In a style that's admitted on every side;
Whilst your guns and torpedoes remain to be tried.
Your Armstrongs and Whiteheads may give themselves airs,
But they don't seem to stop periodical "scares."
Perhaps you may wish, when it does come to war,
For the old Man-of-war and the old pig-tailed Tar.
However, old boy, here's the grog. That's a bottle
That might have glug-glug'd down my Nelson's brave throttle;
It's been in my cellar since Trafalgar.
Vulcan. Truly?