In contempt of all danger from quicksands and rocks,
The pride of the ocean is launched from the stocks.
Now the signal is flying, and, fleet in her course,
She chases a sail, far superior her force;
And now the brisk broadside is merrily pour’d,
And splinters, cut ropes, and masts go by the board;
Next, yard-arm and yard-arm entangled they lie,
The tars loudly swearing to conquer or die;
’Till hull’d and cut up, getting more than she likes,
To the pride of the ocean the enemy strikes.