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,

You must be flogg’d, so strip, sir;”. To the gangway then away they went,

The good duke for to whip, sir; But to strip the duke would not, They call’d him then a drunken sot; The duke replied, “ Drunk I am not,

But strip me if you dare, sir!”

Then came the boatswain's mate,

The duke for to undress, sir;
But quickly he did behold

The star upon his breast, sir;
Then on their bended knees they fall,
And loud for mercy they did call;
The duke replied, “You're villains all

For using thus poor seamen.

“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.
E N honest tar and fresh from sea,

With heart just where it ought to be,

Thus haiļd young Billy Moore:

“What cheer, my lad? Misfortune's gale Hath torn, I see, thy tatter'd sail,

For thou art wreck'd and poor.”

The simple boy his story true
Told with a blushing sweetness, too,

Then heaved a heart-sick sigh:
“ But God is good, though man's unkind,
Pass on! my sufferings never mind,

He soon will let me die!”

Jack's heart with manly feeling yearn'd,
More than his purse in pocket burn'd,

And that for once was cramm’d;
First wiped the spray from either eye-
“ Die, messmate?” was the tar's reply,

“ If thou dost, I'll be

“ Bear up! I have thee safe in tow,
I'll fit thee straight to face the foe,

And cope with death, d'ye see !”
He had him rigg'd—the next spring-tide,
His locker full and well supplied,

Bore Billy Moore to sea.

When there the boy, with grateful heart,
Applauded, play'd his stated part,

And scorn’d to flinch or run;
But oft would bless the happy day
That bore him from distress away,

To serve Jack Mizen's gun.

CHARMING KITTY: OR, THE TAR'S DANCING SHOES LENGTHENED AND FITTED

OUT AGAINST BONAPARTE. DIBDIN, “ Naval Chronicle," Vol. XIII, 1805. S EAN a vessel of my own I have oft ta'en a trip, P S And I christened her the charming

la

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 canvas and cordage are all in their places, Her anchors and grapnels, and lanyards and braces, Her mainsail and foresail, and topsail and cluelines, Her shrouds and her yards, and her blocks and her

bowlines, Her ratlines, her steerage, her capstan and cable, With lads who to work are both willing and able :

Anchor heave-taking leave

Off we go—yo ho! 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 notionNo seamen to own how she trips will refuse, Like a tar upon shore in his dancing shoes.

When war added storms to the storms of the wave,

I ventured to sea bold and hearty, Determined for Britain and Ireland to brave

Death, the devil, and great Bonaparte, When peace was in fashion, and commerce afloat,

Not a brig nor a hoy

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 looking-

glasses,
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, I was rich in my trade among Christians and Jews, As a tar upon shore in his dancing shoes.

Since the great Bonaparte has taken Hanover,

And threatens to spoil all our trading,
His army of England he means to bring over,

To teach us the mode of invading;

But could we once see them embark'd and afloat,

Not a ship in the fleet,

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-

Fire away—that's your play-
Britons cheering-Frenchmen fearing, burning,

Aying, sinking, dying

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."
D IFE'S like a ship in constant motion,

Sometimes high and sometimes low,
Where ev'ry one must brave the ocean,

Whatsoever wind may blow :