If I don’t tack the head of my vessel about;
Take courage, cry’d Nature, and leave it to me,
For ’tis only the line that divides the red sea.
Toll de roll, &c.
Tho’ shook by the stroke, Adam’s mast stood upright,
His ballast was steady, his tackling quite tight;
Then a breeze springing up, down the red straits he ran,
And, o’erjoy’d with his voyage, he fir’d off a great gun.
Toll de roll, &c.
High from the mast head, by the help of one eye,