Come, come my jolly lads

Come, come my jolly lads, The wind's abaft; Brisk gales out sails shall crowd:— Come, bustle, bustle, bustle, boys, Haul up the boat; The boatswain pipes aloud: The ship's unmoor'd, All hands on board; The rising gale Fills ev'ry sail; The ship's well mann'd and stor'd; Then fling the flowing bowl— Fond hopes arise— The girls we prize Shall bless each jovial soul: The can, boys, bring— We'll drink and sing, While foaming billows roll.

Tho' to the Spanish coast We're bound to steer, We'll still our rights maintain; Then bear a hand, be steady, boys, Soon we'll see Old England once again: From shore to shore, While cannons roar, Our tars shall shew The haughty foe, Britannia rules the main. Then sling the flowing bowl, &c.