Paul Jones he exclaimed, "My brave boys, we'll not run: Let every brave seaman stand close to his gun;" When a broadside was fired by these brave Englishmen, We bold buckskin heroes return'd it again. We fought them five glasses, five glasses most hot, Till fifty brave seamen lay dead on the spot, And full seventy more lay bleeding in their gore, Whilst Pierce's loud cannon on the Richard did roar. Our gunner, affrighted, unto Paul Jones he came, "Our ship is a-sinking, likewise in a flame;" Paul Jones he replied, in the height of his pride, "If we can do no better, we'll sink alongside." At length our shot flew so quick, they could not stand: The flag of proud Britain was forced to come down, The Alliance bore down and the Richard did rake, Which caused the heart of Richard to ache. Come now, my brave buckskin, we've taken a prize, A large forty-four, and a twenty likewise; They are both noble vessels, well laden with store! We will toss off the can to our country once more. God help the poor widows, who shortly must weep For the loss of their husbands, now sunk in the deep! We'll drink to brave Paul Jones, who, with sword in hand, Shone foremost in action, and gave us command. The Serapis was greatly superior to the Richard in armament and fighting qualities, but Jones succeeded in running his vessel into her and lashing fast. So close did they lie that their yardarms interlocked and both ships were soon covered with dead and wounded. At the end of two hours, the Serapis was on fire; but the Richard was already sinking. Half an hour later the Serapis surrendered. The Richard was kept afloat with great difficulty until morning, when she sank. THE BONHOMME RICHARD AND SERAPIS [September 23, 1779] O'er the rough main, with flowing sheet, The guardian of a numerous fleet, Serapis from the Baltic came: A ship of less tremendous force Sail'd by her side the self-same course, Countess of Scarb'ro' was her name. And now their native coasts appear, Britannia's hills their summits rear Above the German main; Fond to suppose their dangers o'er, They southward coast along the shore, Thy waters, gentle Thames, to gain. Full forty guns Serapis bore, And Scarb'ro's Countess twenty-four, Mann'd with Old England's boldest tars-- What flag that rides the Gallic seas Shall dare attack such piles as these, Design'd for tumults and for wars! Now from the top-mast's giddy height A seaman cry'd--"Four sail in sight Approach with favoring gales." Pearson, resolv'd to save the fleet, Stood off to sea, these ships to meet, And closely brac'd his shivering sails. With him advanc'd the Countess bold, Like a black tar in wars grown old: And now these floating piles drew nigh. But, muse, unfold what chief of fame In the other warlike squadron came, Whose standards at his mast-head fly.