For Jamaica then at last he set sail, he set sail, For Jamaica then at last he set sail, Where Wentworth he did try, And those cowards that did fly And from the French in fright turned tail, turned tail, _And from the French, etc._ And those found most to blame, they were shot, they were shot, And those found most to blame, they were shot; Brave Benbow then at last, For grief of what was past, In a fever died at last, by hard lot, by hard lot, _In a fever, etc._] _THE SAILORS ACCOUNT OF THE ACTION AT VIGO._ Muse will have her song; hark! she merrily sings, The praise of a Queen that has beaten two Kings: Of Ormond and Rook too, and how they fell on, And flat as a flounder laid Monsieur and Don. Bright Eugene and Marlborough shou’d live in our rime, And other brave heroes too, had we but time: But heroes excuse us, for now Muse and I go, To raise to the stars the dead-doers at Vigo. _You Monsieurs and Dons, if with losses you meet, Yet don’t be discourag’d, we’ll pay off your fleet._ Cries a hawk from the wing, the eagle-ey’d Hardy, Game! game! royal game! we shall take ’em all tardy: In Vigo they ride, men of war, galleons, The might of the Monsieurs and pride of the Dons: Lead on, great commander, sink, burn, take the Plate; ’Twill all be our own, if we don’t come too late. We’ll brisk up old England with fame and with plunder: We’ll win’t, tho’ we charge thoro’ lightning and thunder. _You Monsieurs and Dons, if with losses you meet, Yet don’t be discourag’d, we’ll pay off your fleet._ Sir George sends the news to the stout Hogen Mogen, Then squadrons we join without any proroguing: Soon Vigo we reach, where a deodand cloak, A cloke sent from heaven, wraps us and our oak. Unseen we consult, and resolve to break in, But not with our first rates, least the brine be too thin: On the thirds high in view, are the first rate commanders, This rums the brisk seamen, and brandys the landers: _You Monsieurs and Dons, if with losses you meet, Yet don’t be discourag’d, we’ll pay off your fleet._ My dear Baladina, let’s stop and take breath: One glass and no more then; for halting is death. Here’s a health to the Queen. I’ll pledg’t; one had said, Sir, speech up your men that they may’nt be afraid. Afraid? And a speech? says a sailor there by, Sir, you slander the fleet, and your country bely. Let cowards be speecht, that spur is here vain; The English need rather the curb and the rein. _You Monsieurs and Dons, if with losses you meet, Yet don’t be discourag’d, we’ll pay off your fleet._ _The Second Part._