Herring in Sa't with the Answer/Hawke's Engagement

by Anonymous

HAWKE'S ENGAGEMENT:

To its own Proper Tune.

The fourteenth of September,in Torbay as we lay,Bold Hawke did hoist his flag, Sir,and came on board that day:

Kind Neptune did protect us,with a sweet and pleasant breeze,We hoisted up our topsails,in crossing the roaring seas.

We had not cross'd the roaring seas,full thirty leagues or more,We spy'd a sail to windward,and down on us she bore.

O then we hail'd our Admiral,and thus to him did say,The French fleet is all sail'd out, Sir,and bound for Quib'ron Bay.

Can you tell me at what distance,and whereabout they ly?O yes, kind Sir, he then reply'd,it's thirty leagues to day.

There's twenty-two sail of the line,to leeward of us do lie,All clean and tight for action,as ever you did see.

Then up bespoke our Captain bold,to Edward Hawke did say,This is the finest news, Sir,that's brought to us this day.

Then Hawke himself soon mountedupon the lofty yard;His wings was spread at large, my boys,and after them we steer'd,

The fifteenth of September,the morning being clear;When twenty-two sail of the line,to leeward did appear.

All hands, all hands did rattle,a glorious sight to see,Unto the fight prepar'd my boys,like lions bold and free.

We steer'd unto the French fleet,as nigh as we could lay,Till twelve of them engaged us,and that most speedily.

They made a bloody battle,the like was never seen,The first broadside we gave them, boys,we laid them on their c'reen.

Oh! that is a glorious broadside,our admiral replies,Now give them such another,their ships will be a prize,

Like thunder in the French fleet,our cannon loud did roar,We sunk the pride of France, my boys,all on their native shore.

O don't you see the pride of Franceto the depths is going down,With many a dismal sigh, Sir,and many a grievous groan.

Conflans was sore affrighted,he could no longer stay,The rest of them turn'd tail, my boys,like cowards run away.

O then they steer'd for Crojack Bay,where we led them a dance:It prov'd to be the fatal blow,that sunk the crown of France.

The Rising Sun we burned,and the poor Prince likewise;And two of them we sunk, my boys,and one we made our prize.

So now the fight is over,fill up a flowing bowl,Whilst we're upon the roaring seas,there's none shall us controul.

Here is a health to all commanders,that are loyal, just and true,Likewise unto Sir Edward Hawke,and the Royal George's crew.

FINIS.