A New Song Written on the Isle of Aix

I am a sailor bold, and press'd to served the King,
I am sent upon an errand some laurels home to bring:
I am now on the coast, boys, where they are to be had,
But alas ! I dare not gather them, which makes me raving mad.
Mad, boys, mad. Alas! I dare not gather them, which makes me raving mad.

It's enough to make a dog mad, to see a pudding creep.
If he could not get at it, he'd bark and howl and weep;
Methinks I see the laurels grow and easy to be had,
Alas ! I dare not gather them, which makes me raving mad.
Mad, boys, mad, etc.

My master has a nosegay, but it is not compleat,
Tho' the royal rose of England is excellently sweet;
The laurel and French lilly in plenty may be had:
Alas ! I dare not gather them, which makes me raving mad.
Mad, boys, mad, etc.

The Derbyshire and Cheshire boys by Henry were sent
To fetch the Flower-de-Luce home, and chearfully they went;
They brought it home to England which made their hearts full glad;
But if their hands had been confin'd they all had been stark mad,
Mad, boys, mad, etc.

If I without my errand to England do return,
Alas ! I fear in effigy my body they will burn;
The boys will hollow after me, as I do pass along,
And evry Grub-street printer will curse me in a song.
Song, boys, song. And every Grub-street printer will curse me in a song.