Come cheer up my noble hearts of…

Come cheer up my noble hearts of gold, And let it ne'er be said, That British sailors once so bold, Should ever be afraid. Your king and country on you call Most valiantly to fight, And do expect you one and all, To do your country right.

Fear not, my lads, since 'tis your lot, To have Sir Edward Hawke, Who'll make the monsieur go to pot, And not his country baulk. He will be true unto his king, And to his nation too, And in the ears of France shall ring, A peal shall make them rue.

Exert yourselves when danger's nigh, And ye shall sure prevail, And make Britannia's foes to fly, And in their turn, turn tail; So shall you to yourselves procure Both glory and renown, In rendering solid and secure Your gracious monarch's throne.

Our English HAWKE shall let them know, He is the bird of prey, That will not let the French cock crow, But make him run away: Or if he dares maintain the fight, He'll pluck the coxcomb off, Or strip him of his feathers quite. And render him a scoff.