Five hours and upwards the action did last; The shrouds were all torn, and they lost every mast; Tho’ thicker than hail the dread bullets did fly Yet still to his men gallant Farmer did cry, ‘Fight away, my brave boys; I will spend my last breath Ere I’ll yield to the foe: give me conquest or death.’ At length the proud foe was constrain’d to retire; They steer’d to some distance and slackened their fire. The victory, Hibernia, had then been thy son’s, But the sails of the _Quebec_ were fir’d by her guns. Then all was distraction, confusion, despair: The vessel took fire and blew up in the air. Thus fell gallant Farmer, the generous and brave; The _Rambler_ in vain strove his life for to save. Her long boat she hoist out for to take up the crew, But the sea rose too high, and too hard the wind blew. Seventeen she picked up on the waves that did float; The barbarous enemy fir’d at the boat. Ye sons of Hibernia, for valour renown’d, The praises of Farmer, your hero, resound; His name bright shall shine. Then a truce to all grief; Vernon, Warren, Tyrrell shall welcome the chief, And the brave British Cornwall with pleasure shall crown An Hibernian whose exit resembled his own. Taught by his great example let’s danger defy; For the sake of our country let’s conquer or die. May our navy triumphant ride over the main, And check the presumption of Gallia and Spain; And, oh! may some hero rise ere ’tis too late, Chastise insolent Jones, and revenge Farmer’s fate! _THE BOLD BLADES OF OLD ENGLAND._ Come, rouse up, my lads, let us haste to the main, And load home our chests with the dollars of Spain, For as we have beat them we’ll do so again, _And it’s, oh! the bold blades of Old England_! They tell us that sixty fine ships of the line Of France and of Spain in the ocean do shine; But let them remember the year fifty-nine; _They were banged by the blades, etc._ Those villains they thought some advantage to take On America’s land, for to lessen her state; But they quickly shall know it was all a mistake, _Convinc’d by the blades, etc._ How proudly they came with a numerous host To take, sink, and burn, and to land on our coast; And when they had done nothing went home for to boast _Afraid of the blades, etc._ Already we have some of their dollars to shew At Liverpool, Guernsey, and London also, And took one of their islands, call’d fam’d Omoa. _Oh! the bold blades, etc._ Brave Rodney and Parker have done the thing well, And altho’ their admirals made such a swell, Will soon be sent home the news for to tell; _They’ve been drub’d by the blades, etc._