An English Naval Ballad

1690s

Thus our new government does subjects serve,
And leaves them this sad choice: to hang or starve.

To the tune of Banstead Downs

Good people, do but lend an ear,
And a sad story you shall hear--
A sadder you never heard--
Of due desert and base reward,
Which will our English subjects fright
For our new government to fight.

Our seamen are the only men
That o'er the French did vict'ry gain;
they kept the foe from landing here,
Which would have cost the court full dear;
And when they for their pay did hope
They were rewarded with a rope.

The roaring cannon they ne'er fear'd,
Their lives and blood they never spar'd;
Through fire and flame their courage flew,
No bullets could their hearts subdue.
Had they in fight but flinched at all
King James had now been in Whitehall.

Thus England, and our new king too,
Their safety to their valor owe;
Nay, some did 'gainst their conscience fight
To do some great ones too much right;
And now, oh, barbarous tyranny!
Like men they fought, like dogs they die.

Thousands of them their lives did lose
In fighting stoutly with their foes,
And thousands were so maim'd in fight
That 'twas a sad and piteous sight;
And when they hop'd their pay to gain
They have their labor for their pain.

Their starving families at home
Expected their slow pay would come;
But our proud court meant no such thing,
Not one groat must they have till spring;
To starve all summer would not do,
They must still starve all winter too.

It might a little ease their grief,
And give their mis'ry some relief,
Might they in trade ships outward go,
But that poor boon's denied them too,
Which is as much as plain to say,
You shall earn nothing, nor have pay.

Their poor wives with care languish'd,
Their children cried for want of bread,
Their debts increast, and none would more
Lend them, or let them run o'th' score.
In such a case what could they do
But ask those who money did owe?

Therefore some, bolder than the rest,
The officers for their own request;
They call'd 'em rogues, and said nothing
Was due to them until the spring:
The king had none for them they said
Their betters, they must first be paid.

The honest seamen then replied
they could no longer want abide,
And that nine hundred thousand pound
Was giv'n last year to pay them round:
Their money they had earnt full dear
And could not stay another half-year.

A council then they straight did call
Of pick-thanks made to please Whitehall,
And there they were adjudg'd to die;
But no man knows wherefore, nor why.
What times are these! Was't ever known
'Twas death for men to ask their own?

Yet some seen'd milder than the rest,
And told them that, their fault confessed,
And pardon asked and humbly crav'd,
Their lives perhaps might then be sav'd;
But they their cause corn'd to betray
Or own't a crime to ask their pay.

Thus they the seamen's martyrs died,
And would not yield to unjust pride;
Their lives they rather would lay down
Than yield it sin to ask their own.
Thus they for justice spent their blood
To do all future seamen good.

Wherefore let seamen all and some
Keep the days of their martyrdom,
And bear in mind these dismal times,
when true men suffer for false crimes;
England ne'er knew the like till now,
Nor e'er again the like will know.

But now suppose they had done ill,
In asking pay too roughly, still
When 'twas their due and need so pressed,
They might have pardon found at least;
The king and queen some merciful call,
but seamen find it not at all.

To robbers, thieves, and felons they
Freely grant pardons ev'ry day;
Only poor seamen, who alone
Do keep them on their father's throne,
Must have at all no mercy shown:
Nay, tho' there wants fault, they'll find one.

Where is the subjects' liberty?
And eke where is their property?
We're forc'd to fight for nought, like slaves,
And though we do we're hang'd like knaves.
This is not like Old England's ways:
'New lords, new laws,' the proverb says.

Besides the seamen's pay, that's spent,
The king for stores, ships, and what's lent,
Does owe seven millions at least,
And ev'ry year his debt's increased;
So that we may despair that we
One quarter of our pay shall see.

Foreigners and confederates
Get poor men's pay, rich men's estates;
Brave England does to ruin run,
And Englishmen must be undone.
If this trade last but one half-year
Our wealth and strength is spent, I fear.

God bless our noble parliament,
And give them the whole government,
That they may see we're worse than ever,
And us from lawless rule deliver;
For England's sinking, unless they
Do take the helm, and better sway.

C.H. Firth, editor. Naval Songs and Ballads. (London: 1907), pp. 140-143.