Admiral Keppel Triumphant; or, Monsieurs in the Suds
Each bold British tar,
Who ne’er dreads wound or scar,
Now to honour and glory advance;
Never let it be told
That Britons so bold
Shall stoop to be conquer’d by France.
This American war
Had ne’er gone on so far
Had they not been supported by France;
But Keppel so brave,
Such music he’ll have,
Will teach them the Old English dance.
Tho’ railing there’s been
’Gainst statesmen and King
And they said, we durst not declare war,
But, whether or not,
Such a navy we’ve got
That will soon be a scourge to Monsieur.
Bold Keppel, we know,
Was ever their foe,
And his courage no Briton need doubt;
Two French frigates he’s ta’en,
That were sailing the main
Our West India fleet for to rout.
Now Keppel, they say,
Off Brest Harbour does lay:
Monsieurs with their fleet can’t come out;
If they do they must fight,
Which was ne’er their delight.
We shall beat them; of that there’s no doubt.
Each true British soul,
Push round can or bowl,
Drink success to his Majesty’s arms
And his navy at sea;
Then we all must agree
We fear no invading alarms.