LITTLE BILLEE
There were three sailors of Bristol city,
Who took a boat and went to sea.
But first with beef and captain’s biscuits
And pickled pork they loaded she.
There was gorging Jack and guzzling Jimmy,
And the youngest he was little Billee.
Now when they got as far as the Equator
They’d nothing left but one split pea.
Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy,
“I am extremely hungaree.”
To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy,
“We’ve nothing left, us must eat we.”
Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy,
“With one another we shouldn’t agree!
There’s little Bill, he’s young and tender,
We’re old and tough, so let’s eat he.
“Oh! Billy, we’re going to kill and eat you,
So undo the button of your chemie.”
When Bill received this information,
He used his pocket handkerchie.
“First let me say my catechism,
Which my poor mammy taught to me.”
“Make haste, make haste,” says guzzling Jimmy,
While Jack pulled out his snickersnee.
So Billy went up to the main top-gallant mast,
And down he fell on his bended knee.
He scarce had come to the twelfth commandment
When up he jumps. “There’s land I see:
“Jerusalem and Madagascar,
And North and South Amerikee:
There’s the British flag a-riding at anchor,
With Admiral Napier, K. C. B.”
So when they got aboard of the Admiral’s,
He hanged fat Jack and flogged Jimmee;
But as for little Bill he made him
The Captain of a Seventy-three.
William Makepeace Thackeray
BRIAN O’LINN
Brian O’Linn was a gentleman born,
His hair it was long and his beard unshorn,
His teeth were out and his eyes far in,—
“I’m a wonderful beauty,” says Brian O’Linn!
Brian O’Linn was hard up for a coat,
He borrowed the skin of a neighbouring goat,
He buckled the horns right under his chin,—
“They’ll answer for pistols,” says Brian O’Linn!
Brian O’Linn had no breeches to wear,
He got him a sheepskin to make him a pair,
With the fleshy side out and the woolly side in,—
“They are pleasant and cool,” says Brian O’Linn!
Brian O’Linn had no hat to his head,
He stuck on a pot that was under the shed,
He murdered a cod for the sake of his fin,—
“’T will pass for a feather,” says Brian O’Linn!
Brian O’Linn had no shirt to his back,
He went to a neighbour and borrowed a sack,
He puckered a meal-bag under his chin,—
“They’ll take it for ruffles,” says Brian O’Linn!
Brian O’Linn had no shoes at all,
He bought an old pair at a cobbler’s stall,
The uppers were broken and the soles were thin,—
“They’ll do me for dancing,” says Brian O’Linn!
Brian O’Linn had no watch for to wear,
He bought a fine turnip, and scooped it out fair,
He slipped a live cricket right under the skin,—
“They’ll think it is ticking,” says Brian O’Linn!
Brian O’Linn was in want of a brooch,
He stuck a brass pin in a big coackroach,
The breast of his shirt he fixed it straight in,—
“They’ll think it’s a diamond,” says Brian O’Linn!
Brian O’Linn went a-courting one night,
He set both the mother and daughter to fight,—
“Stop! stop!” he exclaimed, “if you have but the tin,
I’ll marry you both,” says Brian O’Linn!
Brian O’Linn went to bring his wife home,
He had but one horse, that was all skin and bone,
“I’ll put her behind me, as nate as a pin,
And her mother before me,” says Brian O’Linn.
Brian O’Linn and his wife and wife’s mother,
They all crossed over the bridge together,
The bridge broke down and they all tumbled in,—
“We’ll go home by water,” says Brian O’Linn!
DICKY OF BALLYMAN
On New Year’s Day, as I heard say,
Dicky he saddled his dapple grey;
He put on his Sunday clothes,
His scarlet vest, and his new made hose.
Diddle dum di, diddle dum do,
Diddle dum di, diddle dum do!
He rode till he came to Wilson Hall,
There he rapped, and loud did call;
Mistress Ann came down straightway,
And asked him what he had to say.
“Don’t you know me, Mistress Ann?
I am Dicky of Ballyman;
An honest lad, though I am poor,—
I never was in love before.
“I have an uncle, the best of friends,
Sometimes to me a fat rabbit he sends;
And many other dainty fowl,
To please my life, my joy, my soul.
“Sometimes I reap, sometimes I mow,
And to the market I do go,
To sell my father’s corn and hay,—
I earn my sixpence every day!”
“Oh, Dicky! you go beneath your mark,—
You only wander in the dark;
Sixpence a day will never do,
I must have silks, and satins, too!
“Besides, Dicky, I must have tea
For my breakfast, every day;
And after dinner a bottle of wine,—
For without it I cannot dine.”
“If on fine clothes our money is spent,
Pray how shall my lord be paid his rent?
He’ll expect it when ’tis due,—
Believe me, what I say is true.
“As for tea, good stirabout
Will do far better, I make no doubt;
And spring water, when you dine,
Is far wholesomer than wine.
“Potatoes, too, are very nice food,—
I don’t know any half so good:
You may have them boiled or roast,
Whichever way you like them most.”
This gave the company much delight,
And made them all to laugh outright;
So Dicky had no more to say,
But saddled his dapple and rode away.
Diddle dum di, diddle dum do,
Diddle dum di, diddle dum do!
THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN
It was a tall young Oysterman lived by the riverside,
His shop was just upon the bank, his boat was on the tide;
The daughter of a Fisherman, that was so straight and slim,
Lived over on the other bank, right opposite to him.
It was the pensive Oysterman that saw a lovely maid,
Upon a moonlight evening, a-sitting in the shade;
He saw her wave her handkerchief, as much as if to say,
“I’m wide awake, young Oysterman, and all the folks away.”
Then up arose the Oysterman, and to himself said he,
“I guess I’ll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks should see;
I read it in the story-book, that, for to kiss his dear,
Leander swam the Hellespont,—and I will swim this here.”
And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining stream,
And he has clambered up the bank, all in the moonlight gleam;
Oh! there were kisses sweet as dew, and words as soft as rain,—
But they have heard her father’s step, and in he leaps again!
Out spoke the ancient Fisherman,—“Oh! what as that, my daughter?”
“’T was nothing but a pebble, sir, I threw into the water.”
“And what is that, pray tell me, love, that paddles off so fast?”
“It’s nothing but a porpoise, sir, that’s been a swimming past.”
Out spoke the ancient Fisherman,—“Now bring me my harpoon!
I’ll get into my fishing-boat, and fix the fellow soon.”
Down fell that pretty innocent, as falls a snow-white lamb,
Her hair drooped round her pallid cheeks, like seaweed on a clam.
Alas, for those two loving ones! she waked not from her swound,
And he was taken with the cramp, and in the waves was drowned;
But Fate has metamorphosed them, in pity of their woe,
And now they keep an oyster-shop for Mermaids down below.
Oliver Wendell Holmes