Page:A Selection of Original Songs, Scraps, Etc., by Ned Farmer (3rd ed.).djvu/85



See! see! on her shrouds all her canvas she crowds,
 * The Trader perceives his mistake,

From the red flag he knows that the worst of all foes—
 * The old Scorpion—lies in his wake.

In vain do they fly, they must strike or must die,
 * No mercy from us will they find;

As well may they think the huge ocean to drink,
 * As to leave the gay rover behind.

We near her! the shout of the battle breaks out!
 * We board! all her gold is our own!

'Neath the fathomless wave they have met with a grave,
 * The old Scorpion is sailing alone.

a half-timbered cottage, in some quiet nook,
 * With some fifty good acres of land,

With a spinney for rabbits, some trout in a brook,
 * A small garden and orchard at hand,

A snug kitchen comer for cold winter nights,
 * A glass of good ale for a friend,

One dear smiling face to put all things to rights,
 * Would to goodness kind Fortune would send.