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46 SEA SONGS. |
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At Plymouth now one night He was riding through all right
In fine togs to some great folks' ball, But a gale, it blew great guns, And a crowd, it shoreward runs ;
To an Indiaman, a wreck, rush all.
He was 'mongst them, like a shot;
To the beach, he quickly got, And there, through the spray and roar,
The Button, in the gloom,
Lay waiting for her doom, While her officers had skulked to shore.
Five hundred souls they knew Were aboard and women too
And children too in scores were there ; To order things aright, Not a soul was there that night,
Nor a pilot, out to go, would dare.
" I'll go myself," he said,
Our gallant dauntless Ned ; One rope, from shore to ship, held still;
So, along that hawser, he,
Across the boiling sea, Was hauled aboard with right good will. |
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