Though in Porto-Bello’s ruin
You now triumph free from fears, 30
When you think on our undoing,
You will mix your joy with tears.
‘See these mournful spectres, sweeping
Ghastly o’er this hated wave,
Whose wan cheeks are stained with weeping; 35
These were English captains brave:
Mark those numbers pale and horrid,
Those were once my sailors bold,