Tho' in Porto-Bello's ruin

You now triumph free from fears, think on our undoing,

When you

You will mix your joy with tears.

See these mournful spectres sweeping

Ghaftly o'er this hated wave,

30

Whofe wan cheeks are ftain'd with weepings 35
These were English captains brave :
Mark thofe numbers pale and horrid,

Those were once my failors bold,
Lo, each hangs his drooping forehead,
While his difmal tale is told.

I, by twenty fail attended,

Did this Spanish town affright;
Nothing then its wealth defended

But my orders not to fight:
Oh! that in this rolling ocean
I had caft them with disdain,

49

45

Then the baftimentos never

Had our foul dishonour seen,

Nor the fea the fad receiver

Of this gallant train had been.

55

Thus, like thee, proud Spain difmaying,
And her galleons leading home,

Here the baftimentos viewing,

We recal our shameful doom,
And our plaintive cries renewing,
Wander thro' the midnight gloom.

O'er these waves for ever mourning
Shall we roam depriv'd of rest,
If to Britain's fhores returning
You neglect my just request;

80

JAMES DAWSON was one of the Manchester rebels, who was hanged, drawn, and quartered on Kennington Common in the County of Surrey, July 20. 1746.-This ballad is founded on a remarkable fact, which was reported to have happened at his execution. It was written by the late WILLIAM SHENSTONE, Efq; Soon after the event, and has been printed among ft his pofthumous works, 2 vols. 8vo. It is here given from a MS copy, which contained some small variations from that lately printed.

COME

HOME liften to my mournful tale,

CO

Ye tender hearts, and lovers dear; Nor will you fcorn to heave a figh,

Nor will you blush to shed a tear.

And thou, dear Kitty, peerless maid,
Do thou a penfive ear incline;

For thou canst weep at every woe,
And pity every plaint, but mine.

Young Dawfon was a gallant youth,
A brighter never trod the plain;
And well he lov'd one charming maid,
And dearly was he lov'd again.

One tender maid fhe lov'd him dear,
Of gentle blood the damfel came,
And faultlefs was her beauteous form,
And spotless was her virgin fame.

But curfe on party's hateful ftrife,

That led the faithful youth aftray,

The day the rebel clans appear'd:
O had he never feen that day!

Their colours and their fafh he wore,
And in the fatal drefs was found;
And now he muft that death endure,
Which gives the brave the keeneft wound.

How pale was then his true love's cheek,
When Jemmy's fentence reach'd her ear?
For never yet did Alpine fnows

So pale, nor yet fo chill appear.

With faltering voice the weeping said,
Oh Dawson, monarch of my heart,
Think not thy death shall end our loves,
For thou and I will never part.

30

Yet might fweet mercy find a place,

And bring relief to Jemmy's woes, O GEORGE, without a prayer for thee My orifons fhould never close.

The gracious prince that gives him life
Would crown a never-dying flame,

And every tender babe I bore

Should learn to lifp the giver's name.

But though, dear youth, thou shouldst be dragg'd

To yonder ignominious tree,

Thou shalt not want a faithful friend

To share thy bitter fate with thee.

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40

O then her mourning coach was call'd,
The fledge mov'd flowly on before;

45

Tho' borne in a triumphal car,

She had not lov'd her favourite more.

She