-HOW many?� said our good Captain.
-Twenty sail and more.�
We were homeward bound,
Scudding in a gale with our jib towards the Nore.
Right athwart our tack,
The foe came thick and black,
Like Hell-birds and foul weather-you might count them by the score.

The Betsy Jane did slack
To see the game in view.
They knew the Union-Jack,
And the tyrant-s flag we knew!
Our Captain shouted -Clear the decks!� and the Bo-sun-s whistle blew.

Then our gallant Captain,
With his hand he seiz-d the wheel,
And pointed with his stump to the middle of the foe.
-Hurray, lads, in we go!�
(You should hear the British cheer,
Fore and aft.)

-There are twenty sail,� sang he,
-But little Betsy Jane bobs to nothing on the sea!�
(You should hear the British cheer,
Fore and aft.)

-See you ugly craft
With the pennon at her main!
Hurrah, my merry boys,
There goes the Betsy Jane!�
(You should hear the British cheer,
Fore and aft.)

The foe, he beats to quarters, and the Russian bugles sound;
And the little Betsy Jane she leaps upon the sea.
-Port and starboard!� cried our Captain;
-Pay it in, my hearts!� sang he.

-We -re old England-s sons,
And we -ll fight for her to-day!�
(You should hear the British cheer.
Fore and aft.)
-Fire away!�
In she runs,
And her guns
Thunder round.