 | War |  |
On Monsieur Thurot's descent and defeat.
I.
Ye Britons! attend, you shall hear how Thurot,(He led, only Frenchmen, intirely forgot,)
Tyger like, for awhile, kill'd, ravag'd, and then,
Vigoriously thought to have slunk to his den.
Derry down, down, down derry down.
II.
With three, or four ships, Monsieur Thurot made boast,He'd make a descent on Hibernia's coast:
Next thought to retreat, with his men, and his prey,
As well he might 'scape from fierce lions away.
Derry down, down, down derry down.
III.
For Æolus , blew a strong blast in his face!Flung his sails all aback , retarded his pace!
With a brilliant air, mix'd with fierce martial rage,
The Goddess of war, she bore down to engage.
Derry down, down, down derry down.
IV.
The Frenchmen grew pale, when they saw the three sail,Their passage obstruct, as from Ireland they steal;
With local huzzas to Belleisle's volunteers,
They played a rough concert of old English airs
Derry down, down, down derry down.
V.
Of the symphony rude, the Gauls did complain,And swore the whole tune, was a dissonant strain;
Their loud shouts victorious! their triumphs were drown'd!
By deep noted bass, of our cannons around;
Derry down, down, down derry down.
VI.
The sport rougher grew; and the Frenchmen grew sick;Death flew fore and aft, as the bullets flew thick!
Their, great hero Thurot, fell wounded, and dead!
Soon after they struck, in a cold pannic dread!
Derry down, down, down derry down.
VII.
Monsieurs! take advice, put an end to these wars,You cannot engage with our troops, and brave tars!
Nor dare near the den of the lion to roam!
Brave Hawke scours the seas! and great Pitt is at home!
Derry down, down, down derry down.
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