And when the wars are over, if fortune saves our lives, We will bring great store of riches to our sweethearts and our wives, And drink a health unto the lad that has a heart to enter; That man can never gain a prize that is afraid to venture. _ON THE LATE ENGAGEMENT IN CHARLES TOWN RIVER._ Good people of Old England, come, listen unto me, All you who live at home at ease, and from all dangers free, What I’m a-going to mention, and to you shall declare, Concerning part of our fleet as they a-cruising were. It is of a late action, as for a truth we hear, As part of our British fleet for Charles Town they did steer; As we the river sailed along the provincials they begun; The _Bristol_, most unfortunate, she on the bar did run. Then from the town and batteries they fired on us amain With red-hot shot all from the shore, on board of us they came; And seeing us lie on the bar, their intentions was so, Our gallant ship for to blow up and prove our overthrow. But thro’ God’s Providence so great prevented their desire, Tho’ with their shot, that came so hot, they set us twice on fire; But soon we out the flames did put, our gallant seamen brave They did their best endeavours their precious lives to save. The gallant _Bristol_ well behaved, tho’ she was in distress, And all the ships in company kept firing in excess. Our cannons briskly we dis[charged], our shot like hail did pour, Amongst the blacks and Indians so numerous on the shore. We drove them from their batteries, and made them to retreat, Likewise the town soon shattered with our gallant fleet; We gave them a warm reception, and that they knew so well, Because against Old England great they strongly did rebel. We engaged many hours, for the best part of the day; Our brave commander he was kill’d all in the bloody fray; Two hundred more brave men were kill’d, th’ engagement prov’d so sore, Upon the decks, poor souls, they lay, all in their purple gore. Now to conclude and make an end, Lord, send it was all o’er, In love and unity to live as we have done before; Success unto all Britons bold, that’s both by land or sea, Who now is venturing their lives in North America. _SULLIVAN’S ISLAND._ 1776. A NEW WAR SONG. My lords, with your leave An account will I give That deserves to be written in metre: For the rebels and I Have been pretty nigh-- Faith, almost too much for Sir Peter. With much labour and toil Unto Sullivan’s Isle I came, firm as Falstaff or Pistol, But the Yankees (’od rot ’em, I could not get at ’em) Most terribly maul’d my poor _Bristol_.