The Boatswains Call;
OR,
The Couragious Marriners Invitation to all his Brother Sailers, to forsake Friends and
Relations, for to fight in the defence of their King and Country.
To the Tune of Ring of Gold.
Licenced according to Order.
|
STout Seamen come away,
|
never be daunted:
|
For if at home you stay,
|
then is it granted
|
The Fleet can never be
|
Mannd for the Ocean,
|
To Fight the Enemy,
|
and gain Promotion.
|
Lewis that Christian-TURK,
|
makes preparation;
|
His Engines are at work
|
in Consultation,
|
Thinking to Ruine quite
|
all Christian Princes;
|
But we their wrongs will right,
|
at Lifes expences.
|
The Mighty force of France,
|
we never value
|
For when we once advance,
|
we will not dally:
|
But on the Ocean wide,
|
(through blest permission)
|
Well soon subdue their Pride,
|
and grand Ambition.
|
Therefore with Courage bold,
|
Boys, let us venter,
|
Like noble hearts of Gold,
|
now freely enter
|
Your names on Board the Fleet,
|
all Friends forsaking,
|
That we may soon Conpleat
|
this undertaking.
|
Is it not that the Land,
|
might be defended,
|
By a Victorious hand,
|
tho France intended
|
To lay a heavy Yoke,
|
on a free Nation;
|
Boys let a fatal stroke,
|
prove their vexation.
|
But yet my thinks I hear
|
some Cowards crying,
|
The Press they dread and fear,
|
as much as dying:
|
And sculk like frighted Slaves,
|
here in distraction,
|
To hide in Dens and Caves,
|
from Warlike Action.
|
Yet some declare theyd fight,
|
but a dear Mother,
|
Who counts him her delight,
|
above all other;
|
She loves him as her Life,
|
parting would grieve her,
|
Another has a Wife,
|
hes loath to leave her.
|
Thus Cowards they can find
|
excuses many,
|
To tarry here behind,
|
yet theres not any
|
Right Valliant Noble Soul
|
heeds a Relation,
|
Hell fight against Controul
|
for this his Nation.
|
Has not Men wishd and cryd,
|
a war with France, Boys,
|
That on the Ocean wide
|
we may advance, Boys,
|
To storm and shake their throne,
|
no danger fearing;
|
This has been still their Tone,
|
oft in my hearing.
|
Where are those Heroes now
|
those sons of thunder,
|
That would make Lewis bow,
|
and bring him under?
|
Your wishes now you have,
|
France is the Center.
|
Like Seamen stout and brave,
|
Boys, freely venture.
|
In a fight fierce and hot,
|
once was I wounded;
|
We receivd showrs of shot
|
being surrounded;
|
Yet I again will go,
|
and scorn to h[i]de me,
|
Ill face the daring foe,
|
what ere betide me.
|
He that has been in fight,
|
fears not another,
|
He leaves with much delight
|
Father and Mother,
|
To embrace those true Joys,
|
which men admire,
|
We can be merry Boys,
|
in Smoak and Fire.
|
If we the Conquest gain,
|
that brings promotion,
|
If we by chance are slain,
|
then the wide Ocean,
|
Shall be our watry Tomb
|
near Neptunes Palace,
|
This Boys, shall be our Doom
|
in spight of Malice.
|
|
|
|
|
|