The Unhappy couple/Lord Howe's victory

LORD HOWE'S VICTORY.

COME all you gallant hearts of gold,
⁠A glorious tale I will unfold,
Of Howe, who fought the French ſo bold,
⁠On board of the Queen Charlotte;
The firſt of June this fight began,
And gallant Howe he led the van;
Our ſhot did play ſo bor that day,
Monſieurs they ſwore they would not ſtay,
In vain they ſtrove to run away,
⁠For Howe took care they ſhould not.

The Charlotte, with Lord Howe therein,
This fierce encounter did begin,
So bravely threw their broadſides in,
⁠Againſt the French Commander!
Who found the fight ſo hot that day,
That he could not withſtand the fray,
So from the action bore away,
And ſwore he would no longer ſtay,
⁠For he was no Salamander.

Seven ſhips fell in our hands that day,
So crippled could not get away,
Like logs they on the ſea did ly,
⁠So warm, was their reception:
⟨The⟩ L'Juſt and Sans Parielle,
⟨The⟩ America and bold Achille,
⟨They⟩ were ſo maul'd they could not ſail,
⁠Till mann'd by Britiſh ſailors.

⟨The⟩ Northumberland and Impeteaux,
⟨Were⟩ happy to be ta'en in tow,
⟨The⟩ Vengeure ſhe went down below,
⁠To ſhun our Britiſh valour;
⟨Two⟩ of them carried eighty guns,
(illegible text)ve ſeventy-fours, and ninety guns,
⟨huzza!⟩ huzza! their admiral runs,
⁠He could get no redemption.

⟨Brave⟩ Bower, Paſley, and Captain Hutt,
⟨Each⟩ loft a leg, and ſorely hurt;
⟨But⟩ life or death they valu'd not.
⁠When called by their country;
⟨Brave⟩ Montague was kill'd that day,
(illegible text)ill while their ſhot did hotly play;
⟨We⟩ gave three cheers with loud huzza,
⟨Theſe⟩ French dogs could not run away,
⁠We had ſo bravely maul'd them.

⟨Of⟩ French ſhips there were twenty-ſix,
⟨When⟩ firſt upon them we did fix,
⟨We⟩ valu'd not their Galic tricks,
⁠Tho' we'd but twenty-five, Sir;
(illegible text)r, like true Britiſh Heroes bold,
⟨Who⟩ value honour more than gold,
⟨And⟩ always ſcorn to be controul'd,
⟨Our⟩ courage has been try'd of old,
⁠Succeſs to England's forces.

Now ſince theſe prizes are brought in,
In honour of Great George our King,
In praiſe of Lord Howe let us ſing,
⁠And every gallant Tar, Sir;
For they will always win the day
And drive the boaſting French away,
To face our guns they durſt not ſtay,
So give three cheers with a loud huzza,
⁠Drink ſucceſs to England's forces.