He stopped all songs at 12 p.m.,
Stopped hornpipes when at sea,
And swore his cot (or bunk) should not
Be used by aught than he.
He never joined their daily mess,
Nor asked them to his own,
But chaffed in gay and social way
The officers alone.
His First Lieutenant, Peter, was
As useless as could be,
A helpless stick, and always sick
When there was any sea.
This First Lieutenant proved to be
His foster-sister May,
Who went to sea for love of he
In masculine array.
And when he learnt the curious fact,
Did he emotion show,
Or dry her tears or end her fears
By marrying her? No!
Or did he even try to soothe
This maiden in her teens?
Oh, no!—instead he made her wed
The Sergeant of Marines!
Of course such Spartan discipline
Would make an angel fret;
They drew a lot, and William shot
This fearful martinet.
The Admiralty saw how ill
They’d treated Captain Reece;
He was restored once more aboard
The saucy Mantelpiece.
THE SAILOR BOY TO HIS LASS
I go away this blessed day,
To sail across the sea, Matilda!
My vessel starts for various parts
At twenty after three, Matilda.
I hardly know where we may go,
Or if it’s near or far, Matilda,
For Captain Hyde does not confide
In any ’fore-mast tar, Matilda!