| Citation |
NYWJ.741.022
13 Apr 1741:21 (384)
From Spithead; before the fleet sail'd.
A TARR'S SONG.
I.
To you, fine folk at London town,
We Spithead tarrs do write,
And wonder you don't send us down
Orders to sail and fight:
For we are weak'ning ev'ry day,
By sickness and by run away. With a Fa, la, etc.
II.
The French and Spaniards both are sail'd,
Don Blass to reinforce,
Thinking we have brave Vernon fail'd.
To him let's bend our course;
Give him but half the fleet that's here,
He'll beat them both, you need not fear. With a Fa, la,
etc.
III.
Or if we should them chance to meet,
Upon the azure main,
Stout Ogle and Cathcart wou'd beat
Them back again to Spain;
Or in the deep would lay them low,
They ne'er should strike another blow. With a Fa, la, etc.
IV.
But if you keep us pent up thus,
Like game cocks in a bag,
We shall not get a single sous,
Nor honour to your flag:
Make haste, or the galleons are gone,
And all true hearts will be undone. With a Fa, la, etc.
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