THE
Triumph of the Seas;
OR, THE
English and Dutch Victory over the French Fleet,
To the Joy and Satisfaction of all Loyal Subjects.
Tune is, Let Mary Live long.
Licensed according to Order.
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I.
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HEre's News from the Fleet,
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Fill Bowls with Canary,
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To William and Mary,
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The French they are Beat,
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and shatter'd at Sea;
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Loud Cannons did Roar,
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And laid them in Gore,
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while some of them Run:
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Now, now let them Vapour,
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Now, now let them Vapour,
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of what they have done.
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II.
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They threaten'd this Land
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With desperate Ruin,
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Strange Plots they were Brewing,
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A French Armed Band
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they thought to bring o're;
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But brave English Boys,
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With Thundering Noise,
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has forc'd them to Run:
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Now let the French Vapour,
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Now let the French Vapour,
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of what they have done.
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III.
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The French hoisting Sail,
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Their whole Fleet together,
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But (Oh) the bad Weather,
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Soon made them turn Tail,
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in spight of their Crew;
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Till our Admirals hot,
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With their thundering Shot,
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did cause them to Run:
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Now, now let them Vapour,
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Now, now let them Vapour,
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of what they have done.
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IV.
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Their best Ships of War,
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With Cannons like Thunder,
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We then rent in sunder,
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To punish them for
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their Impudent way;
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Likewise many we Burn'd,
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While others return'd,
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and homewards did run,
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To tell their old Master,
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To tell their old Master,
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of what they had done.
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V.
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The Jacobite Crew,
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False Rumours was raising,
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Our Captains dispraising,
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Yet this would not do,
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their Plot was in vain;
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For the Enemy found,
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They were Loyal and sound,
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and caus'd them to Run,
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To tell their old Master,
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To tell their old Master,
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now what they have done.
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VI.
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Was e're the like known?
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Instead of their Landing,
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With Power Commanding,
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Their Fleet's overthrown,
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by true Men of War;
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To their sorrow they find,
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We were all of one mind,
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and forc'd 'um to Run,
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To tell their old Master,
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To tell their old Master,
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Boys, what we have done.
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VII.
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Quoth Monsieur, Verdike,
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Wid horror they fill us,
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Nay, Wound us and Kill us,
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Begar me no like
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such Fire and Smoak;
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For they pounce, pounce so fast,
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We're forced at last,
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like Cowards to Run;
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Begar there's no boasting,
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Begar there's no boasting
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of what we have done.
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VIII.
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De Engelish they
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In heat of de Battel,
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Deir Cannons did rattle,
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A sharp bloody Fray
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we did undergo;
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But Begar, now no more,
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Will we trouble deir Shore,
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but homeward now run,
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To tell our dear Master,
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To tell our dear Master,
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Fait, what they have done.
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