To joy a stranger,
A way-worn ranger,
In every danger
My course I've run;
Now hope all ending,
And Death befriending,
His last aid lending,
My cares are done:
No more a rover,
Or hapless lover,
My griefs are over,
My glass runs low;
Then for that reason,
And for a season,
Let us be merry
Before we go!
_Curran._
XL
THE ARETHUSA
Come, all ye jolly sailors bold,
Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould,
While English glory I unfold,
Huzza for the Arethusa!
She is a frigate tight and brave,
As ever stemmed the dashing wave;
Her men are staunch
To their fav'rite launch,
And when the foe shall meet our fire,
Sooner than strike, we'll all expire
On board of the Arethusa.
'Twas with the spring fleet she went out
The English Channel to cruise about,
When four French sail, in show so stout
Bore down on the Arethusa.
The famed Belle Poule straight ahead did lie,
The Arethusa seemed to fly,
Not a sheet, or a tack,
Or a brace, did she slack;
Though the Frenchman laughed and thought it stuff,
But they knew not the handful of men, how tough,
On board of the Arethusa.
On deck five hundred men did dance,
The stoutest they could find in France;
We with two hundred did advance
On board of the Arethusa.
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