Which made him stare, to see the fare Of many a brisk young seaman. "Where must I lie ?" his highness said, "Must I not have a feather-bed?" "You're fat enough," they all replied, "Pig in among the seamen.' "But for your sauce, you surly dog, Then came the boatswain's mate, The star upon his breast, sir; "No wonder why my father he Can't well man all his shipping, 'Tis by your basely using them, And them always a-whipping. But for the future, sailors all Shall have good usage, great and small." They heard the news together, all, And cried, "God save Duke William. BILLY MOORE. "Naval Chronicle," Vol. II, 1799. N honest tar and fresh from sea, Hath torn, I see, thy tatter'd sail, For thou art wreck'd and poor." The simple boy his story true Then heaved a heart-sick sigh: Jack's heart with manly feeling yearn'd, "Bear up! I have thee safe in tow, Bore Billy Moore to sea. When there the boy, with grateful heart, CHARMING KITTY: OR, THE TAR'S DANCING SHOES LENGTHENED AND FITTED DIBDIN, "Naval Chronicle," Vol. XIII, 1805. Kitty; Though not quite so big as a three-mast ship, Yet she looks, when at sea, quite as pretty; Copper is her bottom, and her planks all sound, And then not a sloop, From the head to the poop, Is so timber'd, berigg'd, caulk'd, and pointed all round, Her ratlines, her steerage, her capstan and cable, Full sail-catch the gale-nothing dread-heave the lead, Till in port-that's your sort Then again in the ocean-d'ye see, I've a notion— When war added storms to the storms of the wave, Could you better employ, For passage and freightage, than my little boat: Her guns were ashore, and instead of such lading, In broadcloth, and hardware, and silks she was trading; In hides and in coaches, in pinkies and ponies, In buckles and buttons for French macaronies, To change for tobacco, and rice, and molasses, Cheese, butter, and cambric, and large lookingglasses, Indian canes-British gains Burton ale-fresh or stale Spanish blades, palisades, sugar-candy, gin and brandy Bottle port-that's your sort: And while no embargo was laid on my cargo, Since the great Bonaparte has taken Hanover, His army of England he means to bring over, But could we once see them embark'd and afloat, But would give them a treat, From a ship of the line down to my little boat: We'll give them a taste of our old British thunder, Shall spoil all their stomachs for carnage and plunder. Our bombs and our balls from our mortars and cannon, Shall make ocean ring from the Seine to the Shannon; Whole broadsides at once we'll incessantly send them, Shall cripple, and tear them, and hole them, and rend them: Point your guns-Freedom's sons— Britons cheering-Frenchmen fearing, burning, All their decks-floating wrecks Having sunk Bonaparte, our sailors quite hearty, Send the few whom they saved back to France with the news, And on shore at the Nore take their dancing shoes. LIFE'S LIKE A SHIP. SAVILLE CAREY, "Naval Chronicle." IFE'S like a ship in constant motion, |