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Being sunk, took, and burn'd

There's not many return'd,
Was this not a wofull disaster ?

How they far'd on our coast,

Let 'em sail home and boast,
To old Lewis, to old Lewis, their fistula master.

When he hears how they speed,

It will strike him near dead,
Losing what he long has been getting;

But we'll have him to know,

That we'll still keep him low, He shall never, shall never, boys, conquer Great Britain.

Printed for P. Brooksby, J. Deacon, J. Blare, and J. Buck.

THE FAIR MAID'S CHOICE: OR, THE SEAMAN'S

RENOWN.

Being a pleasant song made of a sailor,
Who excells a miller, weaver, and a taylor,
Likewise brave gallants that goes fine and rare,
None of them with a seaman can compare.

By T. L.

To the tune of Shrewsbury for me.

[From Bag ford's Collection.]

As I through Sandwich town passed along,
I heard a brave damsel singing of this song,
In the praise of a sailor she sung gallantly,
Of all sorts of tradesmen a seaman for me.

I gave good attention unto her new ditty,
My thoughts it was wondrous gallant and pretty,
With a voice sweet and pleasant most sweetly sung she,
Of all sorts of tradesmen a seaman for me.

THE FAIR MAID'S SONG IN PRAISE OF A SEAMAN.

Come all you fair maidens in country and town,
Lend your attention to what is pennd down;
And let your opinions with mine both agree,
Of all sorts of tradesmen a sailor for me.

The gallant brave seaman God bless him, I say,
He is a great pains-taker both night and day,
When he's on the ocean so hard worketh he,
Then of all, &c.

Of all sorts of gallants so gaudy and fine,
That with gold and silver so bravely doth shine,
The seaman doth out pass them in each degree,
Then of all, &c.

For a seaman will venture his life and his blood,
For the sake of his king and his countri's good,
He is valiant and gallant in every degree,
Then of all, &c.

He ventures for traffique upon the salt seas,
To pleasure our gentry which lives at ease,
Through many dangerous places pass he,
Then of all, &c.

Amongst all your tradesmen and merchants so brave,
I can't set my fancy none of them to have,
But a seaman I will have my husband to be,
Then of all sorts of tradesmen a seaman for me.

With a thievish miller I never will deal,
Because out of a bushel a peck he will steal,
I will have no society with such knaves as he,
But of all sorts of tradesmen a seaman for me.

Likewise a pimping taylor, and a lowsie weaver,
To steal cloth and yarn they do their endeavour,
Such fellows are not for my company,
But of all, &c.

Also the carpenter and the shoomaker,
The blacksmith, the brewer, and likewise the baker,
Some of them use knavery, and some honesty,
But of all, &c.

For I love a seaman as I love my life,
And I am resolv'd to be a seaman's wife,
No man else in England my husband shall be,
Then of all, &c.

And I'll tell why I love a seaman so dear,
I have to my sweet-heart a seaman most rare,
He is a stout proper lad as you shall see,
Then of all, &c.

If that I were worth a whole ship-load of gold,
My love should possess it, and with it make bold,
I would make him master of every penny,
Then of all, &c.

Through fire and water I would go I swear,
For the sake of my true love whom I love so dear,
If I might have an 'earl I'de forsake him for he;
Then of all, &c.

Here's a health to my dear,come pledge me who please,
To all gallant seamen that sail on the seas,
Pray God bless and keep them from all dangers free,
So of all sorts of tradesmen a seaman for me,

FINIS.

Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright, and J. Clarke.

A COMMENDATION OF MARTIN FROBISHER.

From a contemporary manuscript, in the Ashmolean Library, at Oxford, No. 208. From a note in the same handwriting as the manuscript, the poem appears to have been written by John Kirkham.

Youe muses guid my quivering quille,

Caliope drawe neare,
Sicilian nymphes accord my suet,

And to my hestes give ear.

Your sacred hyd a wyll I crave,

My shiveringe sence to staye, Such hewt exploits I take in hand,

That men to me maye saye;

Thy ragged rims and rurall verse

Cannot ascend soe hye,
To touch the tape of Martin's prayes,

Which fleth the hiest skie.

Wher whirlinge sphers doe hit resound,

And dewshe stares contain, What thundringe tromps of goulden fame,

In azure aper so plaine.

Whose hewtie acts not heavens allon

Contented ar to have,
But earth and skyes, the surging seas,

And silvan's eccoughes brave,

Do all resound, with tuned stringe

Of silver harmonye,
Howe Frobisher in every cost,

With flickering fame dothe flye.

A mertial knight adventuros,

Whose valure great was suche; That hazard hard and light estem'd,

His countrie to enriche.

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