ADMIRAL HOOD's CONQUEST,
Over the COUNT DE GRASSE.
|
COME all you jovial sailors,
|
Give ear unto my song,
|
Let joy inspire your hearts,
|
While glory leads you on:
|
The Count de Grasse with all his fleet,
|
Has threat'ned us full sore,
|
That with his grand Armada,
|
He'll scour the British shore;
|
Our ships he'll sink, our islands take,
|
All under his command,
|
But the courage of bold Britons,
|
Has stopt his warlike hand.
|
The proud and lofty hero,
|
In Port Royal harbour lay,
|
And on the eighth of April,
|
From thence he sail'd away:
|
And with his floating batteries,
|
In number thirty three,
|
A large convoy of transports,
|
To bear him company;
|
With troops and ammunition,
|
As plainly doth appear,
|
For to besiege Jamaica,
|
His course he strait did steer.
|
He thought this great attempt,
|
Was very bold indeed;
|
But now I will unfold to you,
|
How far he did succeed:
|
For Hood he soon had tidings,
|
The bards had took their flight,
|
That he with so much diligence,
|
Had watch'd both day and night:
|
Then with the gallant British fleet,
|
We sail'd from St. Lucia,
|
Resolving the destruction,
|
Of the daring enemy.
|
It was on the ninth of April,
|
Just at the break of day,
|
We espy'd those lofty Frenchmen,
|
At Dominica lay;
|
There being but little wind,
|
And they to windward were,
|
In spite of all our best efforts,
|
Their convoy did get clear:
|
The squadron under gallant Hood,
|
Receiv'd a glorious breeze,
|
To bring the French to action,
|
The present moment seiz'd.
|
The whole French fleet we did engage,
|
Full eight glasses or more,
|
And with our little squadron,
|
So well we paid their score;
|
And like undaunted Britons,
|
Each man stood to his gun,
|
Altho' the French at times
|
Were nearly two to one;
|
The rest of our fleet coming up,
|
On them began to play,
|
Which made 'em for to haul their wind,
|
And like cowards run away.
|
Those cowards then to windward,
|
Three days we did pursue,
|
Until the twelfth of April,
|
The glorious fight renew'd:
|
The wind did seem to favour us,
|
Our fleet hove in a line,
|
And for to close our enemy.
|
It were our whole design:
|
Bold Drake he led the van,
|
And fully bent was he,
|
To die or else to conquer,
|
The daring enemy.
|
The action it commenced,
|
From the van unto the rear,
|
And we broke their line of battle,
|
Amidst the smoke of fire:
|
Their Glory we dismasted,
|
Our shot as well we play'd,
|
While fury round the enemy,
|
Did rage on ev'ry side;
|
So closely we pursu'd them,
|
They knew not where to run,
|
To shelter their disabled ships,
|
From the fire of English guns.
|
From morning until evening,
|
The battle we maintain'd,
|
The sea on every side of us,
|
Seem'd to be in a flame:
|
The lofty Ville de Paris,
|
And haughty Count de Grasse,
|
One of them we took prisoner,
|
The other lay avast:
|
What joy inspir'd each Briton's heart,
|
When the action it did close,
|
To see the LILLY of France,
|
Strike to the English ROSE.
|
Now the lofty Ville de Paris,
|
To Louis is no more;
|
Behold she trims her lofty sails,
|
To deck Britannia's shore:
|
With three more of their lofty ships,
|
Bearing her company;
|
Two more to make the fight complete,
|
Lay buried in the sea:
|
So now proud Louis think no more,
|
Bold Britons to ensnare;
|
Our English tars will curb your pride,
|
Your boasting we don't fear.
|
So Britons now join chorus,
|
And sound our Admirals' praise,
|
Brave gallant Hood and Drake,
|
The terror of the seas:
|
All captains and lieutenants bold,
|
That fought with courage great,
|
All offic[er]s and seamen,
|
Throughout the British fleet;
|
For we have, and will still beat them,
|
So Britons bold advance,
|
To curb the boasting insults,
|
Of proud and haughty France.
|
|
|
|
|
|