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80 SONGS AND BALLADS
But now we are landed on your shore, And found the way to make you poor. Then, Hogan Mogans, beware your pates, For now we shall make you distressed States.
For all your idle vain excuses
E're long we shall pull up your sluces ;
Our men have found a way to land,
As you by this will understand :
It will be but a bitter pill
When such sad news your hearts do fill.
Then, Hogan Mogans, b'ware your pates,
For now we shall make you distressed States.
You in your harbours lurk for fear, Not thinking such bad news to hear ; We scorn to come and steal your sheep, And then like thieves away to creep : Your towns to burn, and ships to fire, Is work that Englishmen desire. Then, Hogan Mogans, b'wareyour pates, For now we shall make you distressed States.
Sir Robert Holmes, that valiant knight
Had orders upon Tuesday night
The Uly Island for to burn
And quite destroy't ere he return:
Sir Philip Howard did him assist,
Sir William Jennings he did his best.
Then, Hogan Mogans, curse your fates, ,
For now we shall make you distressed States.
They chose eleven hundred men To pull the Dutch out of their den ; With fire-ships, ketches, boats, and hoyes, Well mann'd with lusty English boyes : With joyful hearts they leave the fleet, And sayle away their foes to meet. Then, Hogan Mogans, curse your fates, For now we shall make you distressed States.
At length they spy'd without all faile One hundred and seventy saile Of merchant ships which anchored were In Uly road, being void of fear. |
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