Oh, what a set of Vagabundos, Sons of Neptune, sons of Mars, Raked from todos otros mundos, Lascars, Gascons, Portsmouth tars, Prison mate and dock-yard fellow, Blades to Meg and Molly dear, Off to capture Porto Bello Sailed with Morgan the Buccaneer! Out they voyaged from Port Royal (Fathoms deep its ruins be, Pier and convent, fortress loya, Sunk beneath the gaping sea; On the Spaniard’s beach they landed, Dead to pity, void of fear,— Round their blood-red flag embanded, Led by Morgan the Buccaneer. Dawn till dusk they stormed the castle, Beat the gates and gratings down; Then, with ruthless rout and wassail, Night and day they sacked the town, Staved the bins its cellars boasted, Port and Lisbon, tier on tier, Quaffed to heart’s content, and toasted Harry Morgan the Buccaneer: Stripped the church and monastery, Racked the prior for his gold, With the traders’ wives made merry, Lipped the young and mocked the old, Diced for hapless señoritas (Sire and brother bound anear),— Juanas, Lolas, Manuelitas, Cursing Morgan the Buccaneer. Lust and rapine, flame and slaughter, Forayed with the Welshman grim: “Take my pesos, spare my daughter!” “Ha! ha!” roared that devil’s limb, “These shall jingle in our pouches, She with us shall find good cheer.” “Lash the graybeard till he crouches!” Shouted Morgan the Buccaneer. Out again through reef and breaker, While the Spaniard moaned his fate, Back they voyaged to Jamaica, Flush with doubloons, coins of eight, Crosses wrung from Popish varlets, Jewels torn from arm and ear,— Jesu! how the Jews and harlots Welcomed Morgan the Buccaneer!
Morgan
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