I ask then, with a tear,
(Of course, that’s all my eye,)
To let the old Oak stand!
(Too obvious to require explanation.)
I’ve crossed the foaming wave;
(Dover to Calais—oh, Steward!)
I’ve braved the cannon-shot!
(Figuratively, at the Tower;)
While I’ve a hand to save,
(That is, till I’ve lost ’em both,)