THE
Algier Slaves Releasment:
OR, The Unchangeable Boat-wain .
No Prison like the Jayl of Love,
nor no such torments found;
To those that loyal mean to prove,
whose loves are firm and sound;
This loyal person ne'r would change,
like a true Lover he;
Indur'd his Fetters and his Chains,
and Betty's Captive be.
To the Tune of, Awake, Oh my Cloris.
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O F a Constant Young Seaman,
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a Story I'le tell:
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That I hope all true Lovers
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will please very well:
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All his cry was still, though
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I continue a Slave;
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Yet the want of my Dear,
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is far worse than a Grave,
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All the tedious long Night
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in close Prison I lye;
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But methinks I behold
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my dear love lying by;
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In the mid'st of my pains,
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this doth still give me ease;
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That is pleasant to me,
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which some call a Disease.
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Sometimes to the Gallies
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I'm forced to go;
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Though amongst all my Fellows,
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like a Slave I do Row:
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And when I am spent
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with this Labour and Pain;
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The thoughts of my Love
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doth revive me again.
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A Nd when with Strappadoes
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sometimes I do meet:
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I find little Pain,
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if I think on my sweet:
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Thus 'twixt Pleasure and Pain,
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my time I do spend;
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Yet vow to be Constant
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unto my Lives end.
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No Torture nor Prison
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shall make me forsake,
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Nor flye from my Reason,
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for my Betty's sake:
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I do slight all the Torments
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bestow'd by the Turk;
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When I think on my Dear,
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and in Gallies do work.
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But a Renegado
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to make me they strive;
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I'le never consent to't,
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whilst I am alive:
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But will a Couragious
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true Protestant be:
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I'le be true to my faith,
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and be constant to thee.
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Ah Betty , when Billows
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do rage and do Roar,
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For want of thy sight
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I am troubled sore:
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Whilst others are troubled
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with terror and fear;
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Yet I am chear'd up;
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with the thoughts of my Dear.
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No Prison is like
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to the want of thy sight;
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Which Locks up my bliss,
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for thou art my Delight:
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Though distant I am,
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therefore only opprest:
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Yet still my dear Betty
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doth lodge in my breast.
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In the midst of my sorrows,
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whilst others do mourn;
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'Tis the want of my Love
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that doth make me forlorn:
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Yet would not enjoy thee
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in this cursed place;
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Though for want of thy Love,
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my tears trickle apace.
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But be of good cheer,
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for every one knows,
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'Tis an ill Wind indeed
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that no comfort blows.
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And again I do hope
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thee in England to see:
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Then who'l be so happy
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as Betty and me.
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And now thorough Providence,
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I am return'd;
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By Shipwrack I scap'd;
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for our Ship it was burn'd:
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No torment like mine was,
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when I was a Slave:
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For the want of my Betty ,
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was worse then a Grave.
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FINIS.
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