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(learned from an unidentified tape in about 1962)

(music to go here)

My name is Edward Holland, as you may understand
I belong to the County of Waterford in Ering's happy land
My father bound me to a trade in Waterford's own town
He bound me to a cooper there by the name of William Brown.

I served my master faithfully for eighteen months or more
Till I shipped aboard of the Ocean Queen bound down for Bermuda's shore
And when we reached Bermuda's isle I fell in with a Capting Moore
Commander of the Flying Cloud and belonging to Try Moor.

He questioned me and cross-questioned me on a slaving voyage to go
To the burning shores of Africa where the sugar cane does grow
And three or four weeks after this we arrived at the African shore
And eighteen hundred of those poor souls from their native land we bore.

We sailed away without delay with our cargo of slaves
It would've been better for those poor souls had they been in their graves
The plaguey fever came on deck and swept half of them away
We dragged their bodies up on deck and cast them into the sea.

Now two or three weeks after this we arrived at Bermuda's shore
And we sold them to the planters there to be slaves forevermore
And when our slavin' money was gone we put to sea again
And Capting Moore came up on deck and said to us his men.

There's gold and silver to be had if you will agree with me
We will hoist aloft a pirate flag and scour the raging sea
Now all of us agreed but five and those we had to land
Two of them being Boston boys, two more from Newfoundland.

The other being an Irishman belonging to Try Moor
I wish to God I'd'a' joined those five and gone with them ashore
We robbed and plundered many a ship down on the Spanish main
Caused many and widow and orphan in sorrow to remain.

We would march them on quarterdeck and give them a watery grave
For the saying of our Capting Moore that dead men tell no tales
Now chased were we by many a ship, both frigates and liners too
But 'twas all in vain astern of us their cannonballs they threw.

The Flying Cloud was a clipper ship, five hundred tons or more
And she could outsail any clipper ship that sailed from Baltimore
With her sails as white as driven snow and on them were no specks
And eighty men and fourteen guns she carried below her decks.

Then a Spanish ship, a man-o'-war, the Dungeon, hove in view
She fired a shot across our bow as a signal to heave to
But to her we paid no attention as we sailed before the wind
Till a chainshot cut our mainmast down, and we soon fell behind.

We cleared our decks for action as she drew up along side
And soon across our quarterdeck there flowed a crimson tide
We fought till Capting Moore was slain and eighteen of our men
And a bombshell set our ship on fire, and we had to surrender then.

It's now to Newgate we are brought, bound down in iron bands
For robbin' and plunderin' many a ship down on the ocean strands.
It's drinkin' and bad company that's made a wreck o' me,
Come, men and boys, a warning take, bid a curse to the piracy.

(from miriam berg's folksong collection)