A shark was on the larboard bow:
Sharks don't on manners stand,
But grapple all they come near,
Just like your sharks on land.
We heaved Ben out some tackling,
Of saving him in hopes;

But the shark he bit his head off,
So he couldn't see the ropes.
Singing Chip cho, &c.

Without his head his ghost appeared
All on the briny lake:

He piped all hands aloft, and said:
'Lads, warning by me take:
By drinking grog I lost my life,
So, lest my fate you meet,
Why, never mix your liquors, lads,
But always drink them neat.'
Singing Chip cho, &c.

XXXIII

The Naval Subaltern

BEN BLOCK was a veteran of naval renown,

And renown was his only reward;

For the Board still neglected his merits to crown, As no interest he had with my Lord.

Yet brave as old Benbow was sturdy old Ben, And he laughed at the cannon's loud roar; When the death-dealing broadsides made worm's

meat of men

And the scuppers were streaming with gore!

Nor could a Lieutenant's poor stipend provoke
The staunch tar to despise scanty prog;

But his biscuit he'd crack, turn his quid, crack his joke,
And drown care in a jorum of grog.

Thus year after year, in a subaltern state,
Poor Ben for his King fought and bled,

Till time had unroof'd all his thatch from his pate,
And the hair from his temples had fled!

When on humbly saluting with sinciput bare,
The first Lord of Admiralty once:

Says his Lordship Lieutenant, you've lost all your hair,

Since I last had a peep at your sconce.'

'Why, my Lord,' replied Ben, 'it with truth may be said,

While a bald pate I long have stood under,

There have so many Captains walk'd over my head, That to see me quite scalp'd were no wonder!'

XXXIV

Poor Jack

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 ent to a little I'll strike;

Though the tempest top-gallant masts smack smooth should smite,

And shiver each splinter of wood,

Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouse everything

tight,

And under reef'd foresail we'll scud:

Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft
To be taken for trifles aback;

For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!

I heard the good chaplain palaver one day
About souls, heaven, mercy, and such;
And, my timbers! what lingo he'd coil and belay,
Why, 'twas 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:

For, says he, do you mind me, let storms e'er so oft
Take the top-sails 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,
When last we weigh'd anchor for sea,

What argufies sniv'ling and piping your eye?
Why, what a damn'd 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?

And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll,
Why 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, 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 without offering to flinch,
From the moment the anchor's a-trip.

As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends, Nought'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 life, 'tis the king's:

Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft 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!

CHARLES DIBDIN.

XXXV

Tom Tough

My name, d'ye see, 's Tom Tough, I've seen a little sarvice,

Where mighty billows roll and loud tempests blow; I've sail'd with gallant Howe, I've sail'd with noble Jarvis,

And in valiant Duncan's fleet I've sung out Yo, heave ho!

Yet more ye shall be knowing,—

I was coxon to Boscawen,

And even with brave Hawke have I nobly faced the foe.

Then put round the grog,—

So we've that and our prog,

We'll laugh in Care's face, and sing Yo, heave ho!

When from my love to part I first weigh'd anchor, And she was sniv'ling seed on the beach below, I'd like to've cotch'd my eyes sniv'ling too, d'ye see, to thank her,

But I brought up my sorrows with a Yo, heave ho!
For sailors, though they have their jokes,
And love and feel like other folks,

Their duty to neglect must not come for to go;
So I seized the capstan bar,

Like a true honest tar,

And, in spite of tears and sighs, sung out Yo, heave ho!

But the worst on't was that time when the little ones were sickly,

And if they'd live or die the doctor did not know; The word was given to weigh so sudden and so quickly, I thought my heart would break as I sung Yo, heave ho!

For Poll's so like her mother,

And as for Jack, her brother,

The boy when he grows up will nobly face the foe: But in Providence I trust,

For you see what must be must,

So my sighs I gave the winds and sung out Yo, heave ho!

And now at last laid up in a decentish condition,

For I've only lost an eye, and got a timber toe; But old ships must expect in time to be out of commission,

Nor again the anchor weigh with Yo, heave ho! So I smoke my pipe and sing old songs,For my boy shall well revenge my wrongs,