W. H. Hadley.
Poor Jack.
Go, patter to Lords of the Admiralty
’Bout torpedoes and rams and the like;
A sturdy old-fashioned three-decker give me,
And to never a foeman I’ll strike.
Now we’re caged up in armour, with guns of rare might,
And think scorn of our vessels of wood,
But our enemies with us keep pace left and right;
Then I ask, after all, what’s the good?