And though we have troubles, they surely have more;
We gather rare food ‘mong the isles of the sea.
When the tropical fruit grows, there boys, are we.
Ah! give us the ocean; nought but the sea
Is a fit home, messmates, for hearts that are free.
Ho, boys ho! then let us all sing
To the glory of Neptune, the ocean’s king.
This song being original with Marling, and sang to a popular air of the day, was hailed with great applause by his comrades to whom he was obliged to sing it again and again before they would be satisfied. Terrence Moony swore ‘by the powers of mud that it bate everything intirely.’
‘And did you make all that up yerself?’ asked Terrence.
‘It’s mine, such as it is, Terrence, my boy.’