Resolved for a chace, All Frenchmen to face, Bold Boston from Halifax sailed, With a full flowing sheet,
The pride of the fleet, Not a vessel she saw, but she hailed; With Courtney, commander, who never did fear, Nor returned from a fight with a “flea in his ear.”
As they stered for the Hook, Each swore by his book, “No prayers should their vengeance retard; “They would plunder and burn,
“They would never return “Unattended by Captain Bompard! “No Gaul can resist us, when once we arouse, “We'll drown the monsieurs in the wash of our bows.”
A sail now appeared, When toward her they steered, Each crown'd with his Liberty-Cap; Under colours of France did they boldly advance,
And a small privateer did entrap — The time may have been when their nation was brave, But now, their best play is to cheat and deceive. Arrived at the spot
Where they meant to dispute, Thus Courtney sent word, in a heat: “Since fighting's our trade, “Their bold Ambuscade
“Must be sunk, or compelled to retreat: “Tell Captain Bompard, if his stomach's for war, “To advance from his port, and engage a bold tar.” Brave Captain Bompard
When this challenge he heard, Though his sails were unbent from the yards, His topmasts struck down, And his men half in town;
Yet sent back his humble regards — The challenge accepted; all hands warned on board, Bent, their sails, swore revenge, and the frigate unmoored. The Boston, at sea,
Being under their lee, For windward manoeuvred in vain; ‘ Till night coming on, Both laid by‘ till dawn,
Then met on the watery plain, The wind at north-east, and a beautiful day, And the hearts of the Frenchmen in trim for the fray. So, to it they went,
With determined intent The fate of the day to decide By the virtues of powder; ( No argument louder
Was e'er to a subject applied ) A Gaul with a Briton in battle contends, Let them stand to their guns, and we'll see how it ends. As the Frenchman sailed past,
Boston gave him a blast, Glass bottles, case knives, and old nails, A score of round shot, And the devil knows what,
To cripple his masts and his sails. The Boston supposed it the best of her play To prevent him from chacing — if she ran away. The Frenchman most cool,
( No hot-headed fool,) Returned the broadside in a trice; So hot was the blast, He disabled one mast,
And gave them some rigging to splice, Some holes for to plug, where the bullets had gone, Some yards to replace, and some heads to put on. Three glasses, and more,
Their cannons did roar, Shot flying in horrible squads; ‘ Midst torrents of smoke, The Republican spoke,
And frightened the Anglican gods! Their frigate so mauled, they no longer defend her, And, Courtney shot down — they bawled out to surrender! “O la! what a blunder
“To provoke this French thunder! “We think with the devil he deals — “But since we dislike “To surrender and strike,
“Let us try the success of our heels: “We may save the king's frigate by running away, “The Frenchman will have us — all hands — if we stay!” So squaring their yards,
On all Captain Bompard's, A volley of curses they shed — Having got their Discharge, They bore away large,
While the Frenchman pursued, as they fled. But vain was his haste — while his sails he repaired, He ended the fray in a chace — The Gaul got the best of the fight,‘ tis declared;
The Briton — the best of the race!
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