‘O hail! O hail! you English dogs, O hail! and strike your sails quickly, For you shall go with us this night, and ever after into slavery.’ O then bespoke our captain bold, and a well bespoken man was he, ‘If you must have my topsails down, come on board and strike them for me. ‘To the top, to the top, my merry boatswain, to the main-top-mast-head so high, And sling me here that main-top-mast-yard, and see your business you supply. To the top, to the top, my boatswain’s mate, to the fore-top-mast-head with speed And sling me here that fore-top-sail-yard, for we never had more need. ‘To the top, to the top, my little cabin-boy, to the mizen-top-mast-head so high, And spread abroad St. George’s flag, for under that we live or die.’ O then bespoke our gunner bold, and a well bespoken man was he, ‘Swab your guns, brave boys, while they’re hot, for powder and ball you shall have free.’ ‘Keep aluff, keep aluff;’ says the master’s mate, ‘keep aluff, whilst that you may. We’l fight it out like English boys; it ne’er shall be said we run away.’ So to it we went like lions bold, as enemies do when they meet; We fought from twelve to sun-rising, and spared but one sail of their fleet. O three we burnt, and three we sunk, and the other three run away; And one we brought to old England, to shew them we had won the day. All you that know our gallant ship, and want to know our captain’s name, It is Captain Mansfield of Bristol Town, and the _Marygold_, a ship of fame. _THE ALGIERS SLAVE’S RELEASEMENT; OR, THE UNCHANGEABLE BOAT-SWAIN._ No pain like the Jayl of Love, nor no such torments found To those that loyal mean to prove, whose loves are firm and sound. This loyal person ne’r would change; like a true lover he Indur’d his fetters and his chains, and Betty’s captive be. To the Tune of _Awake, oh my Cloris!_ Of a constant young seaman a story I’le tell, That I hope all true lovers will please very well; All his cry was still, ‘Though I continue a slave, Yet the want of my dear is far worse than a grave. ‘All the tedious long night in close prison I lye, But methinks I behold my dear love lying by; In the midst of my pains this doth still give me ease: That is pleasant to me, which some call a disease. ‘Sometimes to the gallies I’m forced to go, Though amongst all my fellows like a slave I do row; And when I am spent with this labour and pain The thoughts of my love doth revive me again. ‘And when with strappadoes sometimes I do meet, I find little pain, if I think on my sweet; Thus ’twixt pleasure and pain my time I do spend, Yet vow to be constant unto my life’s end.