For though, when Captain Capel sank,
The Mermen drawn in double rank
Gave him a hearty hail,
Yet when secure of Captain Cleggs,
They cut off both his lovely legs,
And gave him such a tail!
When Captain Cleggs returned aboard,
His blithesome crew convulsive roar’d,
To see him altered so.
The Admiralty did insist
That he upon the Half-pay List
Immediately should go.
In vain declared the poor old salt,
“It’s my misfortune—not my fault,”
With tear and trembling lip—
In vain poor Capel begged and begged.
“A man must be completely legged
Who rules a British ship.”
So spake the stern First Lord aloud—
He was a wag, though very proud,
And much rejoiced to say,
“You’re only half a captain now—
And so, my worthy friend, I vow
You’ll only get half-pay!”
ANNIE PROTHEROE
A LEGEND OF STRATFORD-LE-BOW
Oh! listen to the tale of little Annie Protheroe.
She kept a small post-office in the neighbourhood of Bow;
She loved a skilled mechanic, who was famous in his day—
A gentle executioner whose name was Gilbert Clay.
I think I hear you say, “A dreadful subject for your rhymes!”
O reader, do not shrink—he didn’t live in modern times!
He lived so long ago (the sketch will show it at a glance)
That all his actions glitter with the lime-light of Romance.
In busy times he laboured at his gentle craft all day—
“No doubt you mean his Cal-craft,” you amusingly will say—
But, no—he didn’t operate with common bits of string,
He was a Public Headsman, which is quite another thing.
And when his work was over, they would ramble o’er the lea,
And sit beneath the frondage of an elderberry tree,
And Annie’s simple prattle entertained him on his walk,
For public executions formed the subject of her talk.