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Come let us reckon what workes are our's,
Forts, bulwarks, barricadoes,
Casemates and pallisadoes.
The bear, the dog, the fox, the kite,
That stood fast on the Kover;
From Scandaroon to Dover.
Field-pieces, muskets, groves of pikes,
Carbines and canoneers-a;
And fronts, and vans, and reers-a.
A health to brave land-soldiers all,
Let cans a piece goe round-a ;
And lofty musick sound-a.
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,
And the master aloud bids, “ Lee the helm, lee !"
When others in storms seek prizes at sea.
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,
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 Col. lection 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 m, 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,
For the French mighty fleet,
Now is shatter'd and beat, And destruction, destruction, boys, will be their portion.
Here's the Jacobite crew,
Now believe me, 'tis true,
Who was crossing the seas,
With the Teague Rapparees, True cut-throats, true cut-throats, upon my salvation.
But alas they did find
A true Protestant wind,
Till the most royal fleet
And the Dutch both compleat, They with thunder, with thunder, this project soon
On the nineteenth of May,
The French fleet made way,
They suppos d we'd ne'r fight,
But they won't in the right, For we show'd them, we show'd them, we were true and
Our Admiral's bold,
With their brave hearts of gold,
And their chain-shot let fly,
As the fleet they drew nigh, Where they tore them, and rent them, and tore them Our squadron true-blew,
Fought their way through and through,
Where we gave the proud French
Such a fiery drench, That we sent them, we sent them, straight down to the
Such a slaughter we made,
While the loud cannons play'd,
Monsieurs a bleeding;
We did bitterly maul,
Our brave Admiral,
Being stout Dellaval,
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,
But we fell on Gillore,
And we fir'd twelve more, Thus we fir'd and burn'd the French fleet helter-skelter.