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SONGS AND BALLADS |
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Her model's like wax, and she sails like the wind ; She is rigg'd, and fitted, and curiously trimm'd, And all things convenient has for his design. God bless his poor Fancy, she's bound for the mine.
Farewel, fair Plimouth, and Cat-Down be damn'd : I once was part-owner of most of that land ; But as I am disown'd, so I'll abdicate My person from England to attend on my fate.
Then away from this climate and temperate zone, To one that's more torrid, you'll hear I am gone With an hundred and fifty brave sparks of this age, Who are fully resolved their foes to engage.
These northern parts are not thrifty for me; I'll rise the Anterise, that some men shall see I am not afraid to let the world know That to the South Seas and to Persia I'll go.
Our names shall be blaz[on]ed and spread in the sky, And many brave places I hope to descry Where never a French man e'er yet has been,. Nor any proud Dutchman can say he has seen.
My commission is large, and I made it myself, And the capston shall stretch it full larger by half; It was dated in Corona, believe it, my friend, From the year ninety-three unto the world's end.
I honour St. George, and his colours I were, Good quarters I give, but no nation I spare; The world must assist me with what I do want; I'll give them my bill when my money is scant.
Now this I do say and solemnly swear : He that strikes to St. George the better shall fare But he that refuses shall suddenly spy Strange colours aboard of my Fancy to fly.
Four chiviliges of gold in a bloody field, Environ'd with green, now this is my shield; Yet call out for quarter before you do see A bloody flag out, which is our decree. |
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