They Are Marching Down On High Street – Ye Banished Privateers
By
Down in Old Wapping docks, near the banks and the rocks Where the gibbets use to sing across the Thames Every now and every then with a silver oar with them The Marshals come to visit our block
If you cannot pay your rent, off to prison you’ll be sent Where the gaolers entertain you in the stone hall Like the tattooed one armed creature, they call the Newgate Preacher For his tales of liberty he must repent
Hear the royal drums beat and the marching of their feet A procession is coming down on High Street And bound to depart they have shackled to their cart The poor lad who is heading for the docks
But for my own felony, there will be no clemency As a gentleman of fortune I did serve Now I’m rolling out of jail, and my final quart of ale Has been paid for by the Marshall Deputy
Hear the royal drums beat and the marching of their feet A procession is coming down on High Street And bound to depart they have shackled to their cart The poor lad who is heading for the docks
For this morbid dalliance, In hope to catch a glance My audience has come to see my dance Like the withered William Kidd, who I’ll now be hanging with As the cart towards the docks has well advanced
I can see my house from here. See, I grew up over there And I’m still a wapping boy, to this I swear As the chaplain reads his prayers, I climb the wooden stairs And my true love stands there staring at the snare
Hear the royal drums beat and the marching of their feet A procession is coming down on High Street And bound to depart they have shackled to their cart The poor lad who is heading for the docks
Oh close your eyes walk away now my love Don’t be here when the tide leaves in the morning And I’ll see you at the heavenly gates Where my face will be as handsome as today
Hear the royal drums beat and the marching of their feet A procession is coming down on High Street And bound to depart they have shackled to their cart The poor lad who is heading for the docks