Classic Poem

We steer'd our course from fam'd Torbay,
Right down the English Channel,
To Plymouth for to get our pay,
And our right to man, ail.

We Ancor'd safely in Hamorze,
'Tween Plymouth and Lord Edgcombe's;
Ships better there a storm endures,
For seldom there its rage comes.

On Christmas day we got our pay,
And leave to gang an' play us,
With our sweat-hearts on that blyth day,
When none dar'd to gainsay us.

With mess-mate Jock an' rare Will Block,
And Pat come frae Ferconnel,
And Cockny Jim, an' who's like him,
Brave Highland Dan' M " Donnel.

'Twas in the Dock we met Will Hall,
Who steer'd us right for Plymouth,
There we hail'd Tom Brown frae Bengak,
And Bussel bound for Tinmouth.

Here Maggy, pride of Peterhead ,
And Irish Poll frae Dublin ,
Wi' Kate frae Berwick on the Tweed,
Who set drunk Pat a Bublin '.

We treated them with good roast beef,
And mountains o' plum puddin';
Great bowls of punch ay past belief,
Where the Prince George might scud in.

Now Paddy swore he'd have a wife,
When wearing pretty tipsy,
A bloody back rais'd a great strife,
An' call'd the bride a gipsy.

The blackguard lobsters we did bang,
For their imperious chatter,
Some threw o'er the barbrican,
And some into Catwater.

Their comrades heard how things did go,
On us they made a fally,
Then we engaged on the How ,
As bold as Hyder Ally.

Tho' two to one we fought our foes,
Till every crown was bleeding,
And blood was streaming from each nose,
At this vile Irish Wedding .

But the Town Guard came in a blink,
And snugly they us laid in
A dismal jail they nam'd the clink ,
To finish there our Wedding.