The Storm

Make us ready boys all with wonder born
We'll guide this fair ship and sail towards the morn
Come on all alas, now here's the master dear
I fear this deadly storm is coming to us near

We sailed from Plymouth Sound in a week or three
With not that far to go boys, some canons to retrieve
The night it grew much darker and the wind it came in strong
And it grew upon us lads and there was nothing to be done

The waves grew higher and broke upon our ship
Then poor old master's taken with nothing left to grip
Drop the anchor downwards and throw him out a line
Poor old master's overboard he be swallowed by the tide

So hear my warning that I give to you
Be careful when your sailing with that lucky few
Tie up every deck hand tightly 'til the morn
And well go together boys in the belly of the storm
Don't go sailing out with me, I fear your soul be lost at sea