Come, cheer up, my lads! 'tis to Davy we steer!
(We add to his Locker 'bout one ship per year.)
To capsizing we call you in cheeriest staves,
For what is so certain as death 'neath the waves?
Iron coffins our ships,
Death-doomed tars are our men.
Our ships are unsteady!
Ready, aye ready!
We'll sink or turn turtle again and again!
We ne'er see our ships (for which millions they pay),
The _Ajax_, the _Anson_, and such, but we say,
"Will they ram, or capsize, or but run slap ashore?
When we go to the bottom JOHN BULL must--build more!"
Iron coffins our ships, &c.
Our _Camperdowns_, _Collingwoods_, _Rodneys_, _Benbows_,
REED says are all "dangerous"--_not_ to our foes!
If struck in their unarmoured ends they turn o'er,
And go to the bottom! How DAVY must roar!
Iron coffins our ships, &c.
The Frenchy and Rooshian must laugh as they look,
And see JOHN BULL trying, by hook or by crook,
To get his tin-kettles to keep right side up,
Agin touch of a ram, agin tap of a Krupp!
Iron coffins our ships, &c.
"Just wait two or three years," grumbles JOHN, "and _I'll_ show,
_If my ships will but swim_, I can still whop the foe.
Stop a bit--whilst my big-wigs build, blunder, debate!"
Ah! that's all mighty fine, but, my JOHN, _will_ they wait?
Iron coffins our ships, &c.
Britannia triumphant we all wish to see,
Quite equal to two foreign fleets, perhaps three;
So cheer up, my hearties, and banish your fears!
They will build us a ship as _will_ float--in three years!
(_Meanwhile, my lads, "chorus as before," if you please, until further
orders from our Naval Oracles!_)
Iron, coffins our ships,
DAVY'S wictims our men;
In wessels unsteady,
We're ready, aye ready,
To sink or turn turtle again and again!
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[Illustration: PART II. THE LOWER CREATION--SEEKING FOR A JOB.]
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