Improbability, or, The batchelor's dislike to a married life/Ye Gallant Souls

YE GALLANT SOULS.

To it's own Proper Tune.

YE gallant ſouls, that beat ſo high,
with England's glory in each vein,
From his example learn to die,
whoſe honour never knew one ſtain.

At break of day two ſail appear'd,
and on the larboard quarter ſtood,
For action ſtraight the decks were clear'd,
which ſoon alas! were dy'd with blood.

My friend maintain'd th' unequal fight,
till bringing all his guns to bear,
With red-hot balls their thunder freight,
and up one Frenchman blew in air.

The other ſtruck her colours now,
but, oh! too late his life to ſave,
For, e'er the hoſtile flag was low,
a ſhot had mark'd him for the grave.