'Twas August the seventh, at three in…

'Twas August the seventh, at three in the morning, Our cannon 'gainst Cherburgh began for to roar; Never struck colours, our courage adorning, Grenadiers hasted away to the shore. CHO. Such is the sport that we boys delight in, Lead us well on, and we'll never fear fighting.

Midst fire and smoke stood our bold commodore, Balls flew around him, yet ne'er did he wince; Serene were his orders on every score, And close by my Lord fought bold Edward the prince.

No more the French monarch his Cherburgh can boast, So hurtful to England for many a year; The shipping all burnt, the works shatter'd and tost, And drove by explosion into the air.

Some say that our prince was too gallantly bold, A fault we must own, but a fault we approve; It runs in the family as I've been told, And that has secur'd them his country's true love.

Firm in the praise of your worthy commanders, Soldiers and sailors, O make the air ring; East or West-Indies, French coast or Flanders, Revenge the brave Dury and honour the King.