There's a smart Cockney Tar with his glass to his eye,
_Sing hey, sing ho, and a Brummagem salt!_
And what does the trim longshore yachtsman descry?
_Ho! he's spying like Robinson Crusoe!_
The Pilot in pose imperturbable stands,
With slouching Sou'wester and pocketed hands,
But his eye's on the Yacht and he quite understands,
The fix of the Skipper--poor chap!--who commands,
Or at least is imagined to do so.
"Hillo!" cries the Cockney; "they're signalling now,
_Sing hey, sing ho, and a flag to the peak!_
If the Yacht runs aground, Mate, there will be a row.
_Ho! the Pilot is peacefully winking._
I've an interest in her myself; can't afford
She should seek Davy Jones, not at least till _I've_ scored.
How is it, my HARTY--beg pardon!--my Lord!
They signal a pilot; shall you go aboard
To save 'em from striking or sinking?"
[_Left considering._
[Illustration: DIFFICULT NAVIGATION.
(_FOG COMING ON._)
CH-MB-RL-N. "I SAY, MY HARTY, GOVERNMENT YACHT SIGNALLING FOR A PILOT!!
ARE YOU GOING ABOARD?"]
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