You merchant men of Billinsgate,
I wonder how you can thrive,
Your bargain with men for six months,
and pay them but for five:
But so long as the water runs under the bridge,
and the tide doth ebb and flow,
I’ll no more to Greenland sail,
no, no, no.

Our drink it is fair water,
that floweth from the rocks,
And as for other dainties,
we eat both bear and fox:
Then boyl our biskets in whale-oyl,
all to increase our woe:
But I’ll no more, &c.

Our Captains and Commanders,
are valiant men and stout:
They’ve fought in France and Flanders,
and never wou’d give out,
They beat our Men like Stock-fish,
all to increase our woe:
Then I’ll no more, &c.

In storms we must stand to it,
when thundring tempest rage;
When cables snap and main mast split,
and the briny seas ingage:
Whilst sable blackness spreads its vail,
all to increase our woe:
But I’ll no more, &c.

Testy Neptune’s mounting waves,
still o’er our hatches tower:
Each minute threatens silent Graves,
for fishes to devour;
Or be intomb’d by some vast whale,
and there to end our woe:
But I’ll no more, &c.

To face the cold north eastern winds,
whilst shrowds and tackle roar:
And man our wracking pinnace,
which mountain high is bore:
To laboard, starboard tack we trail,
our joynts benumb’d with snow:
But I’ll no more, &c.

Abaf before: helm a lee,
all hands aloft, they cry:
When strait their comes a rouling sea
and mounts us to the sky:
Like drowned rats we cordage hail,
whilst scarce we’ve strength to go:
But I’ll no more, &c.

For if we faint or faulter,
to ply our cruel work,
The Boastswain with a halter
does beat us like a turk:
Whilst we in vain our case bewail,
he does increase our woe:
But I’ll no more, &c.

Then to take our lading in,
we moil like Argier slaves:
And if we to complain begin,
the cap-stal lash we have:
A cursed cat with thrice three tails,
does much increase our woe:
But I’ll no more, &c.

And when we faint, to bring us back
they give us bruis strong:
The which does not creepers lack,
to usher it along:
With element that smells so stale,
all to increase our woe:
Then I’ll no more, &c.

Therefore young men I all advise,
before it be too late,
And then you’ll say that you are wise,
by dashing of your fate:
The which your rashness did intail,
for to insist your woe:
Then I’ll no more, &c.