The Muse’s friendly aid I must invite,
Likewise a pen that’s taught itself how to write,
No wit I boast, but am by fancy led
To search the deep caverns of my hollow head,
If attic rhyme, Apollo there has stored,
I’ll here deposit all my favorite hoard.

In days of yore when rich and poor agreed,
Poor served the rich and rich the poor relieved.
No despotic tyrants then the womb produced
But mutual all, each loved, and none abused,
But now how dreadful is the scene reversed,
We’re blest with birth, but with oppression cursed.

The theme I treat on is our Royal tars,
Whose God-like spirit rival even Mars,
From their supineness now their souls are roused
To rod and yoke no longer are exposed.
But all alike, each swears he will be true,
And tyrants ne’er their former course renew.

At Spithead first their noble blood was fired;
Each loved his King, but one and all aspired;
To serve each other was their full intent,
And if insulted were on mischief bent,
But still their country’s cause they would maintain,
Against the rebels, or the powers of Spain.

Then at the Nore the lions boldly roused,
Their brethren’s cause at Spithead they espoused.
Each swore alike to King he would be true,
But one and all the tyrants would subdue,
Their gallant hearts the chains of bondage broke
Not to revolt, but to evade the yoke.

In Yarmouth next old Neptune reared his head,
Awake my sons the watery monarch said,
The torpid vapors from your souls remove
Inspire yourselves with true fraternal love.
Unto the Nore repair without delay,
Then join your brothers with a loud huzza.

The worthy god’s advice the heroes took,
Each broke his chains and off the panic shook
Unto the Nore their gallant ships they steered,
Whilst brethren cheered them as each ship appeared.
Oh Britons free, usurp no tyrants sway,
Protect your tars, and then they’ll you obey.