Chapter IX: Part 9

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.

_THE SEA-MARTYRS; OR, THE SEAMEN’S SAD LAMENTATION FOR THEIR FAITHFUL SERVICE, BAD PAY, AND CRUEL USAGE_;

Being a woful relation how some of them were unmercifully put to death for pressing for their pay, when their families were like to starve.

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

To the Tune of _Banstead Downs_.

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.

_ADVICE TO YOUNG MAIDENS IN CHUSING OF HUSBANDS._

To the Tune of _In the merry month of June_.

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.

_THE SEAMEN’S WIVES’ VINDICATION; OR, AN ANSWER TO THE PRETENDED FROLICK WHICH WAS SAID TO BE BY THEM OVER A BOWL OF PUNCH._

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.

_BILLY THE MIDSHIPMAN’S WELCOME HOME._

To the Tune of _Ianthe_, etc.

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.

_ADMIRAL BENBOW._

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.

_THE DEATH OF 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._]

_THE SAILORS ACCOUNT OF THE ACTION AT VIGO._

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._

_ON THE SEA FIGHT BETWEEN SIR G. R. AND TOULOUSE, 1704._

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._

_A SONG ON THE SAME._

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.

_THE SAILOR’S TRAGEDY; OR, THE LAST FAREWEL OF CAPTAIN SMITH._

To the Tune of _Sail before the mast_.

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.

_THE VALLIANT ADMIRAL; OR, THE WONDERFUL SUCCESS OF SIR JOHN LEAKE_,

Who took a hundred sail of laden transports from the French, which he sent to Barcelona.

To the Tune of _Thursday in the morn, etc._

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.

_THE SEA-FIGHT; OR, THE FRENCH PRIZE TAKEN: A BALLAD._

‘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.’

_THE LOSS OF THE EDGAR_

The dismal lamentation of the widows and fatherless children for the loss of their husbands and relations, that was blown up on board the Edgar man-of-war, October, 15, 1711.

To the Tune of _Aim not too high_.

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.

_THE SAILOR’S COMPLAINT._

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._

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._’

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.

_THE BOATSWAIN’S WHISTLE._

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._

_THE DOWNFALL OF PIRACY._

Being a full and true account of a desperate and bloody sea-fight between Lieutenant Maynard and that noted pirate Captain Teach, commonly call’d by the name of Black-beard; Maynard had fifty men, thirty-five of which where kill’d and wounded in the action: Teach had twenty-one, most of which was kill’d and the rest carried to Virginia in order to take their tryal.

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.

_ADMIRAL CAVENDISH’S DISTRESS ON BOARD THE CANTERBURY._

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!