The Gallant Sea-Fight.
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THursday in the morn', the ides of May,
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Recorded for ever the famous Ninety-two.
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Brave Russel did discern by break of day,
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The lofty sails of France advancing too.
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All hands aloft they cry; let English courage shine;
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Let fly a Culverine, the signal of the line;
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Let every man supply his gun.
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Follow me, you shall see
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That the battle it will soon be won.
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Turville on the Main triumphant roul'd,
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The meet the gallant Russel in combat on the deep.
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He led his noble troops of heroes bold,
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To sink the English Admiral at his feet.
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Now every gallant mind to victory doth aspire.
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The bloody fight's begun, the sea is all on fire,
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And mighty fate stood looking on;
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Whilst the flood, all on blood,
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Fills the Scuppers of the Rising-sun.
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Su'phur, smoak and fire disturb the air,
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With thunder and wonder affright the Gallic shore.
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Their regulated bands stood trembling near,
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To see their lofty streamers now no more.
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At six o'clock the Red, the smiling victors led
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To give the second blow, the fatal overthrow.
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Now death and horror equal reigns;
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Now they cry, Run or die,
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British colours ride the vanquish'd main.
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See! they fly amaz'd through rocks and sands;
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One danger they grasp at, to shun a greater fate;
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In vain they cry'd for aid to foreign lands.
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The nymphs and sea-gods mourn their lost estate.
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For evermore adieu, thou ever dazling Sun,
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From thy untimely end, thy master's fate begun;
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Enough thou mighty God of War.
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Now we sing, bless the King,
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Let us drink to ev'ry English Tar.
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Come jolly seamen, now with Russel go,
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To sail on the main, proud Monsieur for to greet,
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And give our enemies a second blow,
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And fight Turville, if he dare us meet.
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Come brother tar what cheer, let each his gun supply,
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And thump them off this year, or make Monsieur to fly,
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Whilst we sail the ocean round.
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Day and night we will fight,
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Whilst our enemies are to be found.
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Never have it said that English boys
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Should stay behind, when their Admiral goes;
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But let each honest lad cry with one voice,
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Brave Russel leads us on to fight our foes.
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We'll give them gun for gun, some sink and others burn;
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Besides, we'll give them two, as Monsieur cries Mor-bleau,
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These English dogs will kill us all.
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Whilst they scour, we will pour,
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Thick as hail amongst them cannonball.
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