| IT was the good ship Billycock, with thirteen men aboard, | |
| Athirst to grapple with their country's foes,— | |
| A crew, 'twill be admitted, not numerically fitted | |
| To navigate a battleship in prose. | |
| |
| It was the good ship Billycock put out from Plymouth Sound, | 5 |
| While lustily the gallant heroes cheered, | |
| And all the air was ringing with the merry bo'sun's singing, | |
| Till in the gloom of night she disappeared. | |
| |
| But when the morning broke on her, behold, a dozen ships, | |
| A dozen ships of France around her lay, | 10 |
| (Or, if that isn't plenty, I will gladly make it twenty), | |
| And hemmed her close in Salamander Bay. | |
| |
| Then to the Lord High Admiral there spake a cabin-boy: | |
| "Methinks," he said, "the odds are somewhat great, | |
| And, in the present crisis, a cabin-boy's advice is | 15 |
| That you and France had better arbitrate!" | |
| |
| "Pooh!" said the Lord High Admiral, and slapped his manly chest, | |
| "Pooh! That would be both cowardly and wrong; | |
| Shall I, a gallant fighter, give the needy ballad-writer | |
| No suitable material for song?" | 20 |
| |
| "Nay—is the shorthand-writer here?—I tell you, one and all, | |
| I mean to do my duty, as I ought; | |
| With eager satisfaction let us clear the decks for action | |
| And fight the craven Frenchmen!" So they fought. | |
| |
| And (after several stanzas which as yet are incomplete, | 25 |
| Describing all the fight in epic style) | |
| When the Billycock was going, she'd a dozen prizes towing | |
| (Or twenty, as above) in single file! | |
| |
| Ah, long in glowing English hearts the story will remain, | |
| The memory of that historic day, | 30 |
| And, while we rule the ocean, we will picture with emotion | |
| The Billycock in Salamander Bay! | |
| |
| P.S.—I've lately noticed that the critics—who, I think, | |
| In praising my productions are remiss— | |
| Quite easily are captured, and profess themselves enraptured, | 35 |
| By patriotic ditties such as this, | |
| |
| For making which you merely take some dauntless Englishmen, | |
| Guns, heroism, slaughter, and a fleet— | |
| Ingredients you mingle in a metre with a jingle, | |
| And there you have your masterpiece complete! | 40 |
| |
| Why, then, with labour infinite, produce a book of verse | |
| To languish on the "All for Twopence" shelf? | |
| The ballad bold and breezy comes particularly easy— | |
| I mean to take to writing it myself! | |
