⟨Luff, boys, luff, don’t make wry faces,⟩
up your top sails nimbly clew.
Now all you on down-beds sporting,
fondly lock’d in beauty’s arms,
Fresh enjoyments wanton courting,
free from all but love's alarms,—
Round us roars the tempest louder;
think what fear our mind enthrals:
Harder yet, it yet blows harder;
now again the boatswain calls.
The top-sail yards point to the wind, boys,
see all clear to reef each course;
Let the foresheets go; don’t mind, boys,
though the weather should be worse.
Fore and aft the sprit sail yard get;
reef the mizen; see all clear:
Hand up, each preven er-brace set;
man the fore-yard; cheer lads, cheer.
Now the dreadful thunder’s roaring,
peals on peals contending clash,
On our heads fierce rain falls pouring,
in our eyes blue light’nings flash.
One wide water all around us,
all above us one black sky,
Diff’rent deaths at once surround us,
hark, what means that dreadful cry?
The foremast’s gone, cries ev’ry tongue out,
o’er the lee, twelve feet ’bove deck:
A leak beneath the chest-tree’s sprung out;
call all hands to clear the wreck.
