Part 19

Now farewel to this wicked world, and our companions too; From hence we quickly shall be hurl’d to clear the way for you; For certainly if e’re you come to justice, as we are, Deserved death will be your doom. Then pirates all take care.

_CAPTAIN KID’S FAREWEL TO THE SEAS; OR, THE FAMOUS PIRATES LAMENT._

To the Tune of _Coming down_.

My name is Captain Kid, who has sail’ [who has sail’d], My name is Captain Kid, who has sail’d; My name is Captain Kid. What the laws did still forbid Unluckily I did while I sail’d [while I sailed, etc.].

Upon the ocean wide, when I sail’d, etc., Upon the ocean wide, when I sail’d, Upon the ocean wide I robbed on every side, With most ambitious pride, when I sail’d.

My faults I will display while I sail’d, etc., My faults I will display while I sail’d; My faults I will display, Committed day by day [A line lost.]

Many long leagues from shore when I sail’d, etc., Many long leagues from shore when I sail’d, Many long leagues from shore I murdered William More, And laid him in his gore, when I sail’d,

Because a word he spoke when I sail’d, etc., Because a word he spoke when I sail’d, Because a word he spoke: I with a bucket broke His scull at one sad stroke, while I sail’d.

I struck with a good will when I sail’d, etc., I struck with a good will when I sail’d; I struck with a good will, And did a gunner kill As being cruel still when I sail’d.

A Quida merchant then while I sail’d, etc., A Quida merchant then while I sail’d, A Quida merchant then I robbed of hundreds ten, Assisted by my men, while I sailed.

A banker’s ship of France, while I sailed, etc., A banker’s ship of France, while I sailed, A banker’s ship of France Before us did advance: I seized her by chance, while I sailed.

Full fourteen ships I see when I sailed, etc., Full fourteen ships I see when I sailed; Full fourteen ships I see, Merchants of high degree; They were too hard for me when I sailed.

We steered from sound to sound while we sailed, We steered from sound to sound while we sailed; We steered from sound to sound, A Moorish ship we found; Her men we stript and bound while we sailed.

Upon the ocean seas while we sailed, etc., Upon the ocean seas while we sailed, Upon the ocean seas A warlike Portuguese In sport did us displease, while we sailed.

At famous Malabar when we sailed, etc., At famous Malabar when we sailed, At famous Malabar We went ashore, each tar, And robbed the natives there, when we sailed.

Then after this we chased, while we sailed, Then after this we chased, while we sailed, Then after this we chased A rich Armenian, graced With wealth, which we embraced, while we sailed.

Many Moorish ships we took while we sailed, Many Moorish ships we took while we sailed, Many Moorish ships we took; We did still for plunder look; All conscience we forsook while we sailed.

I, Captain Cullifoord, while I sailed, etc., I, Captain Cullifoord, while I sailed, I, Captain Cullifoord, Did many merchants board, Which did much wealth afford, while we sailed.

Two hundred bars of gold, while we sail’d, etc., Two hundred bars of gold, while we sailed, Two hundred bars of gold And rix dollars manifold We seized uncontrolled, while we sailed.

_St. John_, a ship of fame, when we sailed, etc., _St. John_, a ship of fame, when we sailed, _St. John_, a ship of fame, We plundered when she came, With more that I could name, when we sailed.

We taken was at last, and must die, etc., We taken was at last, and must die; We taken were at last, And into prison cast: Now, sentence being past, we must die.

Tho’ we have reigned awhile we must die, etc., Tho’ we have reigned awhile we must die; Tho’ we have reigned awhile, While fortune seemed to smile, Now on the British Isle we must die.

Farewel the ocean main, we must die, etc., Farewel the ocean main, we must die; Farewel the ocean main: The coast of France or Spain We ne’er shall see again; we must die.

From Newgate now in carts we must go, etc., [From Newgate now in carts we must goe;] From Newgate now in carts, With sad and heavy hearts, To have our due deserts we must go.

Some thousands they will flock when we die, Some thousands they will flock when we die, Some thousands they will flock To Execution Dock, Where we must stand the shock and must die.

_A SATYR ON THE SEA-OFFICERS; OR, A LONG PROLOGUE TO A SHORT PLAY;_

Spoken by a woman at Oxford, dress’d like a sea-officer.

By Sir H. S.

With Monmouth cap, and cutlace by my side, Striding at least a yard at every stride, I’m come to tell you, after much petition, The Admiralty has given me a commission: And now with Bully Tourville I’ll ingage, And try my fortune on a floating stage. What blustring tarr at this dares take offence, While I stand thus to prove my just pretence? Will he pretend to fight better than I? Ad’s death I’d tell him, ‘Damn you, sir, you lye,’ And then I’d ask him how they fought at Rye. Your Bantry business too was but a fetch, Where you call’d running, battering at a stretch; But you’ll reply your leaders were to blame, While I condemn you all to bear the shame. For who the Divel éer refus’d his meat Because another had no mind to eat? The Dutch were drunk, you barbarously say. Pray, next, do you be drunk too, so you stay, For ’twas your sober fighting lost the day. Old Albemarle wou’d say that men of war In navy stunk not half enough of tarr. Your o’ergrown pages and attorney’s clerks To fight and govern fleets are proper sparks. Then let the spruce land-pirats be content To swagger in their native element, And let tarpawlings rule by my consent: For things now look as if men took commission To damn all discipline and sow sedition, And fighting was the least of their ambition; No matter who comes home with broken bones, So you but come to touch the patacoons. The pitch of honour is desire of money; That paltry, coward vice has quite undone ye. You court preferment on no other score But to be poorly rich, or basely poor: For who would not propose a trip to Spain That has within his prospect double gain, To line his pockets, and to save his skin? For none must fight with merchants’ money in. Your heads run round with Mexico and Sevil; I wish this shipping plate was at the Devil. Wou’d the good King had but a just relation, What infamy, what sums ’t has cost the nation! He’d quickly damn your trade of importation, And add it to the Act of Navigation. ‘But how then shall we live?’ ye murm’rers say. ’S life! can’t you be content with double pay? Shew us your twofold merit, sirs, I pray. Some has got two commands by land and sea, While one might safely swear, might one be free, They’re neither flesh nor fish, nor good red herring, Those are your coll’nels, captains with a murrain. Boldly to those two elements y’aspire, But at an awful distance then you fire. A few there are, and they are very few, To whom a fairer character is due. Time was when captains went on there own errands, And in their pockets carried their press warrants; Now you imploy the villains of the fleet, While you date from the Downs in Bedford Street. But times are alter’d; ’tis not now as then, For now you press the money, spare the men. Those plain, dull fellows no such secrets found To make press warrants worth a hundred pound. It is our fate, our frailty, or disease, To trust our honour in such hands as these: Raw in their trade, their principles not right, With hearts too tender, and with heads too light, Too weak for council, and too nice to fight. Their bodies are not made of battering-stuff, Their cracknel carcasses not splinter-proof; And yet will fairly tell a sailor’s tale, But must attempt it in a coat of mail. Some swaggering bully snaps me short, and swears, ‘Damn me, these fellows wou’d be kick’d downstairs!’ Sir, by your leave, do you but fight at sea, And then kick down the Monument for me. The Parliament may plague us with taxation, But till they cure the grievance of the nation, Monsieur will make the narrow seas his station. Then what becomes of all our ancient rule, Our right from Edgar, and command from Thule? Believe me, sirs, it will be then confest, Your flag a dishclout, and your claim a jest. The hardy duke we mention’d, whose great name Stretch’d the blown cheeks of trumpet-sounding fame, Once boldly try’d what English men could do; But such examples who dare now pursue? A four daies’ fight he gloriously maintain’d, And what he lost in blood in honour gain’d; To keep that spotless he the ocean stain’d. Each day he tack’d, and fought from sun to sun, Against the odds at least of two for one; Had ye been there, sirs, what wou’d ye have done? He ne’er stood--‘Shall I, shall I keep a loof?’-- But fought as if his skin was cannon-proof; Then all that can be said to do you right, You’ll keep a wind as long as he did fight.

_THE SEA-MARTYRS; OR, THE SEAMEN’S SAD LAMENTATION FOR THEIR FAITHFUL SERVICE, BAD PAY, AND CRUEL USAGE_;

Being a woful relation how some of them were unmercifully put to death for pressing for their pay, when their families were like to starve.

Thus our new Government does subjects serve, And leaves them this sad choice: to hang or starve.

To the Tune of _Banstead Downs_.

Good people, do but lend an ear, And a sad story you shall hear-- A sadder you never heard-- Of due desert and base reward, Which will our English subjects fright For our new Government to fight.

Our seamen are the onely men That o’er the French did vict’ry gain; They kept the foe from landing here, Which would have cost the Court full dear; And when they for their pay did hope They were rewarded with a rope.

The roaring canon they ne’er fear’d, Their lives and bloud they never spar’d; Through fire and flame their courage flew, No bullets could their hearts subdue. Had they in fight but flincht at all King James had now been in Whitehall.

Thus England, and our new King too, Their safety to their valour owe; Nay, some did ’gainst their conscience fight To do some great ones too much right; And now, oh, barbarous tyranny! Like men they fought, like dogs they dye.

Thousands of them their lives did lose In fighting stoutly with their foes, And thousands were so maim’d in fight That ’twas a sad and piteous sight; And when they hop’d their pay to gain They have their labour for their pain.

Their starving families at home Expected their slow pay would come; But our proud Court meant no such thing, Not one groat must they have till spring; To starve all summer would not do, They must still starve all winter too.

It might a little ease their grief, And give their mis’ry some relief, Might they in trade ships outward go, But that poor boon’s denied them too, Which is as much as plain to say, You shall earn nothing, nor have pay.

Their poor wives with care languished, Their children cried for want of bread, Their debts encreast, and none would more Lend them, or let them run o’th’ score. In such a case what could they doe But ask those who money did owe?

Therefore some, bolder than the rest, The officers for their own request; They call’d ’em rogues, and said nothing Was due to them untill the spring: The King had none for them, they said Their betters, they must first be paid.

The honest seamen then replied They could no longer want abide, And that nine hundred thousand pound Was giv’n last year to pay them round: Their money they had earnt full dear And could not stay another half-year.

A council then they streight did call Of pick-thanks made to please Whitehall, And there they were adjudg’d to dye; But no man knows wherefore, nor why. What times are these! Was’t ever known ’Twas death for men to ask their own?

Yet some seem’d milder than the rest, And told them that, their fault confest, And pardon askt and humbly crav’d, Their lives perhaps might then be sav’d; But they their cause scorn’d to betray Or own’t a crime to ask their pay.

Thus they the seamen’s martyrs dyed, And would not yield to unjust pride; Their lives they rather would lay down Than yield it sin to ask their own. Thus they for justice spent their blood To do all future seamen good.

Wherefore let seamen all and some Keep the days of their martyrdom, And bear in mind these dismal times, When true men suffer for false crimes; England ne’er knew the like till now, Nor e’er again the like will know.

But now suppose they had done ill, In asking pay too roughly, still When ’twas their due and need so prest, They might have pardon found at least; The King and Queen some mercifull call, But seamen find it not at all.

To robbers, thieves, and felons they Freely grant pardons ev’ry day; Only poor seamen, who alone Do keep them on their father’s throne, Must have at all no mercy shown: Nay, tho’ there wants fault, they’l find one.

Where is the subjects’ liberty? And eke where is their property? We’re forc’d to fight for nought, like slaves, And though we do we’re hang’d like knaves. This is not like Old England’s ways: ‘New lords, new laws,’ the proverb says.

Besides the seamen’s pay, that’s spent, The King for stores, ships, and what’s lent, Does owe seven millions at the least, And ev’ry year his debt’s encreast; So that we may despair that we One quarter of our pay shall see.

Foreigners and confederates Get poor men’s pay, rich men’s estates; Brave England does to ruine run, And Englishmen must be undone. If this trade last but one half-year Our wealth and strength is spent, I fear.

God bless our noble Parliament, And give them the whole government, That they may see we’re worse than ever, And us from lawless rule deliver; For England’s sinking, unless they Do take the helm, and better sway.

_ADVICE TO YOUNG MAIDENS IN CHUSING OF HUSBANDS._

To the Tune of _In the merry month of June_.

You pretty maids of Greenwich, of high and low degree, Pray never fix your fancys on men that go to sea; The seamen’s wives lead careful lives when at the very best, For, in my mind, in stormy wind they can take but little rest.

Besides the many dangers that are upon the seas, When they are on the shore they will ramble where they please; For up and down in sea-port town they court both old and young: They will deceive; do not believe the sailor’s flattering tongue.

I give you this advice now, as you may understand, It being at the time when seamen come to land, For up and down in Greenwich town the seamen they do trade, And he doth boast that spends the most; oh! he’s a jolly blade.

They likewise treat their sweet-hearts when they are on the shore, But when they are gone perhaps you may never see them more; To-day they wed, at night they bed, to-morrow go to sea: Therefore I say, as well I may, a landman still for me.

The seamen they are gone to sea, and leave there wives at home, To take what care they can; for there parts they’l take none; They tell their friends they do depend upon their husbands’ pay, And run in debt, while they expect their money every day.

Suppose you have a sailor, that sails before the mast; If he’s the best of husbands his breath is but a blast: The roaring waves their wills will have--there’s no man can withstand-- And he may sleep in the ocean deep whilst you are on the land.

Suppose you have a captain, a person of great fame; Yet still there is great danger in sailing on the main. The fates unkind in stormy wind may lay his honour low, And then his wife, with careful life, laments his overthrow.

Give me an honest tradesman, of high or low degree; I’ll never fix my fancy on a man that goes to sea. A tradesman’s wife’s a happy life, if he’s an honest man: He’ll take a share in all the care; deny it if you can.

_THE SEAMEN’S WIVES’ VINDICATION; OR, AN ANSWER TO THE PRETENDED FROLICK WHICH WAS SAID TO BE BY THEM OVER A BOWL OF PUNCH._

You writ that we drank liquor free, but for your writing so You are to blame--nay, blush for shame--since it was nothing so.

To the Tune of _O so ungrateful a creature_.

Why does the poets abuse us, we that are seamen’s poor wives? Have they not cause to excuse us, knowing our sorrowful lives? We are, alas! broken-hearted, as we can very well prove, When from our joys we are parted, those loyal husbands we love.

You that declare we are jolly do but abuse us, we find, For we are most melancholly, always tormented in mind: While that our husbands are sailing on the tempestuous seas Here we are sighing, bewailing; nothing affordeth us ease.

Here you have newly reported that we are girls of the game, Who do delight to be courted. Are you not highly to blame, Saying we often are merry, punch is the liquor we praise, Though we are known to be weary of these our sorrowful days?

How could you say there was many wives that did drink, rant, and sing, When I protest there’s not any of us that practice this thing? Are we not forced to borrow, being left here without chink? ’Tis in a cup of cold sorrow if we so often do drink.

Tho’ we have little to nourish us while our husbands are there, Merchants in London they flourish through their industrious care. They are the stay of the nation, men of undaunted renown; Why should a false accusation run the poor seamen’s wives down,

Saying we swallow’d our liquor with a great gossipping crew, Making our tongues to run quicker then they had reason to do? Thus they would blast all our glory by the soft wits of their brains. He that invented that story was but a fool for his pains.

We are so far from such pleasure, making of jolly punch-bowls, That we lament out of measure, every woman condoles; When she in bed should lye sleeping, if the high winds they do roar, There she in sorrow is weeping, fearing to see him no more.

They are to dangers exposed, as we may very well guess. How can our eye-lids be closed in such a time of distress? You that are free from that [terror], having your husbands secure, Little consider the horror that we do dayly endure.

Tho’ there is joy in our meeting when they come safe from the main, Yet ’tis a sorrowful greeting when we are parted again: Landmen in a full fruition feeds on the fat of the land; This is a happy condition, having all things at command.

Tho’ we have not such a plenty, yet I can very well prove That there is not one in twenty but who her husband doth love: You that have caus’d those distractions, writing a story not true, May be asham’d of your actions, and thus I bid you adieu.

_BILLY THE MIDSHIPMAN’S WELCOME HOME._

To the Tune of _Ianthe_, etc.

MOLLY.

You’re welcome, my Billy, to the English shore; I hope you’ll not cross the rough seas any more. Many a day too, and many a night, My heart grieved sore ’cause you were out of sight; But now, to my comfort, I see you again. Oh, never, dear Billy, Oh, never, dear Billy, Sail more on the main.

BILLY.

Dear Molly, said Billy, the joy of my heart, Daily I thought of you since we did part; And when the roaring waves mounting high they did move, In the greatest danger I thought on my love. The billows did foam, and the rocks they were nigh, Yet nothing but death, yet nothing but death Shall my love part and I.

MOLLY.

I thank thee, my dear, for thy firm love to me In the midst of thy dangers upon the rough sea; Each night in my bed still as down I was lain I dreamed of shipwracks upon the salt main; But now I do find from these dangers I’m free, Since him that I love, since him that I love Is come safe unto me.

BILLY.

Indeed, my dear Molly, the Powers above Preserv’d me from dangers for thy tender love, For I have been where thundering cannons did roar, Their bullets like footballs flying from the shoar; The danger of tempest and cannon balls too I have undergone, I have undergone For the sake, love, of you.

MOLLY.

My dearest, it’s true, for the fault is in me, For thou wouldst have wed, but I said, ‘Go to sea.’ But when thou wert gone how my heart was opprest! I scarce had a minute of pleasure and rest, For by day all my fear was of danger to thee, And by night I did dream, and by night I did dream Still of storms on the sea.

BILLY.

My dear, thou dreamst right, for e’re we got home For several days we had storm after storm. We lost all our masts and our tackle to boot, In tempestuous nights on the ocean did float. But, thanks unto Heaven, we had no men lost, And the brave _Royal Sov’rain_, the brave _Royal Sov’rain_ Come safe to our coast.

MOLLY.

Oh my dear precious, my Billy, my joy, There’s nothing my happiness now can destroy; For since thou art [safe] from all cannon and storms Thy person to me has a million of charms. Oh, stay then on shore; never venture again Upon the rough seas, upon the rough seas, But with me, love, remain.

BILLY.

Thy love unto me now is dearer than life, And happie am I since thou wilt be my wife, And while I’m on shore still with thee I will stay, Imbracing thy charms, love, by night and by day, Till our admiral doth sail with the fleet on the main; Yet kind Providence, I hope, yet kind Providence, I hope, Brings me safe back again.

_ADMIRAL BENBOW._

Oh, we sail’d to Virginia, and thence to Fayal, Where we water’d our shipping, and then we weigh’d all. Full in view on the seas, boys, seven sails we did espy; Oh, we manned our capstan and weigh’d speedily.

The first we came up with was a brigantine sloop, And we ask’d if the others were as big as they look’d; But turning to windward as near as we could lie, We found there were ten men-of-war cruizing by.

Oh! we drew up our squadron in very nice line, And boldly we fought them for full four hours’ time; But the day being spent, boys, and the night coming on, We let them alone till the very next morn.

The very next morn the engagement prov’d hot, And brave Admiral Benbow receiv’d a chain shot; And when he was wounded to his merry men he did say, ‘Take me up in your arms, boys, and carry me away.’

Oh! the guns they did rattle, and the bullets did fly, But Admiral Benbow for help would not cry. ‘Take me down to the cockpit; there is ease for my smarts. If my merry men see me it will sure break their hearts.’