Cæsar, afloat with his fortunes! And all the world agog, Straining its eyes At a thing that lies In the water, like a log! It’s a weasel! a whale! I see its tail! It’s a porpoise! a polywog! Tarnation! it’s a turtle! And blast my bones and skin, My hearties, sink her, Or else you’ll think her A regular terror—pin! The frigate poured a broadside! The bombs they whistled well, But—hit old Nick With a sugar stick! It didn’t phase her shell! Piff, from the creature’s larboard— And dipping along the water A bullet hissed From a wreath of mist Into a Doodle’s quarter! Raff, from the creature’s starboard— Rip, from his ugly snorter, And the Congress and The Cumberland Sunk, and nothing—shorter. Now, here’s to you, Virginia, And you are bound to win! By your rate of bobbing round And your way of pitchin’ in— For you are a cross Of the old sea-horse And a regular terror—pin. |