_Father Neptune loquitur_:--
John Bull, my friend, if an ear you'll lend
to your true old messmate Neptune,
It may do you good. We are mates in
mood, and our hearts have always kept tune.
The Isle that's right, and extremely tight--
which I trust that mayn't mean "groggy"--
Is our care, old chum! Well, the outlook's
rum, and the prospect rather foggy!
Oh! keep on your hair! There's no cause
for Scare, though some party men, and papers,
Do their best to raise a new Naval Craze.
These be old, old party capers;
For your angry Outs _always_ swell with
doubts, whilst the Cocksure Ins, complacent,
Swear that cause for care may be found--
Nowhere, or the parts thereto adjacent.
You are not so green that mere party spleen,
and the bogus bosh of boobies,
Can play the fool with your judgment cool;
'tis a richer dower than rubies.
Still a Fleet, old boy, is no party toy, no
theme for factious scoffing,
And--well, JOHN, I spot a tremendous lot of
"furrin'" ships in the offing!
Keep a weather eye upon sea and sky, and I
think JOHN, altogether,
You will deem it right to get all things tight,
and prepare for dirty weather.
"Britons never, never," sounds bold and
clever; Britannia won't act as "slavey,"
But if "Missus" would keep her "home on
the deep," you _must_ keep up a spanking Navy!
Statistics fog, and there's no such bog as
the brain of an average Briton
When his Naval Nobs, and Finance Dry Bobs
have got their fighting fit on.
They talk great bosh, half their "facts"
won't wash, and as to their figures endless,--
If from stern to stem you could see through
_them_ you would _have_ more, JOHN, and _spend_ less!
A word in your lug! There is no Hum-bug
like that of a Naval Oracle,
When he's "out in the wet"; on that you
may bet--ah! an ironclad to a coracle!
He _may_ mean well, but The Truth to tell in
a fashion straight and steady,
Without "cavort" or a "list to port," is as
hard--as song to a Neddy!
JOHNNY, old boy, you must just employ
_your own wits_ on this business;
Party debate will addle your pate, _ex-parte_
"facts" bring dizziness.
Look for yourself, and you'll save much
pelf, and good value get for your money,
Squelch party fudge, be your own best judge,
and you'll floor the croakers, JOHNNY!
Still, JOHNNY mine, on my breadths of brine,
you must keep first place, or perish.
'Tis with that thought you have paid and
fought, and that thought you still must cherish.
Better plank down your last half-crown, than
lose the Crown _I_ gave you,
Let gold _and_ blood flow in full flood, than let
the foe enslave you!
A rhyme, a rhyme for the Christmas time!
It may not, JOHN, sound jolly,
But to pipe and dance _whilst your foes
advance_, were the maddest sort of folly.
With pockets full Peace's pipe to pull, or
to sip your grog and slumber,
Is nice; but you'll wake to a huge mistake
_if your foes your Fleet outnumber_!
Get your Fleet, old man, _cheap_ if you can,
but at all costs _get your Fleet_, JOHN!
Ships, guns and crew more than any two of
the foes you are like to meet JOHN!
Take your old friend's tip, let _no_ chance
slip, and be foiled by _no_ pretence, JOHN;
Keep eye on the foe, build all you know, and
big big D the expense, JOHN!
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