A COPY of VERSES, COMPOSED BY Captain Henry Every, LATELY Gone to SEA to seek his FORTUNE. To the Tune of, The two English Travellers. Licens'd according to Order. | COme all you brave Boys, whose Courage is bold, | Will you venture with me, I'll glut you with Gold? | Make haste unto Corona, a Ship you will find, | That's called the Fancy, will pleasure your mind. | Captain Every is in her, and calls her his own; | He will box her about, Boys, before he has done: | French, Spaniard and Portuguese, the Heathen likewise, | He has made a War with them until that he dies. | Her Model's like Wax, and she sails like the Wind, | She is rigged and fitted and curiously trimm'd, | And all things convenient has for his design; | God bless his poor Fancy, she's bound for the Mine. | Farewel, fair Plimouth, and Cat-down be damn'd, | I once was Part-owner of most of that Land; | But as I am disown'd, so I'll abdicate | My Person from England to attend on my Fate. | Then away from this Climate and temperate Zone, | To one that's more torrid, you'll hear I am gone, | With an hundred and fifty brave Sparks of this Age, | Wo are fully resolved their Foes to engage. | These Northern Parts are not thrifty for me, | I'll rise the Anterhise, that some Men shall see | I am not afraid to let the World know, | That to the South-Seas and to Persia I'll go. | Our Names shall be blazed and spread in the Sky, | And many brave Places I hope to descry, | Where never a French man e'er yet has been, | Nor any proud Dut[c]h man can say he has seen. | My Commission is large, and I made it my self, | And the Capston shall stretch it full larger by half; | It was dated in Corona, believe it, my Friend, | From the Year Ninety three, unto the World's end. | I Honour St. George, and his Colours I were, | Good Quarters I give, but no Nation I spare, | The World must assist me with what I do want, | I'll give them my Bill, when my Money is scant. | Now this I do say and solemnly swear, | He that strikes to St. George the better shall fare; | But he that refuses, shall sudenly spy | Strange Colours abroad of my Fancy to fly. | Four Chiviligies of Gold in a bloody Field, | Environ'd with green, now this is my Shield; | Yet call out for Quarter, before you do see | A bloody Flag out, which our Decree, | No Quarters to give, no Quarters to take, | We save nothing living, alas 'tis too late; | For we are now sworn by the Bread and the Wine, | More serious we are than any Divine. | Now this is the Course I intend for to steer; | My false-hearted Nation, to you I declare, | I have done thee no wrong, thou must me forgive, | The Sword shall maintain me as long as I live. | | | | |
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