Made all her crew with wounds and gore,
Fly with the wind in haste to France,
And into Brest they got by chance.
Right narrowly, escaping sinking,
Show’rs of balls around them clinking.
Thus by the Lion, and captain Brett,
He and his convoy, were separate.
His frigate eleven guns did carry,
But on the battle, she did not tarry,
And thought it best to get away,