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 From Cape la Hogue to Ushant, from Rochefort to

Belleisle, She hunted game till reef and mud were rubbing on

her keel.

The fogs are dried, the frigate's side is bright with

melting tar, The lad up in the foretop sees square white sails

afar: The east wind drives three square-sailed masts from

out the Breton bay, And 'Clear for action!' Farmer shouts, and reefers

yell 'Hooray!'

The Frenchman's captain had a name I wish I could

pronounce; A Breton gentleman was he, and wholly free from

bounce,

One like those famous fellows who died by guillotine For honour and the fleurs-dc-lys and Antoinette the

Queen.

The Catholic for Louis, the Protestant for George, Kach captain drew as bright a sword as saintly smiths

could forge; And both were simple seamen, but both could

understand How each was bound to win or die for flag and

native land.

The French ship was la Surveillante, which means

the watchful maid ; She folded up her head-dress and began to cannonade.

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