The Sea-Man’s Adieu to his Dear
This man was prest to serve upon the seas,
Which did his dearest very much displease;
She importuned the captain on her knee,
And proffered gold to have her love set free;
But all would not prevail; the captain’s ear
Was deaf, the maid’s complaint he would not hear.
When no entreaty could move his hard heart
She sadly took her leave, and so they part.
To the Tune of I’le go to Sir Richard.
Come, all loyal lovers that’s faithful and true,
Observe, where ever you be,
A pattern I here have presented to you:
It is good to be constant, you see.
But chiefly to thee, my own dearest, I speak,
With patience my absence to bear,
For now I am prest to serve on the seas,
And I must bid adieu to my dear.
Our King must have seamen and souldiers most stout,
His enemies’ heart for to fear,
And I for my honour will venture about,
And I must bid adieu to my dear.
Maid.
O tell me not so, mine own dearest, I pray;
For love’s sake take pitty on me;
I’le do my endeavour to please thee alway
If that I may have my love free.
’Tis far better staying with me on the shore,
Where pleasures and joys do abound,
Than for [you] to venture where cannons do roar,
In the depth of the seas to be drown’d.
O be not so cruel, my love, for to fight,
But tarry, my dearest, with me;
We’l find out a way in Love’s war for to fight,
And I’le strive for to set my love free.
Man.
All that thou canst do, my love, will not procure
My freedom, I sorely do fear;
But I must the hardship of service endure,
And I must bid adieu to my dear.
My captain by no means will let me go free,
He likes me so well, I do hear;
Therefore it’s in vain to beg my liberty,
For I must bid adieu to my dear.
Maid.
I’le go to thy captain and fall on my knee;
Perhaps he’l take pitty on me;
If five pounds or ten pounds will buy thy discharge
He shall have it to set my love free.
The Captain’s Answer.
Not ten pounds nor twenty will buy his discharge,
Fair maid, you must patiently bear;
He shall go to sea for his King to ingage,
And he must bid adieu to his dear.
I’le have him to serve me upon the salt main,
In battel with foes for to fight;
Then cease, pritty maiden, and do not complain,
For the wars is a souldier’s delight.
Maid.
Behold, noble captain, the sorrowful tears,
That down my cheeks trickle amain,
To move your hard heart to release me of fear
And to grant me my love once again.
No maiden’s heart ever was so full of woe,
Then, good sir, take pitty on me;
And let him no further into the wars go,
But be pleased to set my love free.
Captain.
O cease thy suit, damsel, and be not so sad,
Let reason thy mind now aswage;
Ten thousand such seamen must e’re long be had,
All against the proud foes to engage.
Man.
My dearest, why dost thou the captain offend?
Thou seest he by no means will yield;
And I am resolved my blood for to spend
Upon the salt sea or in field.
Therefore be contented, and cease thy sad moan,
Take comfort, and do thou not fear;
If fortune befriend me, when as I am gone,
I shall once again see mine own dear.
Maid.
My dearest, since thou must be parted from me,
And here must no longer remain,
The thought of thy love all my comfort shall be
Until I do see thee again.
Each hour for thy welfare to God will I pray,
That He will in safety preserve
My own dearest lover by night and by day
Whilst he on the ocean doth serve.
This token, I prethee, love, for my sake keep,
Remember me when you it wear;
This parting kiss take, which doth cause me to weep,
And so heavens bless mine own dear.
Man.
Adieu, my dear jewel: thy love I have found;
Our parting doth grieve me full sore.
The drums they do beat, and the trumpets do sound,
And I must stay no longer on shore.
THE MAIDENS FROLICK; OR, A BRIEF RELATION HOW SIX LUSTY LASSES HAS PREST FULL FOURTEEN TAYLORS ON THE BACKSIDE OF ST. CLEMENTS, AND THE OTHER ADJACENT PLACES.
To the Tune of An Orange.
Of late near the Strand, we well understand,
Six lasses that took a brisk frollick in hand;
’Twas thus, I profess, they in seaman’s dress,
Not far from the May-pole, resolved to press
Fourteen taylors.
Young Nancy she ty’d a sword by her side,
And she was resolved for to be their guide:
This young female crew, Kate, Bridget, and Prue,
And she that went formost was Lieutenant Sue,
Pressing taylors.
These maids by consent, their minds fully bent,
First thro’ the back side of St. Clements they went,
Where just in the street they a taylor did meet;
They prest him, and streight he fell down at their feet:
‘I’m a taylor.
‘I tell you,’ said he, ‘I ne’er was at sea,
And therefore, kind gentlemen, pray set me free,
And pity these tears; I have liv’d forty years,
And never us’d weapon but bodkin and shears.
I’m a taylor.’
But Susan and they strait haul’d him away,
While Tom, the poor taylor, did sigh, beg, and pray;
Yet all was in vain, for they did him retain,
And told him that now he must fight on the main,
Tho’ a taylor.
Then to White Hart Yard they went with regard,
And there a poor taylor was labouring hard
Upon his shop-board. Nan drew out her sword,
Saying he must King William his service afford,
Tho’ a taylor.
The taylor did quake—nay, quiver and shake.
At length with a pitiful voice he did spake,
While tears down did run; he cry’d, ‘I’m undone.
I never did know the right end of a gun;
I’m a taylor.’
Then stout Boston Bess said, ‘Nevertheless
You must go with us, we’ve a warrant to press;
Then wave this excuse, and lay by your goose;
Such nimble young fellows may be of great use,
Tho’ only a taylor.’
And then, by report, they went to Round Court,
Where seven young taylors were making of sp[ort],
Their hearts void of care, who when they come the[re],
These maids did catch napping, as Moss catch’d [his] ma[re],
Seven taylors.
They thought to resist, but Joan with her fist,
She thumpt them about till the taylors they pi,
And then in a rage the rest did engage,
And brought them away to the round-house or ca[ge],
These poor taylors.
With all might and main down to Dutchy Lane
These petticoat press-masters hurried again,
To press some they knew: ’twas Morgan and Hu[gh],
A couple belong’d to the cross-legged crew,
And Welsh taylors.
Then Morgan hur railes, crys, ‘Splutter-a-nails,
Hur newly come up to fair London from Wales;
Then pray cease your strife, hur has a young wife,
Besides hur was never yet kill’d in hur life.’
A Welsh taylor.
But yet, right or wrong, they brought ’em along,
And happen’d to meet with three more in the thro[ng].
Then said lusty Jane, ‘You must serve King and Que[en]!’
And thus these stout females did press full fourte[en],
And all taylors.
THE COURAGIOUS COMMANDER; OR, A BRIEF RELATION OF THAT MOST NOBLE ADVENTURE OF SIR CLOUDESLY SHOVELL, IN THE BAY OF DUBLIN, ON GOOD FRYDAY, IN BRINGING THE PELLICAN FRIGAT OUT OF THEIR HARBOUR IN TRIUMPH AND VICTORY.
To the Tune of Let Cæsar live long.
Now, noble brave boys, let the sweet trumpet sound,
While seamen with trophies of honour are crown’d;
For gracious King William they’ll fight till they dye,
And scorn from the face of a Tory to flye.
Sir brave Cloudesly Shovell sail’d to Dublin Bay,
And brought the brave Pellican frigat away.
Bold James and his Teagues they did stand and behold
Our noble commander, couragious and bold,
Who ventur’d just close to the banks of their shore
And laid the proud enemy sprawling in gore:
With fire and sword, boys, we enter’d the bay,
And brought the brave Pellican frigat away.
Our noble commander first enter’d aboard,
On the Monmouth yacht; this did courage afford
To all the brave sailors of Protestant pride,
Who vow’d they wou’d venture to dye by his side;
Then crossing the bar they enter’d the bay,
And brought the brave Pellican frigat away.
The Tory commander did fire amain,
While we did salute him with bullets again,
Till twenty or more of his rebells were kill’d.
Now when he our valour and courage beheld,
He straight cut his cable to flye from the fray,
But we brought the brave Pellican frigat away.
The Protestants’ goods they were sending for France;
By us they were stopt—ay, and taken by chance,
Which made the poor French-men to swear, fret, and frown,
To see our brave seamen of fame and renown,
With what resolution our guns they did play,
When we brought the brave Pellican frigat away.
The Tories came down with their foot and their horse,
And with their old master lamented his loss;
And into the water a party did ride,
Discharging their pistols against our ship’s side;
But like men of courage our guns we did play,
And brought the brave Pellican frigat away.
‘You damn’d English dogs,’ one proud Monsieur did cry,
But straight at his horse we a bullet let flye;
He was in a rage to find such salutes,
That straight he was forc’d to shake off his jack-boots;
Then after the rebels our guns we did play,
And brought the brave Pellican frigat away.
But here is one thing that is worthy of note:
Two Protestant boys they did wade to our boat;
We straight took them in, and their lives we did save:
An account of the fears of the rebels they gave.
Our streamers we spread, and our flags did display,
And brought the brave Pellican frigat away.
This is but a rellish and taste of their doom;
Brave boys, we will down with the bullworks of Rome.
The rebels in France they may put their whole trust,
While we all their glory lay low in the dust.
With fire and sword, boys, we’l enter the fray
King William’s great army shall carry the day.
THE SEAMEN’S VICTORY; OR, ADMIRAL KILLEGREW’S GLORIOUS CONQUEST OVER THE FRENCH FLEET, IN THE STREIGHTS, AS THEY WERE COMING FROM THOULON TOWARDS BREST;
With the manner of taking three of their French men-of-war, and sinking two more; although the French Admiral vainly boasted he would recover Brest or Paradice, yet he shamefully run from the English fleet.
To the Tune of The Spinning Wheel.
Here’s joyfull news came late from sea;
’Tis of a gallant victory
Which o’er the French we did obtain
Upon the throbbing ocean main.
As soon as e’er they found our rage
The rogues was glad to disengage.
The French fleet sailing from Thoulon,
As we by letters understand,
To join with those that lay at Brest,
As some of them have since confest;
But our brave fleet with them did meet,
And made the Frenchmen soon retreat.
Five ships, with others, did advance,
Being the very pride of France:
The Lewis, Dauphin, and the Sun,
With others which were forced to run.
As by this ditty you shall hear,
Brave English boys, the coast did clear.
The French at first did brag and boast,
But we so wisely rul’d the roast,
Under our Admiral Killegrew,
That we engag’d and beat them too,
Declaring that we did not fear
The haughty rage of proud Monsieur.
Our admiral bore up amain,
Resolving that he would maintain
A sharp and bloudy fight with those
Who dare King William’s crown oppose:
Then broad-sides streight began to roar,
Which laid the French in reeking gore.
Right valiant seamen, fierce and bold,
Couragious noble hearts of gold,
All with a resolution bent,
Whole showers of shot to them they sent,
By which the French in hundreds fell:
Our guns did ring their passing-bell.
We pour’d our shot on e’ery side,
‘’Tis bravely done,’ the captain cry’d.
‘Though sharp and bloudy be the fray,
The French are beat; we have the day.
True English boys, ’twas bravely done;
See how the Frenchmen run, they run.’
Now while we did maintain the fight
Two French ships there we sunk downright,
And likewise have we taken three.
This crown’d our work with victory;
The noble, valiant Killegrew
After the rest do’s still pursue.
The French-men they did [soon] retreat;
They were a shatter’d, torn fleet.
But if he shall them overtake
A prize of all the rest he’ll make;
Couragious boys are sail’d with him,
Who freely ventures life and limb
Under the admiral’s command,
For to defend the native land.
May Heaven prosper still and bless
Our valiant soldiers’ good success,
That we hereafter may advance,
To shake the very crown of France.