The Tippling Farmer (1802)/The Sailor's Return from Cape Breton
The Sailor's Return from Cape Breton.
Stand round my brave boys, let's sing & rejoice,we dread neither dangers nor fears,Cape Breton's our own, as sure as a gun,and Boscawen's the bravest of Tars.
While the sea ran so high, we could hardly get nigh,and thundering cannons did roar:We determin'd to land tho' oppos'd from the strand,and so boldly went bump upon shore.
Their lighthouse we took & their colours we struck,& our red English Cross on it heighten'd, From their batteries they run, British vengeance to shun,for the Monsieurs were damnably frighten'd.
Sacra Dieu they roar out, we are ruin'd no doubt,not a faint could afford them relief;And how should soup meagure enable a bougre,to fight like the Sons of Roast Beef.
Their ships of the line strove to baulk our design,but into the harbour we row'd. We damn'd their hot matches, soon clapt down their hatches,burn't one and out t'other we tow'd.
Then the governor sent, to surrender content,to save from destruction the town,What he asked we granted, we had what we wanted,and Louisburg then was our own.
I never could laugh at a show so by half,as to see their lank soldiers and sailors,By Jove my friend Will I thought then & think still,they were nothing but journeymen taylors.
Such glorious success, as our wrongs must redress,and the French on their marrow bones bring:Now let's have a dance, with our partners advance,and so God bless great George our King.