IN MEMORY OF THE Truly loyal, and Valiant Capt. John George. Late Commander of Their Majesties Frigatt the Rose. Being a Full and True Relation of a Bloody Fight betwixt the said Frigatt and a Frenchman of War to the Eastward of scape Sables, Latitude 41 and 50. On Saturday the 24th. of May. 1690. In a Voyage from New-England in Company with 2 Mast Ships, to whom the Rose-Frigat was Convoy. By one of the Company. ARe all Pens silent, is there none to tell How the Brave George near Sables-Island fell? Why such Ingratitude? his Merit's much Better deserve, then thus a Verse to grudge In memory of him, who for to save His King's and Countries honour, found a Grave In deepest Seas, yet shall his Memory, Not thus be butted in obscurity. Nor shall base— Bostoners, cursed Sons of Cham, Who with false lies, and tales mankind would shame E're blast thy Glory, though their black mouth's said, Thy Ship and Men, were to the French betrayed. Say then my Muse, and faithfully relate The time, and cause that ushered in his fate. Near twice Ten years, betrusted with Commands In Warlike Ships, in midst of Armed Bands On all occasions he his Country served, And from the Post of danger never swerved; Always a Victor, and by Heaven's decree preserved till this his final destiny. 'Twas near th' Americ strand when twice 12 days The Glorious Sun had guilded with his Rays Fair Maia's bosom. In the frigate Rose Ploughing the Ocean to seek out his foes, And save his Convoy-Fleet, anon appears A Lusty French Ship, after her he stears. Twenty odd Guns on either side hawl'd out Seamen and Soldiers full four hundred stout. The Rose a Fifth Rate, not full thirty Guns, Sixscore brave Lads, burden 3 hundred tons. And when in Call demands, whence your ship, hoy? The Frenchman cried, me tell you by and by Strike to the King of France then forthwith cried No, no, Monsieur, we'l first well bang your hid, cried Valiant George, nor shall it e're be told To England's King his Ship so cheap I sold. Scarce said, when thundering echoes pierce the sky From English mariners, who French defy. Shrill Trumpets, and loud Drums do now invite The dull and timorous to a bloody Fight: Then thundering Cannons mixed with Fire and smoke sand ponderous balls, piercing well-season'd Oak, Which in their passage to the briny deeps Numbers of souls lull in Eternal sleeps, From the Main-topps and quarter-Decks like hail In showers of led, each other now assail: Now might you see the Rigging cut in twain And nimble fingers splicing it again. Ten thousand splinters from all quarters fly, The sails hard Bullets pierce then pass toth' sky: Some sponge the Guns, others dire powder bear, Loading with chain-shot is anothers care: All bent to kill, or take, or burn, or both, No Room is left for Cowardice or sloth. The Curled Ensigns now are cut in twain, Streight, ●aring sailors put them up again. And now th' affrighted fishes from the Deep Their Scaly heads advancing up, do peep, Above the waves, displeased at such distresses, amazed, return to their unknown recesses; Mean while the Combatants with clamours fill Heavens cieled Arch in crying out, kill, kill. Then dying groans, with shouts commi●● are heard, And from the scoopers flowing blood appeared. Thus for some time the success doubtful was, When from the Main-top( oh! wo and alas!) Some Common hand a Cursed ball did sand, Which brought the Noble George unto his end: fixed in his Breast, out goes his fleeting Soul, Whilst in his hearts-blood, his pale Corps doth roll: Yet e're he went to the elysium shade, To his next Friends breathing his last he said, God bless you all, I die, I'm ill all o'er, You're 〈◇〉 a good Cause, play the Men therefore. Stout Wiggoner the Ships chief Master fell, With sundry more of whom if I should tell, Too large would be the Theme, let it content I'th' Be●● of honour, they their dear lives spent. Here should I end, salt tears bids stay my Pen, But Common Justice prompts me on again, To speak of Valiant Condon, and his Merits, Since he the Captains place duly Inherits. The sword straight he advancing, doth cry out, Brave Lads fight on, we'll have the other 'bout. Your late Commander's dead ( brave George) 'tis true, My life against the Foe I'll spend with you; Do but your parts, we'll make the Monsieur run, Or roast his hid, e're it be set of Sun. Fresh Courage now revives in every breast, Scorning to think of life or Interest: Near one hour more they thump't the Frenchmans hid, Such sort of treatment he could not abide. His First, and Second in our view did fall, His Ports were made as wide as door in Hall; His Main-yard shot, his Men like pigeons fell, From the Main-top; In death's Embraces dwell Some hundreds more: for in our view we saw From bloody decks they their dead Men did draw. But that the Poet may not Merit blame, For he( as well as others) hath some shane. It must not be forgot how Valiant * Capt. Ben. clerk of Wappin in the Europian of London, a Mast-Ship. clerk With his ten Guns did prove a gallant spark, And though desired forth with to fall astern, And safe from blows himself no more concern In bloody Combat, scorned to be dismayed, Hawl up the Main sail to his Men he said; And from the quarter-Deck waving on high His glittering sword the Frenchman did defy: Come if you dare( he cried) we're ready for ye, We'll bang your Jacket, or I should be sorry. Stand by your Guns, it never shall be told To my disgrace in England— New— or old I feared a Frenchman, or would e're permit My Captain to be wronged I seeing it: Fire on his quarter, you will ●ach him now, Place that great Gun exact against his Bough, Ply well your small shot, let's do all we can, What is the least, is not the worst of man. Thus giving, and receiving on it goes, Till the poor Monsieur threshed with heavy blows Found he'd too much on't, straight about he wheels, Finding his hands not half so good as heels. FINIS. LONDON, Printed and sold by most Booksellers of London and Westminster.