Come let us reckon what workes are our's, Forts, bulwarks, barricadoes, Mounts, gabions, parrapits, countermurs, The bear, the dog, the fox, the kite, They chas'd the Turk in a day and night, Field-pieces, muskets, groves of pikes, Squadrons, half moons, with rankes and files, A health to brave land-soldiers all, THE MARINER'S CHORUS. THE following is taken from an opera, printed at London in 1659, and entitled "The History of Sir Francis Drake." WINDS may whistle and waves dance to 'em, When others in storms seek prizes at sea. ADMIRAL BENBOW. THIS favourite old sea song is in a collection of penny song books, formerly belonging to Ritson, and, with music, in Dale's Collection. See Chappell's National Airs, p. 97. The ballad is not strictly accurate in its details. O, we sail'd to Virginia, and thence to Fayal, The first we came up with was a brigantine sloop, Oh! we drew up our squadron in very nice line, The very next morning 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, ; The very next morning, by break of the day, 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, THE ROYAL TRIUMPH : OR, THE UNSPEAKABLE JOY OF THE THREE KINGDOMS, FOR THE GLORIOUS VICTORY OVER THE FRENCH, BY THE ENGLISH AND DUTCH FLEETS; TO THE JOY AND COMFORT OF ALL TRUE SUBJECTS. Tune is, Let the soldiers rejoyce. THIS is taken from a printed copy preserved in the Bagford Collection of Ballads, in the British Museum. It may be well to mention here, in case the reader may wish to examine the original, that I refer to three volumes of ballads under the press-mark 643 м, which, as I am informed by Mr. Rimbault, were collected by Bagford, the celebrated typographer and collector of title-pages. VALIANT Protestant boys, Here's millions of joys, And triumph now brought from the ocean ; Now is shatter'd and beat, And destruction, destruction, boys, will be their portion. Here's the Jacobite crew, Now believe me, 'tis true, With the Teague Rapparees, True cut-throats, true cut-throats, upon my salvation. But alas they did find A true Protestant wind, Which five weeks or longer it lasted; Till the most royal fleet And the Dutch both compleat, They with thunder, with thunder, this project soon blasted. On the nineteenth of May, For we show'd them, we show'd them, we were true and loyal. Our Admiral's bold, With their brave hearts of gold, They fell on like brave sons of thunder; And their chain-shot let fly, As the fleet they drew nigh, Where they tore them, and rent them, and tore them asunder. Our squadron true-blew, Fought their way through and through, At length in Lob's Pound, boys, we got 'um; Such a fiery drench, That we sent them, we sent them, straight down to the bottom. Such a slaughter we made, While the loud cannons play'd, Which laid the poor Monsieurs a bleeding; Nay, their chief admirall, We did bitterly maul, And have taught him, have taught him, I hope, better breeding. Our brave Admiral, Being stout Dellaval, Whose actions all men may admire; For the French Rising Sun, Was not able to run, Which with seven, with seven more ships he did fire. Valiant Rook sail'd straightway Where a French squadron lay, Close amongst the rocks then for shelter; But we fell on Gillore, And we fir'd twelve more, Thus we fir'd and burn'd the French fleet helter-skelter. |