Admiral Russell’s Scowering the French Fleet; or, The Battle at Sea
Thursday in the morn, the Ides of May,
Recorded be for ever the famous ninety-two.
Brave Russel did discern by dawn of day
The lofty sails of France advancing now.
‘All hands aloft, aloft; let English valour shine.
Let fly a culvering, the signal of the line;
Let ev’ry hand supply his gun.
Follow me, and you’ll see
That the battle will be soon begun.’
Tourville o’er the main triumphant rowl’d
To meet the gallant Russel in combat on the deep;
He led the noble train of heroes bold
To sink the English admiral at his feet.
Now every valiant mind to victory does aspire;
The bloody fight’s begun, the sea itself on fire,
And mighty Fate stood looking on
Whilst a flood all of blood
Fill’d the port-holes of the Royal Sun.
Sulpher, smoak, and fire disturbed the air,
With thunder and wonder to fright the Gallick shore;
Their regulated bands stood trembling near
To see their lofty streamers now no more.
At six a clock the Red the smiling victor led,
To give a second blow, their total overthrow.
Now death and horror equal reign;
Now they cry, tun, or dye!
Brittish colours ride the vanquish’d main.
See they run amaz’d thro’ rocks on sands:
One danger they grasp at, to shun a greater fate.
In vain they crie for aid to weeping lands;
The nimphs and sea gods mourn their lost estate.
For ever more adieu, thou dazling Royal Sun;
From thy untimely end thy master’s fate begun:
Enough, thou mighty god of war.
Now we sing, ‘God bless the King,
Let us drink to ev’ry English tar.’
Come, jolly seamen, all with Russel go
To sail on the main, proud Monsieur for to greet
And give our enemy a second blow,
And fight Tourville if that he dare to meet.
Come, brother tar, what cheer? Let each [his gun] supply,
And thump ’em off this year, or make Mounsie[u]r to fly
While we do range the ocean round.
Day or night we will fight
When our enemy is to be found.
Let it ne’er be said that English boys
Should e’er stay behind when their admiral goes;
But let each honest lad crie with one voice,
‘Brave Russel, lead us on to fight the foes.’
We’ll give them gun for gun, some sink and other burn.
Broad-sides we’ll give ’em too, till Monsieur crys, ‘Morblew!
Des Engleteer vill kill us all.’
Whilst they scower we will pour
Thick as hail amongst them cannon-ball.