patter to lubbers and swabs, d'ye see, 'Bout danger, and fear, and the like; A tight water boat and good sea-room give me,

And it ain't to a little I'll strike:

Though the tempest topgallant-masts smack smooth

should smite,

And shiver each splinter of wood,

Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouze every thing tight,

And under reef'd fore-sail we'll scud: Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft

To be taken for trifles aback;

For, they say, there's a Providence sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.

I heard our good chaplain palaver one day,
About souls, heaven, mercy, and such;
And, my timbers! what lingo he'd coil and belay,
Why, 'twas all one to me as High Dutch:

B