So drink, and call for what you please,
Until you've had your whack, boys;
We'll think no more of raging seas,
Now that we've come back, boys.
Chorus.--With a whip, snip, high cum diddledy,
The cog-wheels of life have need of much oiling;
Smack, crack--this is our jubilee;
Huzza, my lads! we'll keep the pot boiling.
As this was the last chorus, it was repeated three or four times, and with hallooing, screaming, and dancing in mad gesticulation.
"Hurrah, my lads," cried Jemmy, "three cheers and a bravo."