Dutch ships eleven with fire and rage Did fiercely three of ours engage, But we their fury did assuage And made them to surrender: De Winter haul’d his colours down, And their vice-admiral soon did own That victory British tars must crown; Of eleven more that struck, but four Escap’d to tell their friends on shore That all the rest were taken. On board the _Ardent_, known so well, Brave Captain Burgess boldly fell; His loss we mourn, but fame shall tell His worth to future ages. Our efforts they could not evade, Two admirals we prisoners made; Ships of the line we captured nine: In a battered state the rest retreat, To weep at home their sad defeat On the glorious eleventh of October. Let every loyal Briton sing God save great George our King! And in her train may Victory bring Long peace unto our nation; To Duncan and his tars success, Who did the Dutch so warmly dress; And Vincent bold, who Spain controul’d; With Home also, who aim’d a blow That brought the fleet of Gallia low. Success to all true Britons! _A NEW SONG ON THE ENGAGEMENT FOUGHT BETWEEN THE MARS AND LA HERCULE_ [_sic_] _APRIL 21, 1798._ Bright honor now calls--each true Briton attend Unto these few lines which here I have penn’d. I sing of a battle that was fought at sea, The _Mars_ was the British, the French ship _Herculé_. CHORUS. Then fill up a glass to each tar stout and good, Success to each seaman--a tear for brave Hood. We were cruising off Brest when the French we did spy: We quickly gave chase, but they from us did fly; We crouded each sail and gave them a broadside, Fought them more than two hours and lower’d their pride. We brought her to England, the flower of France-- Thus, thus may we serve all who dare to advance. She’s been built but six weeks, and her guns were fourscore, Whilst the brave little _Mars_ carry’d seventy-four. Yet see, see Britannia with sorrow is fill’d, For brave Captain Hood in the action was kill’d; Likewise the Marines lost their captain so bold, His name it was White, worth his full weight in gold. The French lost three hundred, and we lost threescore, In kill’d and in wounded. Thank God ’twas no more! Here’s a health to the crew of the brave jolly _Mars_, With another full bumper to all jolly tars. _VERSES WRITTEN ON BOARD HIS MAJESTY’S SHIP THE ASTRÆA, BY THE YOUNGER MIDSHIPMEN OF THAT FRIGATE, 1798._ When in the cockpit all was dim, And not a mid dared show his glim, A youth was left alone. He scratched his head, surveyed his clothes, Then took the other cheering dose, And thus began his moan:--