We've never, never had so bad a boy as you on board!
Sit down, now do, you pickle, you! Don't dance upon that thwart,
And see-saw in that sort of way. We want to get to port,
Not Davy Jones's Locker, Sir. "These roarers" are wild things,
As Shakspeare in The Tempest says, and do not care for Kings;
To keep them down and bale them out has always been our aim;
But you, you just play larks with them. What is your little game?
You, young, the latest chap on board, but of a sound old stock
Of Royal navigators, do you think it right to mock
All nautical traditions in this reckless kind of way,