Page:A copy of verses - henry every.jpg

 Ome all you brave Boys, whoe Courage is bold,

Will you venture with me, I'll glut you with Gold?

Make hate unto Corona, a Ship you will find,

That's called the Fancy, will pleaure your mind.

Captain Every is in her, and calls her his own;

He will box her about, Boys, before he has done:

French, Spaniard and Portuguee, the Heathen likewie,

He has made a War with them until that he dies.

Her Model's like Wax, and he ails like the Wind,

She is rigged and fitted and curiouly trimm'd,

And all things convenient has for his deign;

God bles his poor Fancy, he's bound for the Mine.

Farewel, fair Plimouth, and Cat-down be damn'd,

I once was Part-owner of mot of that Land;

But as I am diown'd, so I'll abdicate

My Peron from England to attend on my Fate.

Then away from this Climate and temperate Zone,

To one that's more torrid, you'll hear I am gone,

With an hundred and fifty brave Sparks of this Age,

Who are fully reolved their Foes to engage.

These Northern Parts are not thrifty for me,

I'll rise the Anterhie, that ome Men hall ee

I am not afraid to let the World know,

That to the South-Seas and to Peria I'll go.

Our Names shall be blazed and pread in the Sky,

And many brave Places I hope to decry,

Where never a French man e'er yet has been,

Nor any proud Dutch man can ay he has een. My Commiion is large, and I made it my elf,

And the Capton hall tretch it full larger by half;

It was dated in Corona, believe it, my Friend,

From the Year Ninety three, unto the World's end.

I Honour St. George, and his Colours I were,

Good Quarters I give, but no Nation I pare,

The World mut ait me with what I do want,

I'll give them my Bill, when my Money is cant.

Now this I do ay and olemnly wear,

He that trikes to St. George the better hall fare;

But he that refues, hall udenly py

Strange Colours abroad of my Fancy to fly.

Four Chiviligies of Gold in a bloody Field,

Environ'd with green, now this is my Shield;

Yet call out for Quarter, before you do ee

A bloody Flag out, which our Decree,

No Quarters to give, no Quarters to take,

We ave nothing living, alas 'tis too late;

For we are now worn by the Bread and the Wine,

More erious we are than any Divine.

Now this is the Coure I intend for to teer;

My fale-hearted Nation, to you I declare,

I have done thee no wrong, thou mut me forgive,

The Sword hall maintain me as long as I live.