_SIR SIDNEY SMITH_
Gentlefolks, in my time, I've made many a rhyme,
But the song I now trouble you with
Lays some claim to applause, and you'll grant it, because
The subject's Sir Sidney Smith, it is;
The subject's Sir Sidney Smith.
We all know Sir Sidney, a man of such kidney,
He'd fight every foe he could meet;
Give him one ship or two, and without more ado,
He'd engage if he met a whole fleet, he would;
He'd engage if he met a whole fleet.
Thus he took, every day, all that came in his way,
Till fortune, that changeable elf,
Order'd accidents so, that, while taking the foe,
Sir Sidney got taken himself, he did;
Sir Sidney got taken himself.
His captors, right glad of the prize they now had,
Rejected each offer we bid,
And swore he should stay, lock'd up till doomsday,
But he swore he'd be hang'd if he did, he did;
But he swore he'd be hang'd if he did.
So Sir Sid got away, and his gaoler next day
Cried, 'Sacre, diable, morbleu!
Mon prisonnier 'scape, I 'ave got in von scrape,
And I fear I must run away, too, I must;
I fear I must run away too.'
_T. Dibdin_