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COME MY JOLLY LADS.
COME my jolly lads, the wind's abaft,
Brisk gales our fails shall crowd,
Come bustle, bustle, bustle, boys,
Haul the boat, the boatswain pipes aloud.
The ship's unmoor'd,
All hands on board,
The riling gale
Fills every sail,
The ship's well mann'd and stor'd.
Then sling the flowing bowl,
Fond hopes arise,
The girls we prize,
Shall bless each jovial foul:
The can boys bring,
We'll drink and fing,
Whilst foaming billows roar.
Tho' to the Spanish coast
We're bound to steer,
We'll stil our right maintain,
Then bear a hand, be steady, boys,
Soon we'll see
Old England once again:
From shore to shore,
While cannons roar,
Our tars shall shew
The haughty foe
Britannia rules the main
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