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Our noble commander,
with his heart full of grief,
Uſed every endeavour
to grant us relief.
No ſhip could aſſiſt us,
ſo well as we know,
In this wounded condition
we were toſſed to and fro
All you that relieves us,
the Lord may you bleſs,
For relieving poor ſailors
in the time of diſtreſs.
May he put an end
to all cruel wars;
Then peace and contentment
to all Britiſh Tars.
The PARSONS FAT WEDDER
Martinmas is now come on,
and Chriſtmas is drawing near;
And we have nothing in the ⟨houſe⟩,
for to make good Chriſtmas cheer.
The little we boy he's ſtanding by,
and hearing what his father did ſay,
Father, we'll kil the miniſter's wedder.
