But drink, and laugh, and sing and chat, and call again for more.
The girls may pump,
As in we jump
To the boat, and say, "Good-bye;"
But as for we,
Who sailors be,
Crying is all my eye.
"Bravo, Obadiah! now one more song, and then we'll aboard. It won't do to bowse your jib up too tight here," said Jemmy; "for it's rather dangerous navigation among all these canals--no room for yawing."
"No," replied Dick Short.
"Then," said Jemmy, jumping off the table with his fiddle in his hand, "let's have the roarer by way of a finish--what d'ye say, my hearties?"