The Royal Triumph:
OR,
The Unspeakable Joy of the three Kingdoms, for the Glorious Victory
over the FRENCH, by the English and Dutch Fleets; to the Joy and Comfort of all
True Subjects. Tune is, Let the Soldiers Rejoyce.
Licensed according to Order.
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VAliant Protestant Boys,
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Here's Millions of Joys,
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And Triumph now bro----ught from the Ocean;
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For the French Mighty Fleet,
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Now is Shatter'd and Beat,
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And Destruction, Destruction, Boys, will be their portion.
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Here's the Jacobite Crew,
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Now believe me, 'tis true,
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Invited the Fre----nch to this Nation;
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Who was crossing the Seas,
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With the Teague Rapparees,
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True Cut-Throats, true Cut-Throats, upon my Salvation.
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But, alas! they did find,
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A true Protestant Wind,
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Which five Weeks or lon----ger it lasted;
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Till the most Royal Fleet,
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And the Dutch both compleat,
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They with Thunder, with Thunder, this Project soon blasted.
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On the Nineteenth of May,
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The French Fleet made way,
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To make of our Cou----rage a Tryal;
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They suppos'd we'd ne'r Fight,
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But they won't in the right,
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For we show'd them, we show'd them, we were true and Loyal.
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Our Admirals bold,
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With their brave hearts of Gold,
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They fell on like bra----ve Sons of Thunder;
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And their Chain-Shot let fly,
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As the Fleet they drew nigh,
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Where they tore them, and rent them, and tore them asunder.
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Our Squadron True-Blew,
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Fought their way through and through,
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At length in Lob's Po----und, Boys, we got 'um;
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Where we gave the proud French,
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Such a Fiery Drench,
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That we sent them, we sent them, straight down to the bottom.
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Such a Slaughter we made,
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While the loud Cannons play'd,
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Which laid the poor Mo----nsieurs ableeding;
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Nay, their Chief Admiral,
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We did bitterly Maul,
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And have taught him, have taught him, I hope, better Breeding.
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Our brave Admiral,
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Being Stout, DELLAVAL,
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Whose Actions all Me----n may admire;
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For the French Rising-Sun,
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Was not able to Run,
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Which with seven, with seven more Ships did he Fire.
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Valiant Rook Sail'd straightway
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Where a French Squadron lay,
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Close amongst the Ro---cks then for shelter;
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But we fell on Gillore,
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And we Fir'd Twelve more,
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Thus we Fir'd and Burn'd the French Fleet helter-skelter.
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Being Sunk, Took, and Burn'd,
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There's not many return'd,
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Was this not a wo----full Disaster?
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How they far'd on our Coast,
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Let 'em Sail Home and boast,
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To Old Lewis, Old Lewis, their Fistula-Master.
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When he hears how they sped,
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It will strike him near Dead,
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Losing what he lo----ng has been getting;
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But we'll have him to know
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That we'll still keep him low,
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He shall never, shall never, Boys, Conquer Great-Britain.
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