4
O! tis a sad, sad thing to hear
The Negroes scream and groan,
And curse the billows that bear them near,
To the tyrant white man's land of fear,
Far, far away from their own.
But soon the sailor found his part
Scarce better than the slave’s;
For our Captain had a Tyger’s heart.
He plagu’d his crew with such barbarous art,
We all wish’d in our graves.
We scarce were two days sail’d from port.
When many a back was flay’d.
He plagued us oft in wanton sport.
His heart was of stone, nor flesh, in short
He was fit for such a trade.
Though each in turn was treated ill,
’Mongst all the crew alone,
Bill Jones oppos’d our tyrant’s will,
For Bill was old, and cross, and still
Bill gave him back his own.
And many a brutal harsh command
Old Bill had grumbled at,
Till once he was ordered a sail to hand,
When Bill was so weak he scarce could stand
But the Captain scoff’d at that.
