England's Great Loss by a Storm of Wind

You gentlemen of England fair,
Who live at home free from all care,
Little do you think or know
What we poor sailors undergo :
We whine and toil upon the waves,
We work like Turks or galley slaves.

'Twas on November the second day
When first our admiral bore away;
Intending for his native shore,
The wind at west-south-west did roar,
Attended by a dismal sky,
And the seas did run full mountains high.

The very first land that we did make,
It chanc'd to be the old Ram's Head,
Which made us all rejoice around
To see our flag-stem in Plymouth Sound,
Stretching well over for Fishes Nose,
Thinking to fetch up in [H]amose.

The tide of ebb not being done,
She set strong to the westward run,
Which put us all in dread and fear,
To see our ships, they would not wear,
The wind and weather increased sore,
And drove nine sail of ships on shore.

When we came to Northumberland Rock,
The Lyon, Lynx, and Antelope,
The Loyally, and Eagle too,
The Elizabeth made all to rue :
She ran astern, and the line broke,
And sunk the Hardwick at first stroke.

Now you shall hear the worst of all:
The largest ship had the greatest fall;
The great Coronation, and all her men,
Were all drown'd except nineteen ;
The master's mate, and eighteen more,
Got in their long boat safe on shore.

As to our ships, we value not,
Had it not fallen to our sailor's lot;
The greatest loss is to their wives
In losing of their husbands' lives ;
And to Old England it may be more
Than nine sail of ships on shore.