“Short, my boy, come, you must sing.”

“No,” replied Short.

“Yes, yes—­one verse,” said Spurey.

“He never sings more,” replied Jemmy Ducks, “so he must give us that.  Come, Short.”

“Yes,” replied Short, taking the pipe out of his mouth, and wetting his lips with the grog.

     Short stay apeak was the anchor,
      We had but a short minute more,
     In short, I no longer could banker,
      For short was the cash in my store. 
     I gave one short look,
      As Poll heaved a short sigh
     One short hug I took,
      Short the matter cut I,
       And off I went to sea.

“Go on, Dick.”

“No,” replied Short, resuming his pipe.

“Well, then, chorus, my boys.”

     Very good song, and very well sung,
     Jolly companions every one;
     We all are here for mirth and glee,
     We all are here for jollity. 
     Very good song, and very well sung,
     Jolly companions every one;
     Put your hats on, and keep your heads warm,
     A little more liquor will do us no harm.

“Now then, Jemmy Ducks, it’s round to you again.  Strike up, fiddle and all.”

“Well, here goes,” said Jemmy Ducks.

     The captain stood on the carronade—­first lieutenant, says he,
     Send all my merry men aft here, for they must list to me: 
     I havn’t the gift of the gab, my sons—­because I’m bred to the sea,
     That ship there is a Frenchman, who means to fight with we. 
       Odds blood, hammer and tongs, long as I’ve been to sea,
       I’ve fought ’gainst every odds—­but I’ve gained the victory.

     That ship there is a Frenchman, and if we don’t take she,
     ’Tis a thousand bullets to one, that she will capture me;
     I havn’t the gift of the gab, my boys, so each man to his gun,
     If she’s not mine in half an hour, I’ll flog each mother’s son. 
       Odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I’ve been to sea,
       I’ve fought ’gainst every odds—­and I’ve gained the victory.

     We fought for twenty minutes, when the Frenchman had enough,
     I little thought, said he, that your men were of such stuff;
     The captain took the Frenchman’s sword, a low bow made to he,
     I havn’t the gift of the gab, Mounsieur, but polite I wish to be. 
       Odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I’ve been to sea,
       I’ve fought ’gainst every odds—­and I’ve gained the victory.

Our captain sent for all of us; my merry men, said he,
I havn’t the gift of the gab, my lads, but yet I thankful be;
You’ve done your duty handsomely, each man stood to his gun,
If you hadn’t, you villains, as sure as day, I’d have flogged
each mother’s son. 
Odds bobs, hammer and tongs, as long as I’m at sea,
I’ll fight ’gainst every odds—­and I’ll gain the victory.