Song of the Sea Fight, from Amboyna

WHO ever saw a noble sight,

That never view’d a brave Sea Fight?

Hang up your bloody Colours in the Aire,

Up with your Fights and your Nettings prepare,

Your Merry Mates chear with a lusty bold spright,

Now each Man his brindice and then to the Fight.

St. George, St. George, we cry,

The shouting Turks reply.

Oh now it begins, and the Gunroom grows hot

Plie it with Culverin and with small shot;

Heark do’s it not Thunder? no ’tis the Guns roar

The Neighbouring Billows are turn’d into Gore.

Now each Man must resolve to dye,

For here the Coward cannot flye.

Drums and Trumpets toll the Knell,

And Culverins the Passing Bell

Now now they Grapple and now board a Main,

Blow up the Hatches, they’re off all again:

Give ’em a broadside, the Dice run at all,

Down comes the Mast and Yard, and tacklings fall;

She grows giddy now like blind fortunes wheel;

She sinks there she sinks she turns up her Keel,

Who ever beholds so noble a sight

As this so brave, so bloody Sea Fight.