7
The top-ſail yard, point to the wind boys,
ſet all clear to reef each course;
Let the fore ſheet go, dont mind boys,
tho‘ the weather ſhould be worſe;
Fore and aft the ſprit-ſail yard get,
reef the nizen, ſee all clear;
Hands aloft, each proventer-brace ſet,
man the tore-yard, cheer, lads cheer.
Now the dreadful thunders roaring,
peals on peals contending claſh;
On our heads fierce rain falls po uring,
In our eyes blue lightnings flaſh:
One wide water all around us,
all above us one black sky;
Different deaths at once ſurround us,
hark, what means yon diſmal cry!
The foremaſt‘s gone, cries every tongue out
o‘er the lee twelve feet ‘bove deck;
A leak beneath the cheſtree‘s ſprung out,
call all hands to clear the wreck:
Quick the lainards cut to pieces,
come my hearts be ſtout and bold;
Plumb the well, the leak increaſes,
Four feet water‘s in the hold.
