For victory depends upon the sharpness of your fire;
But at Cronstadt we’ll but stare boys, but stare boys, but stare boys,
Then home again in safety all right gallantly retire.
And if they ask us why, boys, our strength we didn’t try, boys,
’Stead of taking it for granted if we fought that we’d be beat;
’Twas the fault of Jimmy Graham, the swab (I’d like to flay him!)
Who with boys and with old women had manned our precious fleet.”
And now the War is over, Sir Charley’s turned a rover,
And arm in arm with Constantine inside the forts has seen;
And he swears ’twas deuced lucky he more prudent was than plucky,