"Then only the cook and me was left, And the delicate question, 'Which Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose, And we argued it out as sich.
"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did, And the cook he worshipped me; But we 'd both be blowed if we 'd either be stowed In the other chap's hold, you see.
"I 'll be eat if you dines off me,' says Tom. 'Yes, that,' says I, 'you 'll be. I 'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I; And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.
"Says he: 'Dear James, to murder me Were a foolish thing to do, For don't you see that you can't cook me, While I can—and will—cook you!'
"So he boils the water, and takes the salt And the pepper in portions true (Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot, And some sage and parsley too.
"'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride, Which his smiling features tell; "'T will soothing be if I let you see How extremely nice you 'll smell."
"And he stirred it round, and round, and round, And he sniffed at the foaming froth; When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals In the scum of the boiling broth.
"And I eat that cook in a week or less, And as I eating be The last of his chops, why I almost drops, For a wessel in sight I see.
————
"And I never larf, and I never smile, And I never lark nor play; But I sit and croak, and a single joke I have—which is to say:
"O, I am a cook and a captain bold And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig!"