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 Our noble commander,

with his heart full of grief,

Uſed every endeavour

to grant us relief.

No ſhip could aſſiſt us,

ſo well as we know,

In this wounded condition

we were toſſed to and fro

All you that relieves us,

the Lord may you bleſs,

For relieving poor ſailors

in the time of diſtreſs.

May he put an end

to all cruel wars;

Then peace and contentment

to all Britiſh Tars.





Martinmas is now come on,

and Chriſtmas is drawing near;

And we have nothing in the ,

for to make good Chriſtmas cheer.

The little we boy he's ſtanding by,

and hearing what his father did ſay,

Father, we'll kil the miniſter's wedder.