But the wind prov’d contrary, we could not pursue, Altho’ that we had them so full in our view; And for to deceive us they did lay in wait, Thinking we should follow them up to the Straits: Though our good God was pleas’d to alter the wind, Yet fortune unto us it proved unkind. There is an old proverb I’ve lately thought on, ‘When you think of a friend you’re sure to find none’; For when that I thought to see Lestock come by, He was five miles a distance, and would not come nigh; But for all that misfortune, we never could start, We pursued after them with a true British heart. A mile’s distance next day, they at us did fire, But in half an hour we to them drew nigher, Until that we came within pistol-shot, Then we did let fly; and why should we not? As we sent ’em one broadside, another did come, Which made our cannons [to] play, bomb! bomb! Our admiral then took his glass in his hand, To espy what he could, as you shall understand; A double shot came unto him so nigh, That it took off the place where his arm did lye. But for that misfortune, and all that foul play, He held ’em six hours in hot battle that day. The night being come, they straightway gave o’er, And went off with their cripples; we see ’em no more. But now that the war is proclaim’d against France, When we see them again we’ll make ’em to prance; And if ever they into our presence do come, We’ll make our cannons play ‘Britons, strike home.’ Then straightway we left them in grief to complain, Whilst we are carousing along the salt main. Pray God bless our fleet, and his Majesty too, And grant them success wherever they go. Concluding as this, and my song to end, In Matthews’ brave ship these verses were penn’d. _A NEW SONG IN PRAISE OF BRAVE CAPTAIN HORNSBY._ Come all you brave sailors that plough on the main, And hear of the brave Captain Hornsby by name; How bravely he acted and play’d his own part, That he made the proud Frenchmen to quake in their hearts. The French captain came up, and said, ‘You English dog, strike.’ ‘Not so,’ said brave Hornsby, ‘I first chuse to fight, To strike to a Frenchman I hold it so base, That I rather chuse to die in this place.’ The Frenchmen then boarded his vessel straightway, And brave Captain Hornsby did shew them fine play; He fought them five hours, five hours or more, ’Till thirty-six Frenchmen lay dead in their gore. All the men that he had on his ship were but eight, And yet to a Frenchman he scorn’d for to strike; Tho’ he had but one man for the Frenchman’s ten, He both burnt his vessel and drown’d all his men.