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The
death of Sir Cloudisley Shovell |
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In
seventeen o seven the Duke of Savoy |
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Fell
under siege to Sir Cloudisley's ploy |
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On August
the tenth the battle was won |
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Sir
Cloudisley the victor - the Lord of Toulon |
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Up-anchored
the English, fifteen of the line |
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One yacht
and five frigates of finest design |
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Passed
Hercules Pillars with winds yet to veer |
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The
course laid for Falmouth and hearts full of cheer |
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Ten weeks
passed by slowly and still not near home |
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Sir
Cloudisley wondered how far they had come |
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"Signal
my fleet" was the admiral's cry |
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"I'll
know my position and course we should ply" |
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The
masters assembled and on went the cant |
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The
majority thought that they lay near Ushant |
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The
Lennox's voice cried "It's Scilly we're near |
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The
devil's own rocks filling sailors with fear" |
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The
Lennox, the Phoenix besides La Valeur |
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Were
dispatched as the heralds to pay for demur |
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But soon
after sailing the Scillies were reached |
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Two
safely anchored, the Phoenix was beached |
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The wind
from the south west then blew with great force |
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"The
fleet must be warned of their perilous course" |
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The
Lennox's master exclaimed with emotion |
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"Or
all will be lost in this stormy commotion" |
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But none
could return without great disaster |
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At that
fateful hour our Lord was the master |
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The sea
heaved, the wind blew and with it the squalls |
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Lashed at
the men crying out for their souls |
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On board
the flagship a voice from the deck |
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Cried out
to the knight "You will run us to wreck" |
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"By
the rood" said Sir Cloudisley, "Your words do
me harm |
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Your body
shall swing from my highest yardarm |
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At the
twentieth hour his ship hit the Gillstone |
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And sank
ninety feet as though 'twere a millstone |
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Ship
after ship went down to its grave |
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With two
thousand men who couldn't be saved |
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But
Neptune is choosey with whom he will play |
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And cast
up the admiral in Porthellick Bay |
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Two hags
took his life as he lay in the sand |
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Stripped
off his clothes and the ring on his hand |
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The next
morn an islander named Henry Pennick |
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Buried
the corpse on the beach at Porthellick |
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And some
say that due to that hanging unjust |
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The grave
bears no flowers or grass - only dust |
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The grave
is now empty - in solemn procession |
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His
corpse went to London to laud his profession |
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But down
on St Mary's in Porthellick's dust |
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There
still stands a warning to all the unjust |
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© 1998
Chris Hill |
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