The stories of these two men are so interwoven with others, that it will be impossible to distinguish many of their particular actions.  They were, however, proved to have been concerned, if not the principal actors, in the following piracies:  first, the seizing a Dutch ship in August, 1722, and taking from thence a hundred pieces of Holland, value 800_l_.; a thousand pieces of eight, value 250_l_.  Secondly, the entering and pillaging the Dolphin of London, William Haddock, out of which they got three hundred pieces of eight, value 75_l_.; forty gallons of rum, and other things, on the twentieth of November in the same year.  Thirdly, the stealing out of a ship called the Don Carlos, Lot Neekins, master, four hundred ounces of silver, value 100_l_. fifty gallons of rum, value 30_s_. a thousand pieces of eight, a hundred pistoles, and other valuable goods.  And fourthly, the taking from a ship called the England, ten pipes of wine, value 250_l_.  The two last charges both in the year 1721.  Weaver returned home, and came to Mr. Thomas Smith, at Bristol, in a very ragged condition; and pretending that he had been robbed by pirates, Smith, who had been acquainted with him eight or nine years before, provided him with necessaries, and he walked about unmolested for some time.  But Captain Joseph Smith, who knew him when a pirate, one day met him, and asked him to go and take a bottle with him; when they were in the tavern he told him that he had been a considerable sufferer by his boarding his vessel “therefore,” said he, “as I understand that you are in good circumstances, I expect that you will make me some restitution; which if you do, I will never hurt a hair of your head, because you were very civil to me when I was in your hands.”  But as this recompense was never given.  Weaver was apprehended and executed.

  PIRATE’S SONG.

  To the mast nail our flag it is dark as the grave,
  Or the death which it bears while it sweeps o’er the wave;
  Let our deck clear for action, our guns be prepared;
  Be the boarding-axe sharpened, the scimetar bared: 
  Set the canisters ready, and then bring to me,
  For the last of my duties, the powder-room key. 
  It shall never be lowered, the black flag we bear;
  If the sea be denied us, we sweep through the air. 
  Unshared have we left our last victory’s prey;
  It is mine to divide it, and yours to obey: 
  There are shawls that might suit a sultana’s white neck,
  And pearls that are fair as the arms they will deck;
  There are flasks which, unseal them, the air will disclose
  Diametta’s fair summers, the home of the rose. 
  I claim not a portion:  I ask but as mine—­
  ’Tis to drink to our victory—­one cup of red wine. 
  Some fight, ’tis for riches—­some fight, ’tis for fame: 
  The first I despise, and the last is a name. 
  I fight, ’tis for vengeance!  I love to see flow,
  At the stroke of my sabre, the life of my foe. 
  I strike for the memory of long-vanished years;
  I only shed blood where another shed tears,
  I come, as the lightning comes red from above,
  O’er the race that I loathe, to the battle I love.