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THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL"

"T was on the shores that round our coast

From Deal to Ramsgate span,

That I found alone, on a piece of stone,
An elderly naval man.

His hair was weedy, his beard was long,
And weedy and long was he;

And I heard this wight on the shore recite,
In a singular minor key:

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig."

And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,

Till I really felt afraid,

For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking, And so I simply said:

"Oh, elderly man, it's little I know

Of the duties of men of the sea,
And I'll eat my hand if I understand
However you can be

"At once a cook, and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig."

Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which
Is a trick all seamen larn,

And having got rid of a thumping quid,
spun this painful yarn:

He

"'T was in the good ship Nancy Bell
That we sailed to the Indian Sea,
And there on a reef we come to grief,
Which has often occurred to me.

"And pretty nigh all o' the crew was drowned

(There was seventy-seven o' soul),

And only ten of the Nancy's men

Said 'Here!' to the muster-roll.

"There was me, and the cook, and the captain bold,

And the mate of the Nancy brig,

And the bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,

And the crew of the captain's gig.

"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink,

Till a-hungry we did feel,

So we drawed a lot, and, accordin', shot

The captain for our meal.

"The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate,
And a delicate dish he made;

Then our appetite with the midshipmite
We seven survivors stayed.

"And then we murdered the bo'sun tight,
And he much resembled pig;

Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,
On the crew of the captain's gig.

"Then only the cook and me was left,
And the delicate question, 'Which
Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose,
And we argued it out as sich.

"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did,

And the cook he worshipped me;

But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed In the other chap's hold, you see.

"I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says Tom.

'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be,

I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I;
And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.

"Says he: 'Dear James, to murder me
Were a foolish thing to do,

For don't you see that you can't cook me,
While I can and will cook you!'

"So he boils the water, and takes the salt And the pepper in portions true

(Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot, And some sage and parsley too.

"Come here,' says he, with a proper pride,

Which his smiling features tell,

"T will soothing be if I let you see

How extremely nice you'll smell.'

"And he stirred it round and round and round, And he sniffed at the foaming froth;

When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals In the scum of the boiling broth.

"And I eat that cook in a week or less,

And as I eating be

The last of his chops, why, I almost drops-
For a wessel in sight I see.

"And I never larf, and I never smile,

And I never lark nor play;

But sit and croak, and a single joke
I have - which is to say:

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig!"

-William Schwenck Gilbert

ROBINSON CRUSOE'S STORY

The night was thick and hazy

When the Piccadilly Daisy

Carried down the crew and captain in the sea;
And I think the water drowned 'em

For they never, never found 'em

And I know they didn't come ashore with me.

Oh! 't was very sad and lonely
When I found myself the only
Population on this cultivated shore;
But I've made a little tavern

In a rocky little cavern,

And I sit and watch for people at the door.

I spent no time in looking

For a girl to do my cooking,

As I'm quite a clever hand at making stews;
But I had that fellow Friday,

Just to keep the tavern tidy,

And to put a Sunday polish on my shoes.

I have a little garden

That I'm cultivating lard in,

As the things I eat are rather tough and dry;
For I live on toasted lizards,

Prickly pears, and parrot gizzards,
And I'm really very fond of beetle-pie.

The clothes I had were furry,

And it made me fret and worry

When I found the moths were eating off the hair;

And I had to scrape and sand 'em

And I boiled 'em and I tanned 'em, Till I got the fine morocco suit I wear

I sometimes seek diversion

In a family excursion

With the few domestic animals you see;
And we take along a carrot

As refreshment for the parrot
And a little can of jungleberry tea.

Then we gather as we travel,
Bits of moss and dirty gravel,

And we chip off little specimens of stone;
And we carry home as prizes
Funny bugs, of handy sizes,

Just to give the day a scientific tone.

If the roads are wet and muddy
We remain at home and study,

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For the Goat is very clever at a sum,
And the Dog, instead of fighting,
Studies ornamental writing,

While the Cat is taking lessons on the drum.

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