| |
| GO, patter to lubbers and swabs, do ye see, | |
| ’Bout danger, and fear, and the like; | |
| A tight-water boat and good sea-room give me, | |
| And it a’n’t to a little I ’ll strike. | |
| Though the tempest topgallant-masts smack smooth should smite, | 5 |
| And shiver each splinter of wood,— | |
| Clear the deck, stow the yards, and bouse everything tight, | |
| And under reefed foresail we ’ll scud: | |
| Avast! nor don’t think me a milksop so soft | |
| To be taken for trifles aback; | 10 |
| For they say there ’s a Providence sits up aloft, | |
| To keep watch for the life of poor Jack! | |
| |
| I heard our good chaplain palaver one day | |
| About souls, heaven, mercy, and such; | |
| And, my timbers! what lingo he ’d coil and belay; | 15 |
| Why, ’t was just all as one as High Dutch; | |
| For he said how a sparrow can’t founder, d’ ye see, | |
| Without orders that come down below; | |
| And a many fine things that proved clearly to me | |
| That Providence takes us in tow: | 20 |
| “For,” says he, do you mind me, “let storms e’er so oft | |
| Take the topsails of sailors aback, | |
| There ’s a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft, | |
| To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!” | |
| |
| I said to our Poll,—for, d’ ye see, she would cry— | 25 |
| When last we weighed anchor for sea, | |
| “What argufies snivelling and piping your eye? | |
| Why, what a blamed fool you must be! | |
| Can’t you see, the world ’s wide, and there ’s room for us all, | |
| Both for seamen and lubbers ashore? | 30 |
| And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll, | |
| You never will hear of me more. | |
| What then? All ’s a hazard: come, don’t be so soft: | |
| Perhaps I may laughing come back; | |
| For, d’ ye see, there ’s a cherub sits smiling aloft, | 35 |
| To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!” | |
| |
| D’ ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch | |
| All as one as a piece of the ship, | |
| And with her brave the world, not offering to flinch | |
| From the moment the anchor ’s a-trip. | 40 |
| As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends, | |
| Naught ’s a trouble from duty that springs, | |
| For my heart is my Poll’s, and my rhino ’s my friend’s, | |
| And as for my will, ’t is the king’s. | |
| Even when my time comes, ne’er believe me so soft | 45 |
| As for grief to be taken aback; | |
| For the same little cherub that sits up aloft | |
| Will look out a good berth for poor Jack! | |
| |
