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| 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, | 5 |
| 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; | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| 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; | 20 |
| 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. | |
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