Three Songs (Edinburgh)/Captain Glen's Unhappy Voyage, etc./The Blanch Frigate

The BLANCH Frigate.

You Frenchmen don't talk of your sighting,
 For talk of great deeds you have done,
Do you think that old England you,ll frighten,
 As easy as Holland and Spain.
We lissen and laugh at your threaten;
Your boasting and valour advance
Since your boasting Le Picque has been taken
 By the brave jolly tars of the Blanch.
They sail'd from the Bay of Point Peter,
 Four hundred and fifty on board,
And we were all ready to fight them,
 To conquer or die was the word.
Then the cans of good liquor was flowing,
 We gave them three cheers to advance,
And courage in each heart was growing,
 For cowards ne'er sail'd in the Blanch.
The night then advancing upon us,
 The moon did afford us some light,
Each star with lustre was shining,
 To keep the French frigate in sight.
All hands keep close by their quarters,
 And our ship through the water did launch
While the grog flew about in full bumpers
 Among the brave tars of the Blanch.
The fight made the sea seam on fire,
 Fach bullet distractedly flew,
Britannia her sons did inspire
 With courage that damp'd the French crew
Saying cowards now surely must
 Whilst over them death turns the lance
And our balls repeat as they fly,
 Fight on my brave tars of the Blanch.
When Faulkner resign'd his last breath,
 Each gave a tear and a sigh,
Saying sorrow was found at this death.
 With (illegible text)pring he read deep and died.
But like Wolf then with victory crown'd,
 At his death he cried ne'er mind my chance,
But like gallant heroes fight on,
 Or expire by the name of the Blanch.
Bold Wilkins his place soon supplied,
 And like a bold actor engag'd,
His guns with more judgement to guide,
 For the death of his captain enrag'd:
And how could he his fury allay,
 While the Le Picque alongside did advance
For our three mast being shot away,
 When we grappl'd her close to the blanch
Our foremast and mizen being gone.
 The Frenchmen they thought us their own
And with Vvie Republic they sung
 We thought they would never have done,
And we join'd in their song of dismay,
 With a song that made them all dance,
And not a false note was there play'd
 By the jolly brave tars of the blanch.
When they found 'twas in vain for to stand,
 They cried out for quarter amain,
Although the advantage they had,
 Still Britons are lords of the main.
So push round the grog let it pass,
 Since they found us true hearted & staunch
And each lad with his favourite lass,
 Drink success to the tars of the blanch,