Leveller
Try this - from Songs of The Wexford Coast By Joseph Ranson

Paul Jones

It was a stately Southern ship that flew the stripes and stars,
And a freshening wind from west-nor'-west sang through her pitch-pine spars,
With her larboard tacks aboard she head-reached in the gale,
On an Autumn night she raised the light of the old Head of Kinsale.

'Twas then a fair and cloudless night, and the wind blew fresh and strong.
As swiftly o'er the bounding waves our good ship rolled along.
Far before her weather bow a fiery wave she spread,
And bending low in her breast of snow, she buried her lee-cat-head.

No thought was there of shortening sail by the man who trod the poop,
Though by the press of her ponderous jib her boom bent like a hoop.
Her groaning chesters told the strain as she lay on her stout main tack.
He only laughed as he glanced abaft at her bright and sparkling track.

On Cable Isle the breakers boom and fringe the beetling shore,
Whilst the Dungarvan fishermen lie sheltered in Ardmore.
On Tuskar's Rock the star had set; eight bells it told the hour,
And the beacon's light that burned so bright was sunk on the Hook's lone Tower.

The morning breaks o'er the Channel wave as the stranger ship sails on,
With yards braced square before the gale in the grey of early dawn.
The Channel breeze meets th'ebbing tide that boils round Conney-more;
The mist lies heavy on the land from Fethard to Carnsore.

What rises on our starboard beam, a-hanging on the breeze,
The time our good ship hauled her wind abreast of the Saltees?
By her mighty spread of cloth, and by her lengthy spar,
We knew our morning visitor was a British man-o'-war.

(Alternative verse)
" A sail! A sail!" our captain cried, "a sail upon our lee,
And she's steering from the eastward and bearing down on me"
By her lofty spread of sail, by her long and tapered spar,
We knew our morning visitor was a British man-o'-war.

The spread of sail this frigate wore was her three top-sails broad;
Her spanker and her inner-jibs with fore and main course stowed.
But look again with one quick glance, her courses loose are cast;
Her royals and to' gallant yards are crossed on every mast.

(Alternative verse)
How stately looked the Englishman with his fore top-sails broad;
His spanker and his flying-jib, fore and main courses stowed.
But wait a little longer, see the gaskets from her cast:
Royals and to' gallant sails break out from every mast.

For never the Channel wave had borne a barque before or since,
To take a log line off the reel with the speed of The Black Prince.

(Alternative verse)
For never a keel laid down has been, on the stocks before or since
To take a log line of the reel with the speed of The Black Prince.

'Twas east-nor'-east the rival ships up in the Channel bore,
Until the setting sun went down behind the Irish shore.
We flew our glorious Stripes aloft abreast the Hill o' Howth:
Paul Jones, the terror of his foes, will fly them round the coast.

Then spoke our daring captain, though a cloud hung o'er his brow.,
"Fear not, my loyal comrades, for in greater stress than now,
We wore those glorious Stripes aloft amidst the British host:
Paul Jones the terror of the seas, will fly them round this coast.

Away, away, through storm and sea the battle still goes on,
And in the dark grey dawn of morn we reached the Calf-o'-Man.
Our grape-shot lowered his sail and spar aboard the man-o'-war,
And we left him lobbing with the tide abreast of Strangford Bar.

"Out booms! out booms!" our captain cried, "out booms, and give her sheet,
For the fastest keel that splits the wave in all the British Fleet
Comes bearing down upon us with a white wave at her bow;
Spread every inch of sail, my boys, spare not her canvas now."

And far away the midnight moon looks down on lonely Mourne;
The sound of the dark and heaving swell by the light Seabreeze is borne.
Slieve Donard heard the distant boom and from his cavern dark,
Re-echoed back the scornful cheer to the deck of the pirate barque.

A bright flash broke from her glancing sheer beneath that press of sail,
And the deep boom of her signal gun came down upon the gale.
'Twas a gentle hint to shorten sail—a touch of English pride,
To come within their friendly hail, that seldom was denied.

Come, steer away, north and by west, till you raise dark Carrig Head,
Where the lonely Copeland Island sleeps within her watery bed.
The ebbing tide runs rapid 'tween Rathlin and the main.
Paul Jones, undaunted buccaneer, is off to sea again.

What did our daring captain do when the shot ahead had passed?
He checked his flowing courses, brought his topsails to the mast.
Then a ringing cheer from the privateer answered the summons dread,
As our swaggering banner run aloft from the mizzen-peak was spread.

Then fast and thickly shower the balls; they shriek through shroud and mast,
But still the light-heeled Ranger shoots ahead of the frigate fast.

I took down the words of this ballad from Margaret Mitten, Morriscastle, November, 1937. I am indebted to Lanigan Walsh, Wexford, and to John Brien, the mason, Kilmuckridge for variants. Both airs were taken down by Kathleen Hammel in 1947 - the first from the singing of Miss Nan Dempsey, Cosher, Kilmuckridge, and the second from Denny Murphy, Courtown Harbour. Denny referred to his version as "the Arklowmen's air."