Ye landsmen all, I pray attend, who live at home at ease, To these lines that I’ve penn’d upon the dangers of the seas; Likewise the loss of the _Centaur_, a gallant man-of-war, Britons, weep, in the deep lies many a gallant tar. This ship set sail from England, was to the Indies bound, But at her returning was wind and weather bound; Such dreadful storms arising, her rigging tore away, And, alas! all her masts went overboard straightway. In this dreadful situation she was drove up and down; Full three weeks she floated; no assistance could be found; Her guns were all thrown over to lighten her the more: Night and day they did pray to have a sight of shore. But, to add to their sorrow, another storm arose, And to the dreadful seas, poor souls, they were expos’d; At last they found her sinking; the air was rent with cries, Dismal sound, she went down, never more to rise. But as she was sinking two boats were hoisted out, And some, who got on board them, were sadly tost about; And one being overloaded, she sunk and went down. Waves beat high, no ship nigh, so that all on board were drown’d. The captain and twelve sailors were all who did survive, And out of several hundreds these few were left alive, Tho’ they were almost perish’d with hunger and fatigues, No delay, for night and day they did row many leagues. Only three days’ provisions, which they made last for nine, And in this low condition of land could see no sign; Full sixteen days drove up and down before they reached the land, Such a sight was a fright, so weak they could not stand. Ye landsmen, take compassion on those that plough the main, For the honour of the nation, its rights for to maintain. How they’re exposed to danger these lines do plainly show; We [im]plore that no more may such hardships ever know. _A NEW SEA SONG CALLED THE ROBIN HOOD._ Come, all ye young seamen that plow on the main, Oh! have you not heard of the valiant ship of fame? Her name it is the _Robin Hood_, as you have been told; She’s commanded by Little-John, of courage so bold. I’ll tell you of a fight, boys, and how it did begin. It was in Gibraltar Gut, which is near unto Apes Hill; It was three privateers that belonged unto Spain, Who thought our British courage for to stain. I’ll tell you, brother sailors: it was on a calm day, Then one of the privateers they boarded us straightway: They hove in their powder flasks and their stink-pots, But we repaid them with our small shot. They being in number three hundred and more, And is not equal, you’ll say, unto threescore: But now I will tell you the courage of our men, That we valu’d them not, if they had been ten.