She struck to us quickly, we boarded her then, We killed her more than an hundred men; The father and son they both captains were, And dy’d of their wounds, for truth we do hear. Sure valianter captains never drew breath, Than Gilchrist and Hotham, unless it was Death. God prosper them both unto their lives end; By a true loyal subject these verses were penn’d. _HAWKE’S ENGAGEMENT._ The fourteenth of [Nov]ember, in Torbay as we lay, Bold Hawke did hoist his flag, sir, and came on board that day. Kind Neptune did protect us, with a sweet and pleasant breeze, We hoisted up our topsails, [to cross] the raging seas. We had not crossed the raging seas full thirty leagues or more, We spy’d a sail to windward, and down on us she bore. O then he hail’d our admiral, and thus to him did say: ‘The French fleet’s all sailed out, sir, and bound for Quiberon Bay.’ ‘Can you tell me at what distance, and where about they lay?’ ‘O yes, kind sir,’ he then replied, ‘it’s thirty leagues to-day. There’s twenty-two sail of the line to leeward of us do lie, All clean and tight for action as ever you did see.’ Then up bespoke our captain bold, to Edward Hawke did say: ‘This is the finest news, sir, that’s brought to us this day.’ Then Hawke himself soon mounted upon the lofty yard; His wings were spread at large, my boys, and after them we steer’d. The fifteenth of [Nov]ember, the morning being clear, When twenty-two sail of the line to leeward did appear. All hands! all hands! did rattle, a glorious sight to see; Unto the fight prepar’d, my boys, like lions bold and free. We steer’d unto the French fleet as near as we could ly, Till twelve of them engaged us, and that most speedily. They made a bloody battle, the like was never seen; The first broadside we gave them, boys, we laid them on their beams. ‘Oh! that’s a glorious broadside,’ our admiral replies; ‘Now give them such another, their ships will be a prize.’ Like thunder on the French fleet our cannons they did roar, We sunk the pride of France, my boys, all on their native shore. O! don’t you see the pride of France to the depths is going down, With many a dismal sigh, sir, and many a grievous groan. Conflans was sore affrighted, he could no longer stay; The rest of them turn’d tail, my boys, like cowards ran away. O, then they steer’d for Corjack Bay, where we led them a dance, It proved to be the fatal blow that sunk the crown of France. The _Rising Sun_ we burn’d, and the poor _Prince_ likewise, And two of them we sunk, my boys, and one we made our prize. So now the fight is over, fill up a flowing bowl; Whilst we’re upon the raging seas there’s none can us controul. Here’s a health to all commanders that are loyal just and true, Likewise unto Sir Edward Hawke, and the _Royal George’s_ crew.