will cry about old cloaths, and corporals turn link-boys To those beaux. Jack. Amongst the damn’d odd scenes you’ll see in jails and cages Lieutenants of marines, and doctors’ mates on stages. Damn’d odd scenes. Tom. The steward, dirty slave, that us’d to cheat us daily, Will still remain a knave, and follow some bum-baily. Dirty slave! Both. That day then, jolly buck, we’ll set the taps a-flowing, And drink ‘rest and great luck’ to Pitt, Hawke, and Boscawen, Jolly buck!

Says Jack, ‘There is very good news; there is peace both by land and by sea; Great guns no more shall be used, for we all disbanded must be.’ Says the admiral, ‘That’s very bad news;’ says the captain, ‘My heart it will break;’ The lieutenant cries, ‘What shall I do? for I know not what course for to take.’ Says the purser, ‘I’m a gentleman born; my coat is lined with gold, And my chest is full of the same, by cheating of sailors so bold.’ Says the doctor, ‘I’m a gentleman too, I’m a gentleman of the first rank; I will go to some country fair, and there I’ll set up mountebank.’ Says the steward, ‘I’m sorry it’s peace, for I love my ship as my life, And by cheating of honest Jack Tars I have plenty of shiners so bright.’ Says the carpenter, ‘I have a chest, a chest of very good tools; I will go to some country fair and there I’ll sell three-legged stools.’ Says the cook, ‘I will go to that fair, and there I will sell all my fat.’ Says Jack Tar, ‘If I should meet you there, damn me, I’ll pay you for that; ‘For don’t you remember the time our topsail stuck close to the tack, And we all stuck fast in the sheet, for want of some of that fat?’ Says the midshipman, ‘I have no trade; I have got my trade for to chuse: I will go to St. James Park gate, and there I’ll set blacking of shoes; ‘And there I will set all the day, at everybody’s call, And every one that comes by, “Do you want my nice shining balls?”’ Says Jack, ‘I will take to the road, for I’d better do that than do worse; And every one that comes by, I’ll cry, “Damn you, deliver your purse.”’

‘You are welcome to London, dear Jack. What news have you brought us, I pray?’ ‘From Portsmouth I have lately come, And now I am discharg’d from the sea. I have never a copper, brave boy; I’ve wages and prize money due.’ ‘Damme Jack, truly do say, You will be hard set to get it, it’s true.’ ‘Dear shipmate, I’ve been here a month, And cannot get mine for the truth; On board a man-of-war I went When I was a frolicsome youth. My king and my country to serve I fought like a sailor so bold. Now that the wars are all over I really cannot get my gold. ‘To a navy officer each day I did go; I’ve been both hungry and dry. My money I then did demand. “You cannot have it,” they cry. My life I have ventur’d for gold, My king and my country to serve. Now the wars are all over Brave sailors may perish and starve. ‘Suppose that the war should break out, Then what will Old England do? Bad usage we plenty receive By not paying us our due. They will cavvil from day to day, “To-morrow you your answer shall have.”’ ‘Damme Jack, I really do say, For I think they are acting the knave.’ ‘Then truely I don’t mean to rebel Again[st] my good king and his laws. Did he then know my distress He soon would relieve my just cause; We should be paid with great speed. The taverns we[’d] make them to roar, We[’d] spend it like brave jolly tars; What else should we do on shore?’

God prosper long our noble King, his fleet and sailors all, And grant that they their pay may have, and pride may have a fall. Where courage stout and noble blood within the heart doth reign, There pity soft for others’ woes doth pant in every vein. Our gracious King, by pity moved to do his sailors right, To Parliament did recommend their sad and woful plight. A usurer in Lothbury, a Jew of high renown, Hearing the sailors would be paid strait hasted up to town; All in his hall the clerks amazed and agents, frighted sore, ‘Adieu,’ cried out, ‘for-ty per cent, Adieu—for evermore.’ The Jew he sighed, ‘Alack, my head and heart it acheth much! But hold,’ says he, ‘I’ve got it now. Pray tell me—won’t they touch? ‘What, pay the Navy all, d’you say? Sure that can never be, For then much greater men must lose their trades as well as we. ‘A Sanhedrim we straight must call upon a thing so new. Go summon all, great Shylock first; he’s trusty and true blue.’ While yet he spake, lo at the gate, the head of all the tribe, Shylock, appear’d, the most expert at counsel or at bribe. His chatter and his laugh so loud was heard quite to the door; His belly, of enormous size, came strutting in before. Soon tawny Shadrach plodded in, whose face and wig contend Which in their hue most like shall be to Belzeebub the fiend. Shadrach from father circumcis’d a wight descended sure, Either from Abraham the Jew or Ismael the Moor. ‘I stopt,’ quoth he, ‘by precedent the pinch-gut halfpenny, Tho’ tars on short allowance starv’d, and better they than we.’ From Tower Hill with hang-dog look came one would move your pity. ‘What, no more tickets, sir?’ said he; ‘’twill ruin our trading city.’ Quoth Shylock with a grin, ‘My friends, when ships to Greenland sail They dexterously throw out a tub to fool the mighty whale. ‘Prompt payment publickly to blame may prove a dangerous scheme; Another project we’ll propose for to direct the stream. ‘Something, be sure, must needs be paid. Let’s give them two months’ certain: The other four you friends shall share—with me behind the curtain. ‘Their wages too we must advance some shillings augmentation: What tho’ it freightage should destroy, that only hurts the nation. ‘As toasted cheese the mouse allures within the trap to venture, Such baits as these will surely make the heedless seamen enter. ‘When once they’re caught we’ll turn ’em o’er for ever and for ay; They’ll then be volunteers for life, and we’ll divide their pay. ‘Whilst cent. per cent. our friends can gain we are sure of being courted, Nor can the sailors well complain, for they will be transported.’ But these their plots we know our liege will all to nothing bring; Then sailors may throw up their caps and cry, ‘God save the King.’

Of all the curst plagues that e’er Fate did decree To vex, plague, and punish poor sailors at sea, There’s none to compare with the purser, that evil Who’s worse than a jailer, a bum, or a devil, Sure when he was framed Dame Nature lay dying; Hell then took a purge, hell then took a purge, and Pluto sh—t him flying. As his name foully stinks, so his butter rank doth smell, Both hateful to sailors, scarce good enough for hell: The nation allows men what’s fitting to eat, But he, curse attend him, gives to us musty meat; With bisket that’s mouldy, hard stinking Suffolk cheese, And pork cut in pounds, and pork cut in pounds, for to eat with our pease. Because it is cut off the best fatted hogs He thinks it too good for eternal lowsie dogs. Then our urine to purge, that the men may piss clear, Instead of what’s better, his petty-warrant beer Is by him allowed, which makes us complain; Which he ne’er regards, which he ne’er regards, so he gets but the gain. His oatmeal, or grout, known by the name burgooe, Is fitting for nothing but make a sailor spew: His bruis, no better than common kitchen-grease, The sailors are forced to eat with their pease: Such beef-fat, so nasty, we constantly use, That’s but fit for the mast, that’s but fit for the mast, or the greasing of shoes. When a sailor’s oblig’d to make use of his store He then must expect to be miserable poor: For consider what price for their goods we do pay; He has treble worth of each man, I dare say. Such dealings as these are not just, I am sure; Yet such hardships as these, yet such hardships as these we do daily endure. Now, since he’s so friendly, I’d give, as ’tis due, By way of requital, a kind wish, or two: And first, may his brandy run all o’er the deck, And he end his days in a rope with aking neck; Or may he still eat, and be never satisfy’d, Still craving of more, still craving of more, but be never cloy’d. And may he have nothing to drink all the year, When droughth shall attend him, but petty-warrant beer: May fate ne’er allow him a candle to his cabbin, And be in the dark by Old Nick taken napping, And by him or his agents be bore swiftly away, To plague, vex, and punish, to plague, vex, and punish, for ever and aye. May Charon be careful and ferry him o’re To Pluto’s grand court on the Stygian shore: May ten thousand furies still on him attend, To plague and torment him unto the world’s end: While each jolly sailor, to make themselves merry, Shall take a full glass, shall take a full glass, to his passage o’er the ferry.

What ship, honest brother sailor? You must stop and let us know. If you’re entered or protected, you must tell before you go. Here’s our warrants to impress you. Ne’er repine, my noble blood; We don’t mean for to oppress you; it’s for your king and country’s good. For to humble the proud Spaniards British courage must be shown, Or those haughty proud villains will never know what is their own. Their men-of-war we’ll make to rattle; Spain shall tremble at the sight; Haste, brave boys, away to battle; the French nor they could never fight. British courage should never be daunted at the talk of Spanish war[s]; While that seamen they are want[ed] we’ll freely enter, like jolly tars. For to humble the proud Spaniards we’ll sail along so brave and true, And make the Spaniards to knock under and the French cry out, ‘Morbleu.’ So come along, my jolly sailors, enter along with tars so true; We are the men that fear no dangers, but soon will make the Spaniards rue. Success to all our brave commanders that do plough the raging main, Likewise to our jolly sailors, for to conquer France and Spain.

‘Come, brave, honest Jack Tar, once more will you venture? Press warrants they are out; I would have you to enter. Take some rich Spanish prize, as we’ve done before, O.’ ‘Yes, and be cheated of them all, as we were the last war, O.’ ‘No man that sails with me shall e’er be abused; So, Jack, come and enter; you shall be well used. You shall be boatswain’s mate, Jack; so boldly come and enter And not like a dog be haul’d on board of the tender.’ ‘Dear captain,’ he said then, ‘don’t talk of your pressing; It’s not long ago since I gave six of them a dressing.’ ‘I know that very well, Jack: the truth I must grant you; You are a brave, hearty fellow, and that makes me want you. ‘Dear captain,’ he said then, ‘if the truth I do tell you, I got so much the last war that it quite fill’d my belly; For your damn’d rogues of officers they use men so cruel That a man-of-war is worse than hell or the devil. ‘There is the master a-swearing, the boatswain a-growling, The midshipman a-howling out, “Take that fore-bowling”; If you speak but one word you’re a mutinous rascal, Both your legs laid in irons and try’d by a court-martial.’ Now, boys, we are press’d away from our habitation, And we leave wife and children in grief and vexation; We venture our sweet lives in defence of our nation, And we get nothing for it but toil and vexation.’

When first on board of a man-of-war We go, whether by press or enter, And alongside of our ship we come, We boldly in her venture. Such twigging then at we fresh men. ‘They’re clever fellows,’ some say, While the buffers stand with their rattans, Crying, ‘Keep down out of the gangway.’ Then aft upon the quarter-deck We go, it being common; Our officers examine us, to know Who and who are seamen; There’s some are seamen, some are freemen, Some one thing, some another: Then we down below on the main deck go, Boys, after one another. Next to old Trinculo we go For an order to get our hammocks, Then aft again and down amain, Not forgetting our stomachs. The steward pens, he takes our names, And tells us to our messes; But nipping there they can’t forbear, For the Devil them possesses. Then up again upon the deck, So briskly, boys, we bundle; Since we have secur’d our pack, We have no cause to grumble. Then we clap on what we heave upon, Some piping, others singing: There’s hoist away, likewise belay. Thus we make a beginning. When once our ship has got all in, And nothing now neglected, To think of sea we do begin, Our orders soon expected. Then with a career we get all clear, In readiness for unmooring, Boats alongside with wind and tide To carry the women ashore in. ‘All hands, unmoor,’ the boatswain calls, And he pipes at every hatchway; If you Tom Cockswain’s traverse tip him Take care he don’t catch you; For without a doubt, if he finds you out, You may be sure within you, Over face and eyes, to your surprise He’ll arm you without mercy. The capstan is already mann’d. Shall we hear the boatswain hollow? Sometimes he is listening at a stand To hear the answers follow. We have not brought to, there’s such ado, While some are calling the swabbers. Now heave away without delay, Boys, hold on the nippers. The boatswain and his mates are piping, Crying, ‘Men, have a rally,’ And often forward they are piking To have a rout in the galley. ‘What are you about? Away with us out.’ To leave our victuals we abhor it; With cuffs and knocks leave kettles and pots, And the Devil cuff them for it. ‘Heave and in sight, men, heave away,’ From forward the boatswain is calling; ‘Heave a turn or two without delay; Stand by the capstan for pealing.’ Then one and all to the catt do fall; We haul both strong and able, Till presently from forward they cry, ‘Below, stick out the cable.’ We cast our anchors then with speed, And nimbly press the stoppers, Then next to fish it we proceed, Our shank-painter so proper, Which we do pass securely fast, And lap well on a seizing, Our anchors, be sure, can’t be too secure; It stands to sense and reason. When once our ship she is unmoor’d Our swelling sails so neatly, With fore-tack and main-tack also, Our sheets haul’d aft completely, Then away we sail with a fresh gale, On a voyage or on a station. Like English hearts we’ll play our parts In defence of the English nation. The best cry we like to hear On board, as I’m a sinner, Is when from the quarter-deck they call To the boatswain to pipe to dinner. Such crowding then among the men: Some grumble, others jangle; You’re nobody there without you swear And boldly stand the wrangle. There’s green-horn fellows some on board Before ne’er saw salt water; When come to sea, upon my word, The case with them does alter. They better know how to follow the plow, With good fat bacon and cabbage; When sea-sick took like death they look, Ready to bring up guts and garbage. When stormy winds begin to blow Our ship is in great motion; To carry our victuals safe down below It requires a good notion. We often fall down the hatchway with all, From the top to the bottom sprawling; Such laughing then among the men, And loudly the butcher calling. There are snotty boys of midshipmen Han’t done yet shitting yellow; As to their age, some hardly ten Strike many a brave fellow, Who dare not prate at any rate, Nor seem in the least to mumble; They’ll frap you still, do what you will; It is but a folly to grumble. Now to conclude and make an end In a full flowing brimmer; Let every one drink to his friend; The bowl it seems to look thinner. We’ll drink again, like sons of men, And drink bad luck to the purser; He cheats us with ease of our oatmeal and pease: Such rogues there can’t be worser.