A
COPY of VERSES,
COMPOSED BY
Captain Henry Every,
LATELY
Gone to SEA to seek his FORTUNE.
To the Tune of, The two English Travellers.
Licens'd according to Order.
|
COme all you brave Boys, whose Courage is bold,
|
Will you venture with me, I'll glut you with Gold?
|
Make haste unto Corona, a Ship you will find,
|
That's called the Fancy, will pleasure your mind.
|
Captain Every is in her, and calls her his own;
|
He will box her about, Boys, before he has done:
|
French, Spaniard and Portuguese, the Heathen likewise,
|
He has made a War with them until that he dies.
|
Her Model's like Wax, and she sails like the Wind,
|
She is rigged and fitted and curiously trimm'd,
|
And all things convenient has for his design;
|
God bless his poor Fancy, she's bound for the Mine.
|
Farewel, fair Plimouth, and Cat-down be damn'd,
|
I once was Part-owner of most of that Land;
|
But as I am disown'd, so I'll abdicate
|
My Person from England to attend on my Fate.
|
Then away from this Climate and temperate Zone,
|
To one that's more torrid, you'll hear I am gone,
|
With an hundred and fifty brave Sparks of this Age,
|
Wo are fully resolved their Foes to engage.
|
These Northern Parts are not thrifty for me,
|
I'll rise the Anterhise, that some Men shall see
|
I am not afraid to let the World know,
|
That to the South-Seas and to Persia I'll go.
|
Our Names shall be blazed and spread in the Sky,
|
And many brave Places I hope to descry,
|
Where never a French man e'er yet has been,
|
Nor any proud Dut[c]h man can say he has seen.
|
My Commission is large, and I made it my self,
|
And the Capston shall stretch it full larger by half;
|
It was dated in Corona, believe it, my Friend,
|
From the Year Ninety three, unto the World's end.
|
I Honour St. George, and his Colours I were,
|
Good Quarters I give, but no Nation I spare,
|
The World must assist me with what I do want,
|
I'll give them my Bill, when my Money is scant.
|
Now this I do say and solemnly swear,
|
He that strikes to St. George the better shall fare;
|
But he that refuses, shall sudenly spy
|
Strange Colours abroad of my Fancy to fly.
|
Four Chiviligies of Gold in a bloody Field,
|
Environ'd with green, now this is my Shield;
|
Yet call out for Quarter, before you do see
|
A bloody Flag out, which our Decree,
|
No Quarters to give, no Quarters to take,
|
We save nothing living, alas 'tis too late;
|
For we are now sworn by the Bread and the Wine,
|
More serious we are than any Divine.
|
Now this is the Course I intend for to steer;
|
My false-hearted Nation, to you I declare,
|
I have done thee no wrong, thou must me forgive,
|
The Sword shall maintain me as long as I live.
|
|
|
|
|
|