No tempests rag’d as in times before,

As now the blast of Fate was o’er,

No foes on sea did them perplex,

Till safe at Roscort, near Morlaix,

They on the twenty-ninth did land,

Poor Charlie and his broken band,

Who all had surely been bewitch’d

By Spaniards and the subtile French,

They then to Paris did proceed,

To be refitted, great was their need.