Classic Poem

A great law Chief, whom God nor demon scares,
Compelled to kneel and pray, who swore his prayers,
The devil behind him pleased and grinning,
Patting the angry lawyer on the shoulder,
Declaring naught was ever bolder,
Admiring such a novel mode of sinning:

Like this, a subject would be reckoned rare,
Which proves what blood game infidels can dare;
Which to my memory brings a fact,
Which nothing but an English tar would act.

In ships of war, on Sunday's, prayers are given;
For though so wicked, sailors think of heaven,
Particularly in a storm;
Where, if they find no brandy to get drunk,
Their souls are in a miserable funk,
Then vow they to th' Almighty to reform,
If in His goodness only once, once more,
He 'll suffer them to clap a foot on shore.

In calms, indeed, or gentle airs,
They ne'er on weekdays pester heaven with prayers;
For 'tis among the Jacks a common saying,
" Where there 's no danger, there 's no need of praying. "

One Sunday morning all were met
To hear the parson preach and pray,
All but a boy, who, willing to forget
That prayers were handing out, had stolen away,
And, thinking praying but a useless task,
Had crawled to take a nap, into a cask.

The boy was soon found missing, and full soon
The boatswain's cat, sagacious smelt him out;
Gave him a clawing to some tune —
This cat's a cousin. Germain to the Knout.

" Come out, you skulking dog, " the boatswain cried,
" And save your d — — d young sinful soul. "
He then the moral-mending cat applied,
And turned him like a badger from his hole

Sulky the boy marched on, and did not mind him,
Altho' the boatswain flogging kept behind him:
" Flog, " cried the boy, " flog — curse me, flog away —
I 'll go — but mind — G-d d — n me if I 'll pray . "