#01588
Captain Strachan (Kenneth Peacock)

Here's a health to Captain Strachan,
my b'ys, and his experienced men;
One day as he was sailing
three leagues from Alladin,
He spied a lofty frigate
out of Marseilles came,
Guns mounted thirty-six, b'ys,
almost five hundred men.
He spied a lofty frigate
out of Marseilles came,
Guns mounted thirty-six, b'ys,
almost five hundred men.

"Oh, come all hands to quarters,"
our captain he replied,
"And get all clear for fighting
before she comes 'long side."
"Cast off your quarter-seasons,"
our gunner he did say,
"For never 'twill be said, b'ys,
that we will run away."
"Cast off your quarter-seasons,"
our gunner he did say,
"For never 'twill be said, b'ys,
that we will run away."

"Oh, come Lieutenant Crockett;
come steward, serve the wine,
Come bear a hand, brave fellow,
since we have no time to dine."
The fiddler he played up a tune,
we drinked the merry pint,
No sooner in our bellies, b'ys,
we begin the bloody fight.
The fiddler he played up a tune,
we drinked the merry pint,
No sooner in our bellies, b'ys,
we begin the bloody fight.

We hauled our helm to wind'ard
to keep her close 'long shore,
With our great guns and small arms
like thunder they did roar,
Till 365 was killed and wounded
on the decks then they did lie;
"Well done," cries our bold commander,
"we'll board her immediately."
Till 365 was killed and wounded
on the decks then they did lie;
"Well done," cries our bold commander,
"we'll board her immediately."

No sooner the words was spoken
we board' the proud Moselle,
We hauled them down the hatch-way
until the decks was clear;
We hoist up English colours,
the French cried out, "Mon Dieu,
We are all prisoners taken,
good Lord, what shall we do?"
We hoist up English colours,
the French cried out, "Mon Dieu,
We are all prisoners taken,
good Lord, what shall we do?"

"Oh, now the prize we've won, b'ys,
we'll way to Gibraltar sing,
With a rattlin' bowl of punch, b'ys,
we'll make the tavern ring;
With the pretty girls all on our knees,
b'ys, we'll drive all care to hell,
By the rogue he might be hung, b'ys,
but for fear of the proud Moselle.
With the pretty girls all on our knees,
b'ys, we'll drive all care to hell,
By the rogue he might be hung, b'ys,
but for fear of the proud Moselle.

####.... Author unknown. Traditional ballad ....####

Collected by Kenneth Peacock in 1958 from Isaac Freeman Bennett [1896-1981] of St Paul's, NL, and published in Songs Of The Newfoundland Outports, Volume 3, pp.990-991, by the National Museum of Canada (1965) Crown Copyrights Reserved.


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