Part 13

When as our ships with merchandize are safely come to shore, No men like us under the skies to drink, to sing, and rore; Good wine and beer we freely tope, until the ground look blew: We value neither Turk nor Pope, we are a jovial crew. _A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc._

We kiss our wives when we return, who long for us did wait, And he that’s single need not mourn, he cannot want a mate: Young women still are wondrous kinde to sea-men in their need; And sure it shows a courteous minde to do a friendly deed. _A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc._

With pretty, courteous, dainty knacks we please the females well, We know what longing women lacks, most surely we can tell; A sea-man is a cock o’ th’ game, young maidens find it true; We never are so much to blame to let them want their due. _A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc._

Thus, gallant sea-men, I have spread abroad your high renown, Which shall survive when you are dead, and gain a lasting crown: Your praise to future ages shall most gloriously appear; Then courage, noble sea-men all, ’tis you I love most dear. _A sea-man hath a valiant heart, and bears a noble minde He scorneth once to shrink or start for any stormy wind._

_NEPTUNE’S RAGING FURY; OR, THE GALLANT SEAMAN’S SUFFERINGS._

You gentlemen of England, that lives at home at ease, Full little do you think upon the dangers of the seas: Give ear unto the marriners, and they will plainly show, The cares and the fears _when the stormy winds do blow_.

All you that will be seamen must bear a valiant heart, For when you come upon the seas you must not think to start, Nor once to be faint-hearted in hail, rain, or snow, Nor to shrink, nor to shrink _when the stormy winds do blow_.

The bitter storms and tempests poor seamen must endure, Both day and night, with many a fright, we seldom rest secure; Our sleep it is disturbed with visions strange to know, And with dreams on the streams, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

In claps of roaring thunder which darkness doth enforce, We often find our ship to stray beyond our wonted course, Which causeth great distractions, and sinks our hearts full low; ’Tis in vain to complain _when the stormy winds do blow_.

Sometimes in Neptune’s bosom our ship is tost in waves And every man expecting the sea to be their graves: Then up aloft she mounteth and down again so low; ’Tis with waves, oh! with waves, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

Then down again we fall to prayer with all our might and thought; When refuge all doth fail us ’tis that must bear us out; To God we call for succour, for He it is, we know, That must aid us and save us _when the stormy winds do blow_.

The lawyer and the usurer that sits in gown of fur, In closets warm, can take no harm, abroad they need not stir; When winter fierce with cold doth pierce, and beats with hail and snow, We are sure to endure _when the stormy winds do blow_.

We bring home costly merchandise, and jewels of great price To serve our English gallantry with many a rare device; To please the English gallantry our pains we freely show, For we toyl and we moile _when the stormy winds do blow_.

We sometimes sail to the Indies to fetch home spices rare, Sometimes again to France and Spain for wines beyond compare Whilst gallants are carousing in taverns on a row Then we sweep o’er the deep _when the stormy winds do blow_.

When tempests are blown over, and greatest fears are past, In weather fair and temperate air, we straight lie down to rest: But when the billows tumble and waves do furious grow Then we rouse, up we rouse _when the stormy winds do blow_.

If enemies oppose us, when England is at wars With any foreign nations we fear not wounds and scars; Our roaring guns shall teach ’em our valour for to know, Whilst they reel in the keel _when the stormy winds do blow_.

We are no cowardly shrinkers, but Englishmen true bred; We’ll play our parts like valiant hearts, and never fly for dread; We’ll ply our business nimbly, where’er we come or go With our mates, to the Straits, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

Then courage all, brave mariners, and never be dismayed; Whilst we have bold adventure[r]s we ne’er shall want a trade; Our merchants will employ us to fetch them wealth, we know; Then be bold, work for gold, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

When we return in safety with wages for our pains The tapster and the vintner will help to share our gains; We’ll call for liquor roundly and pay before we go, Then we’ll roar on the shore _when the stormy winds do blow_.

_THE FAMOUS FIGHT AT MALAGO; OR, THE ENGLISHMENS VICTORY OVER THE SPANIARDS:_

Relating how Five English Frigats, viz. the _Henry_, _Ruby_, _Antelope_, _Greyhound_, and _Bryan_, burnt all the Spanish Ships in their Harbour at Malago; battered down their Churches and their Houses about their ears, killed abundance of their Men, and obtained an Honourable Victory.

Where ever English seamen goes They are a terror to their foes.

To the Tune [its own] of _Five Sail of Frigats bound for Malago_, etc.

Come all you brave sailors that sails on the main, I’ll tell you of a fight that was lately in Spain; And of five sail of frigats bound to Malago For to fight the proud Spaniards; our orders was so.

There was the _Henry_ and _Ruby_, and the _Antelope_ also, The _Grey-hound_ and the _Bryan_, for fire-ships must go; But so bravely we weighed, and played our parts, That we made the proud Spaniards to quake in their hearts.

Then we came to an anchor so nigh to the mould; ‘Methinks you proud English do grow very bold!’ But we came to an anchor so near to the town That some of their churches we soon battered down.

They hung out their flag of truce, for to know our intent, And they sent out their long-boat to know what we meant; But our captain he answered them bravely, it was so, ‘For to burn all your shipping before we do go.’

‘For to burn all our shipping? You must us excuse; ’Tis not five sail of frigats shall make us to muse!’-- But we burnt all their shipping, and their gallies also; And we left in the city full many a widow.

‘Come then,’ says our captain, ‘let’s fire at the church!’ And down came their belfrey, which grieved them much; And down came the steeple, which standeth so high, Which made the proud Spaniards to the nunnery fly.

So great a confusion we made in the town That their lofty buildings came tumbling down; Their wives and their children, for help they did cry, But none could relieve them, though danger was nigh.

The flames and the smoak so increased their woe That they knew not whither to run or to go; Some to shun the fire leapt into the flood, And there they did perish in water and mud.

Our guns we kept firing, still shooting amain, Whilst many a proud Spaniard was on the place slain; The rest, being amazed, for succour did cry, But all was in vain, they had no where to fly.

At length being forced, they thought it most fit Unto the brave English-men for to submit; And so a conclusion at last we did make Upon such conditions as was fit to take.

The Spanish Armado did England no harm, ’Twas but a bravado, to give us alarm; But with our five frigats we did them bumbast, And made them of English-men’s valour to taste.

When this noble victory we did obtain, Then home we returned to England again, Where we were received with welcomes of joy, Because with five frigats we did them destroy.

_AN ELEGIE ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ROBERT BLAKE, ESQ._,

One of the Generals at Sea, who departed the 7th of August, 1657, on board the _George_, near Plymouth Sound.

What means this silence, sirs? what’s here becom? Some heavy tidings sure hath struck you dumb. Light griefs make teares distill out from the eye, When great ones dull, and often stupifie. What! Is there none dare speak? Alas! I feare It is too harsh to sound in English eare. Must my misgiving soul divine the cause Of your sad aspects? Stay, for I must pause: Is he that over Neptune once bore sway, And ’gainst our foes did often get the day: Is he that was to sea-men their delight, And led them on most daringly to fight: Is he whose face a terror strooke; whose name The darling was of Fortune and of Fame: Is he that by example spent his breath, And shew’d a new way how to out-face Death: He that strook terror wheresoere he came, And made his foes to tremble at his name-- Speak, is it true? Is noble Blake then gone, And left us here in dark oblivion? Is his seraphick soul then fled away, Leaving nought but his ashes and his clay? Your silence seems to say so. Is he dead? Sure then your griefs cannot be numbered. I see the lasting’st monuments must bend; All things must have their period and end. His brave example in our infant dayes Of war, when he alone deserv’d the bayes; When by his virtue onely Lime held out Against a potent foe both bold and stout. Taunton her liberty to him doth owe, His bounty onely did on her bestow. Dunster, that pleasant seat, whose lofty tow’rs E’ne peirc’t the clouds, did stoop unto his pow’rs Bridgewater gave him birth, for that fam’d more, And honoured, then ere she was before. His enemies did oft amaz’d stand When he held up his sure dead-doing hand; And Death grew pale to see himself out-done By one of mortall race. The setting sun Oft peep’d abroad, as oft did blush to see Neptune forc’t weare his sanguine livery. Though Death did often strive him to affright Yet he out-lookt him, made him mad with spight, And when with open force he durst not seise him In a consumption did at last surprise him. His head a mint of reason was; when he Once spake he used no tautologie. His arguments dilemmas were, which he Confirm’d b’ example out of history: His own experience was so great that all With one consent still clos’d in generall: And for his intellectualls so rare That few now living could with him compare. A man that alwayes valued his word; Bright honour ever shining on his sword: To vice and basenesse ever most severe, And to his friends and goodnesse very deare: From affectation free, and, what was more, A zealous enemy of the Scarlet Whore; Whose able judgment in a hot dispute Two of the stoutest champions did confute, Deserving to be (by their own confession) His countryes honour call’d; twas their expression. No charming syren could his ears entice; Nor tempting Venus him allure to vice; Nor Cleophis with her bewiching eyes Ere put a period to his victories. War was his mistris, he did her embrace; She hath a princely and majestick face; She nurst him, bred him, made him her delight, Conducted him in many a dreadful fight; He was her darling, she in him took pleasure, He was her chiefest and her onely treasure. Though threats on threats, and promises succeeded From Royalty, yet he them never heeded. Threats could not drive him, nor allurements high Ere make him part with his integrity. No sceptick in religion was he found, His head and heart and principles were sound. Constant beyond compare, and to his nation A faithfull servant in his generation: No faction would he heed, nor plots contrive, Nor did he wish that ever they should thrive; And midst our various changes still kept free, Hating cold dullnesse, base neutrality. Riches he valued not, nor them respect, Nor glorious titles ever did affect. Armes and the Arts did wondrously comply In him to make a perfect harmony; In both admir’d, in both he did excell, And liv’d and dy’d without a parallell. His valour was diffused, and now dead, He the Tenth Worthy may be reckoned The civick, murall, and the navall crown He has deserv’d, all due to his renown. In peace he was a Seneca, in war He out-did Mars, still prov’d a conqueror. No chamber-musick squeaking in the night, Nor noyce of vialls did him much delight; The deep-mouth’d canons thundring in his eares Was unto him the musick of the spheres: Those bore the base, the whistling bullets they Made up the treble on a fighting day; Small shot division play’d, whose nimble motion Made many a soul drink up a sleepy potion: This was the musick most did cheer his spirit, And made him justly so much prayse to merit. His noble, lively, active, vigorous fire Ne’re quencht in him untill he did expire. Oh! how my soul bemones my countryes losse, Her onely genius gone; oh! ’tis a crosse Beyond compare, now hardly felt, but when Our sins a war on us shall bring agen, Who then shall stand i’ th’ gap? His noble arme Did quail our home-bred, forreign foes disarme. May those succeed Elisha-like inherit A double portion of Elijah’s spirit. The Hollander in bloudy lines can write What harms he did them by the God of might; The Portigalls, as every one doth know, Their peace, their plenty, and their traffique owe Unto his worth, when Rupert he was fain To face about and get him home again; Loth to appear with his poor glow-worm light When such a sun as this appear’d in sight. The barbarous pirates upon Tunis strand Felt the effects of his revenging hand. The Spaniards lately fear’d the name of Blake, As once their children did the name of Drake. What shall I say? his last attempt so bold At the Canaries, it cannot be told Unto its worth; that done with gallantry He makes his exit with a plaudite; And having done to Spaine abundant harms, Comes home in peace and dyes free from allarms: The George the first ship bore him out, and then The mournfull she that brought him back agen. Oh that some Virgil, for his greater glory, Would please to write his everlasting story; Or else some Homer bravely to reherse His glorious actions in heroick verse; For me to limne the noble act h’ as done, Is but to light a candle to the sun: That task I’le leave to some more able hand That view’d his action both by sea and land; And though in blacks I may not mourn his end, Yet none shall more bemone him as a friend. Or’e death he is victorious, and he Bequeaths it us as his last legacy.

Now unto God be everlasting prayse, That thus in peace hath finished his dayes: And since his fatall thred is quite spun out, Let’s draw the curtains, put the candle out, And let us leave him to his silent tomb, Free from all troubles, clos’d up in the womb Of Mother Earth let him in quiet rest, Till he enjoy the choycest and the best Of his desires, in glory for to see His Saviour Christ to all eternity.

EPITAPH ACROSTICK

R est here in peace the sacred dust O f valiant Blake, the good, the just, B elov’d of all on every side; E ngland’s honour, once her pride, R ome’s terror, Dutch annoyer, T ruth’s defender, Spain’s destroyer.

B ring no dry eyes unto this place: L et not be seen in any case A smiling or an unsad face. K indle desires in every brest E ternally with him to rest. By GEO. HARRISON, Gent.

On board the _Dunbar_ in the Downs, Aug. 11, 1657.

_THE VALIANT SEAMAN’S CONGRATULATION TO HIS SACRED MAJESTY KING CHARLES II._

With their wonderfull heroical atchievements, and their fidelity, loyalty, and obedience.

To the tune of _Let us drink and sing, and merrily troul the bowl_. Or, _The stormy winds do blow_. Or, _Hey Ho, my Hony_.

Great Charles, your English seamen upon our bended knee, Present ourselves as freemen, unto your Majesty, Beseeching God to blesse you where-ever that you go, So we pray, night and day, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

In darkest nights, or shipwracks, alwayes we are on our guard: Of French or Turkish pirats, we never were afraid. But cal’d stout English sea-men where-ever that we go, For we make, them to quake, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

We are your valiant sea-men that brought you out of Spain: And will as war-like free-men your royal cause maintain. If you will give commission to wars with France wee’l go: Then shall we, merry be, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

’Twas we did sail you over to English ground agen; And landed you at Dover, with all your noble men. For which we are renowned where-ever we do go: Honour will, tend us still, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

And now we are a ranging upon the ocean seas, The Frenchmen they are changing and cannot be at ease, For we will make their top-sailes unto our fleet shall bow: Then shall we, merry be, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

Sometimes our tacklings breaking, our masts are cut in two: Our ships are often leaking, great straits we’re put unto. In great tempestuous weather, which few at home doth know, Thus do we, live at sea, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

When some at home are feeding and cheering up themselves, Then we at sea are bleeding amongst the rocks and shelves. Yet greater dangers ready, still we will undergo, For our King, and will sing, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

Sometimes when we are sailing our victuals they grow scarse, Our wives at home bewailing and pittying of our case, In thinking of the dangers poore seamen undergo. For our King, still we sing, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

Yet we are still couragious with any foe to fight: If Turk or Jew ingage us we put them to the flight, And make them give us homage before we let them go: For our King, then we sing, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

We are the prop of trading, what kind so ere it be: The originall of lading youre ships with treasury. None goes beyond a sea-man in riches, gold, and store: For he brings, wealth to kings, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

We have some sneezing pouder, the Dutch-man fain would have, ’Twill make him speak the louder, if Kings he will not have. And cause him to remember the phisick taking so: When shall we, merry be, _when the stormy winds do blow_.

Great King wee’l make you famous, youre glory shall out-shine Romulus and Remus, Godolph or Constantine. Wee’l bring you gold and treasure by sailing to and fro: And will fight, day and night, _to preserve you from your foe_.

_ENGLAND’S VALOUR, AND HOLLAND’S TERROUR._

Being an encouragement for seamen and souldiers to serve his Majesty in his wars against the Dutch, etc.

Dutchmen beware, we have a fleet, Will make you tremble when you see’t, Mann’d with brave Englishmen of high renown, Who can and will your peacock plumes pull down; Then cease your boasting, it will nought availe, You know its but your duty to strike sayle.

To the tune of _The stormy winds do blow_.

Brave loyal hearted English-men, attend whilst I declare, What noble preparations is made for the Hollands war; For certain such a bloody fight hath never been before, As is near, you shall hear, _when the cannons loud do roar_.

View but our Navy Royal, and you will find it plain, The like thereof was never seen to sayle upon the maine: The Duke of York High Admiral will daunt the Dutch-man sure With his name and his fame, _when the cannons loud do roar_.

Our ships are bravely rigged, and mann’d with seamen stout, Our souldiers good will spend their blood to bang their foes about: They long to be a dealing blows, delay doth vex them sore, With delight, they will fight, _when the cannons loud do roar_.

The care and good provision for seamen that is made, Will make them fight for England’s right and never be afraid: They’l find far richer plunder then e’re they did before: Every day, in the fray, _when the cannons loud do roar_.

Hark how the Dutchmen bluster, they prate and domineer, They stamp and sweat, they fume and fret, would make one laugh to hear: Their merchant ships are taken for prizes, grives them sore: But in vain, they complain, _when the cannons loud do roar_.

Although they be rebellious, yet we shall pull them down, And teach them how they shall submit to England’s Royal Crown: Wee’le thump their sides most soundly and beat them ore and ore, In each fight, for our right, _when the cannons loud do roar_.

There will be noble knocking, when once the navy’s meet, Then Holland’s States beware your pates, we shall you roughly greet: Your treachery at Guiny stands yet upon the score: You shall pay, at the day _when the cannons loud do roar_.

Then volontiers come in amain to fight against the foe, For your reward, you shall have gaine, when to the wars you go; The Hogan Mogan’s for us all, their riches keep in store: Then be bold, fight for gold, _when the cannons loud do roar_.

Brave Allen our Rear Admiral, it was his hap to meet, Near Cadiz on the Spanish coast, part of the Smyrna fleet: Where some he took, and others sunk, the rest he battered sore, Thus they lost, and were crost, _when the cannons loud did roar_.

Then Butter-boxes mark your hitts, for all your wits are dull, Wee’le teach you better manners yet, than ever did old Noll: You then were basted pretty well, and forc’t to cry and lower: And to weep, on the deep, _when the cannons loud did roar_.

We have tall ships, that’s newly built, the best that e’re did sayl, We shall the Flemish vessels pelt, no doubt we shall prevail: Our oaken-boards will hold it out as well now as before; Wee’le not flinch, not an inch, _when the cannons loud do roar_.

Then courage all brave English-men, and never be dismaid, But fight it out most gallantly, we shall be nobly paid: When we return with victory, with gold and silver store, Bells shall ring, whilst we sing, _and the cannons loud shall roar_.

_SONG WRITTEN AT SEA._

To all you ladies now at land We men at sea indite; But first would have you understand How hard it is to write; The Muses now, and Neptune too, We must implore to write to you. _With a fa, la, la, la, la._

For though the Muses should prove kind, And fill our empty brain, Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind To wave the azure main, Our paper, pen, and ink, and we, Roll up and down our ships at sea.

Then if we write not by each post, Think not we are unkind, Nor yet conclude our ships are lost By Dutchmen, or by wind; Our tears we’ll send a speedier way, The tide shall waft them twice a day.

The King with wonder and surprise Will swear the seas grow bold, Because the tides will higher rise, Than e’er they did of old; But let him know it is our tears Brings floods of grief to Whitehall-stairs.

Should foggy Opdam chance to know Our sad and dismal story, The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe, And quit their fort at Goree, For what resistance can they find From men who’ve left their hearts behind?

Let wind and weather do its worst, Be you to us but kind, Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse, No sorrow we shall find; ’Tis then no matter how things go, Or who’s our friend, or who’s our foe.