Three Herring in Sa't, with The Answer (1799, Glasgow)/Hawke's Engagement

by Anonymous

For other versions of this work, see Hawke's Engagement.

Divider from 'Three Herring in Sa't, with The Answer', a chapbook printed in Glasgow in 1799

HAWKE'S ENGAGEMENT.

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 raging seas,

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

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

Can you tell me at what distance,and where about 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 ly,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 were 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 seeUnto the fight prepar'd my boys,like lions bold and free.

We steer'd unto the French fleet,as nigh as we could layTill 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 lait 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 cannons they did roar,We sunk the pride of France, my boys,all on their native shore.

O don't you see the pride of France,to 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 sail, my boys,like cowards run away.

O then they steer'd for Corjack 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's a health to all commanders,that are loyal, just and true,Likewise unto Sir Edward Hawke,and the Royal George's crew