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 Of prizes rich we'll ſweep the flood,

can Britiſh Tars wiſh more?

And when from driving Bourbon's fleet,

victorious we arrive,

With muſic, dance, and jovial treat,

to pleaſe our girls we'll ſtrive;

Both Spaniſh ſilver and French gold,

we'll count in plenty o'er.

Which we have won, my ſhipmates bold,

can Britiſh Tars with more?

o beauty born a willing ſlave,

a merry happy man,

I ſlight the nymph I cannot have,

and doat on thoſe I can

Chor. This conſtant maxim ſtill I hold,

to baffle all deſpair,

The froward, ugly are and old,

the kind are young and fair.

The women would no more perplex,

were men reſolv'd and free,

Soft ſmiles become the charming ſex,

no pouting Miſs for me.

In wedlock's bands if e'er I join,

good humour be my guide,

Let dimpled ſmiles and love be mine,

I'll laugh at female pride.