 | A collection of poems |  |
35
Carthagena's Downfall.
Jolly we sung the other day,
How poor Don Blass scuttled away;
Close up in Carthagena keeps,
And leaves his castles and his ships:
We promis'd soon, in jocund measure,
To take the city and the treasure;
So further to refresh your heart,
Here, sailors, sing the second part.
How poor Don Blass scuttled away;
Close up in Carthagena keeps,
And leaves his castles and his ships:
We promis'd soon, in jocund measure,
To take the city and the treasure;
So further to refresh your heart,
Here, sailors, sing the second part.
Jack Spaniard sees, shiv'ring and shaking,
All his ships sunk, and castles taken;
Nearer our men, and nearer creep,
Each takes his prospect glass to peep.
And O! what riches here were seen,
In ev'ry alley, street, and lane!
In ev'ry corner mingling rays
Of silver, gold, and diamonds blaze.
All the tin pots were silver fine,
And silver wire was us'd for twine.
The land-bank bills were yellow mould,
And all the gridirons made of gold.
The spits and skewers of ev'ry skullion,
And wooden cans were solid bullion.
All his ships sunk, and castles taken;
Nearer our men, and nearer creep,
Each takes his prospect glass to peep.
And O! what riches here were seen,
In ev'ry alley, street, and lane!
In ev'ry corner mingling rays
Of silver, gold, and diamonds blaze.
All the tin pots were silver fine,
And silver wire was us'd for twine.
The land-bank bills were yellow mould,
And all the gridirons made of gold.
The spits and skewers of ev'ry skullion,
And wooden cans were solid bullion.
36
Each bed was velvet sew'd together,
Stuff'd with leaf-gold without a feather.
Each cup-board groan'd beneath its weight,
For all the earthen ware was plate.
What endless wealth spread o'er the ground!
What storms of guineas rain'd around!
Each soldier at a distance views,
Hope fills his pockets, sleeves and shoes;
Each heart beats fast, assur'd to come
Loaded with bags of money home.
Stuff'd with leaf-gold without a feather.
Each cup-board groan'd beneath its weight,
For all the earthen ware was plate.
What endless wealth spread o'er the ground!
What storms of guineas rain'd around!
Each soldier at a distance views,
Hope fills his pockets, sleeves and shoes;
Each heart beats fast, assur'd to come
Loaded with bags of money home.
Hark then! and see! trumpets and drums,
Cannons and muskets, shouts and bombs;
Masts cracking, tumbling city walls,
Steeples o'erturn'd by iron balls;
Ten thousand dangers, deaths and harms,
And shower of heads, trunks, legs and arms.
Whole magazines blown up on high,
And soldiers flying thro' the sky,
Till, lest they should be all o'erthrown,
The Spaniards sent to buy the town.
Just as we seiz'd all to our use,
Out comes a paltry flag of truce,
And after a short modest parl'ing
Only paid down nine millions sterling.
Cannons and muskets, shouts and bombs;
Masts cracking, tumbling city walls,
Steeples o'erturn'd by iron balls;
Ten thousand dangers, deaths and harms,
And shower of heads, trunks, legs and arms.
Whole magazines blown up on high,
And soldiers flying thro' the sky,
Till, lest they should be all o'erthrown,
The Spaniards sent to buy the town.
Just as we seiz'd all to our use,
Out comes a paltry flag of truce,
And after a short modest parl'ing
Only paid down nine millions sterling.
| A collection of poems | |