Britten: Billy Budd, Op. 50 / Act 2: "Look! Through The Port"

Look, through the port comes the moonshine astray
It tips the guard's cutlass and silvers this nook
But 'twill die in the dawning of Billy's last day
Ay, ay, all is up and I must up too
Early in the morning, aloft from below
On an empty stomach, no, never would it do
They'll give me a nibble bit of biscuit ere I go

Sure, a messmate will reach me the last barking cup

But turning, turning, turning heads away
From the hoist and the belay
Heaven knows who will have the running of me up
Blow pipe to those halyards

But ain't it all sham? A blur's in my eyes
It is dreaming that I am
But Donald, he has promised to stand by the plank
So I'll shake a friendly hand ere I sink
But no, no, it is dead then I'll be, come to think
They'll lash me in hammock, drop me deep
Fathoms down, fathoms, how I'll dream fast asleep

I feel it stealing now
Roll me over fair, I'm sleepy
And the oozy weeds about me twist