'Bear down, d'ye see

To our Admiral's lee.'

'No, no,' says the Frenchman, that can't be.'
"Then I must lug you along with me,'
Says the Saucy Arethusa.

The fight was off the Frenchman's land,
We forc'd them back upon their strand;
For we fought till not a stick would stand
Of the gallant Arethusa.

And now we've driven the foe ashore,
Never to fight with Britons more,
Let each fill a glass

To his favorite lass!

A health to our Captain, and Officers true,
And all that belong to the jovial crew,

On board of the Arethusa!

LXV

PRINCE HOARE.

On the loss of the Royal George

To the March in Scipio.

Written when the news arrived. (September, 1782.)

TOLL for the brave

The brave! that are no more:

All sunk beneath the wave,

Fast by their native shore.

Eight hundred of the brave,
Whose courage well was tried,
Had made the vessel heel

And laid her on her side;

A land-breeze shook the shrouds,

And she was overset ;
Down went the Royal George,
With all her crew complete.

Toll for the brave

Brave Kempenfelt is gone, His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done. It was not in the battle,

No tempest gave the shock,
She sprang no fatal leak,

She ran upon no rock;
His sword was in the sheath,
His fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfelt went down
With twice four hundred men.

Weigh the vessel up,

Once dreaded by our foes,

And mingle with your cup

The tears that England owes;

Her timbers yet are sound,

And she may float again,

Full charg'd with England's thunder,
And plough the distant main;

But Kempenfelt is gone,

His victories are o'er;

And he and his Eight hundred
Must plough the wave no more.

W. COWPER.

LXVI

Our line was form'd'

I

OUR line was form'd, the French lay to,
One sigh I gave to Poll on shore,
Too cold I thought our last adieu—
Our parting kisses seem'd too few,
If we should meet no more.
But love, avast! my heart is Oak,
Howe's daring signal floats on high;
I see through roaring cannon's smoke—
Their awful line subdu'd and broke,
They strike they sink, they fly!

Chorus.

Now (danger past) we'll drink and joke-
Sing Rule Britannia'; 'Hearts of Oak !'
And toast before each Martial tune-
'Howe, and the Glorious First of June!'

II

My limb struck off, let soothing art
The chance of war so Poll explain;
Proud of the loss, I feel no smart,
But as it wrings my Polly's heart
With sympathetic pain.

Yet she will think (with love so tried)
Each scar a beauty on my face,
And as I strut with martial pride,
On timber toe by Polly's side,

Will call my limp a grace.

III

Farewell to every sea delight

To cruize with eager watchful days,
The skilful chace by glim'ring night,
The well-work'd ship, the gallant fight,
The lov'd Commander('s) praise;
Yet Polly's love and constancy,

With prattling babes more joy shall bring,
Proud when my boys shall first at sea

Follow great Howe to Victory,

And serve our noble King.

EARL OF MULGRAVE.

LXVII

Admiral Nelson

COME listen, my honies, awhile, if you please,
And a comical story I'll tell soon,

Of a tight little fellow that sail'd on the seas,
And his name it was Admiral Nelson:

I am sure you have all of you heard of his fame,
How he fought like the devil wherever he came.
Speaks:-Aye, the Dutch, Spaniards, and French
won't, well, they won't

Have plenty of cause to remember the day
When first they saw Admiral Nelson.

His arm having lost at that damn'd Teneriffe,
Never mind it, says he, I'll get well soon;

I shall catch 'em one day, as you see, lads, and if—
They escape me, blame Admiral Nelson:
To doubt what I've promis'd, is mighty absurd,
For I've left 'em my hand as a pledge of my word.

Speaks-Faith he did, arm and all: and good security (it) was, for, as the old proverb says, One bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, So success to brave Admiral Nelson.

At length, by my soul, it would make the dead smile, Just to hear what Sir Horace befel soon;

The French took a trip to the banks of the Nile, To make work for brave Admiral Nelson.

Arah faith he fell in with them close by the land, And he stuck in their skirts as you'll soon understand. Speaks:-Faith it would have made the very devil himself laugh,

To see how he leather'd the French with one hand, Och! the world for brave Admiral Nelson.

On the first of sweet August, you know was the day,
As the boatmen of London can tell soon;
When for coal and for badge they all rowed away,
Little thinking of Admiral Nelson,

Who then won a badge of so brilliant a cast,
That its mem'ry with Britons will never go past.

Speaks:-And every first of August, while the health of Nelson floats on the glass, may the liquor be enriched with a tear to the memory of those brave fellows who fell in the action; and come as many first of Augusts as there will,

There's no first of August will e'er beat the last, When the French struck to Admiral Nelson.