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(Farewell to You, Ye Fine) Spanish Ladies

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Lyrics from The Music of the Waters, by Laura Smith
Farewell an' adieu to you fair Spanish ladies,
Farewell an' adieu to you ladies of Spain,
For we've received orders for to sail for old England,
An' hope very shortly to see you again.
Now farewell to you, ye fine Spanish ladies,
Now farewell to you, ye ladies of Spain,
For we've received orders to sail for old England,
And perhaps we may never more see you again.
We'll rant an' we'll roar, like true British sailors,
We'll rant an' we'll rave across the salt seas,
'Till we strike soundings in the Channel of Old England,
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-four leagues.
We'll range and we'll rove like true British sailors;
We'll range and we'll rove all on the salt seas;
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of England,
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.
We hove our ship to, with the wind at sou'west, boys,
We hove our ship to for to take soundings clear.
In fifty-five fathoms with a fine sandy bottom,
We filled our maintops'l, up Channel did steer.
We hove our ship to, with the wind at sou'west, boys,
We hove our ship to, for to strike soundings clear,
Then filled the main top-sail, and bore right away, boys,
And straight up the Channel our course we did steer.
The first land we made was a point called the Deadman,
Next Ramshead off Plymouth, Start, Portland, and Wight.
We sailed then by Beachie, by Fairlee and Dungeyness,
Then bore straight away for the South Foreland Light.
The first land we made, it is called the Dead-man,
Next, Ram Head off Plymouth, Start, Portland, and Wight.
We sailed by Beachy, by Fairly, and Dungeness,
And then bore away for the South Foreland Light.
Now the signal was made for the Grand Fleet to anchor,
We clewed up our tops'ls, stuck out tacks and sheets.
We stood by our stoppers, we brailed in our spankers,
And anchored ahead of the noblest of fleets.
Then the signal was made for the grand fleet to anchor,
All in the downs that night for to sleep;
Now stand by your stoppers, see clear your shank painters,
Haul up your clew garnets, stick out tacks and sheets.
Let every man here drink up his full bumper,
Let every man here drink up his full bowl,
And let us be jolly and drown melancholy,
Now let ev'ry man toss off a full bumper,
Now let ev'ry man take off his full bowl,
For we will be jolly, and drown melancholy,
With a health to each jovial and true-hearted soul.


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