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Make us ready boys all with wonder born, |
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We'll guide this fair ship and sail towards the morn, |
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Come on all alas, now here's the master dear, |
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I fear this deadly storm is coming to us near. |
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We sailed from Plymouth Sound in a week or three, |
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With not that far to go boys, some canons to retrieve. |
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The night it grew much darker and the wind it came in strong, |
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And it grew upon us lads and there was nothing to be done. |
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The waves grew higher and broke upon our ship, |
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Then poor old master's taken with nothing left to grip, |
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Drop the anchor downwards and throw him out a line, |
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Poor old master's overboard he be swallowed by the tide. |
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So hear my warning that I give to you, |
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Be careful when your sailing with that lucky few, |
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Tie up every deck hand tightly 'til the morn, |
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And well go together boys in the belly of the storm. |
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Don't go sailing out with me, I fear your soul be lost at sea. |
