Classic Poem

ON MY NEPHEW'S ACQUISITION OF THE TURKISH MEDAL, WHEN A
LIEUTENANT IN THE NAVY, OFF ALEXANDRIA .

T HE first harp we can take
Shall to musick awake,
If 'tis with — or without any pedal;
Whiskerandos the Turk
Sets the Muses to work,
Having sent the Impostor a Medal.

With an Infidel Jew
We have nothing to do,
With Bashaws of three tails we don't meddle.
But Grand Seignors for us!
Without making a fuss,
How genteel is their gift of the Medal!

For that slice of the Moon
Will at least have a tune,
But no car let us borrow of Dedal!
If Apollo 's the guide,
And his nag we can ride,
'Tis the best we can do for the Medal .

But we're left in the lurch —
For the rhyme that we search
Corresponds to the subject no more;
For the enemies then
We can sharpen the pen,
For Menou as the Son of a wh — e.

Buonaparte , though grand,
Has in Egypt no land,
And of Mahomet seems rather shy —
The Italian for him
A more politic whim,
And St. Peter perhaps in his eye.

But those Youths of the Navy
Shall put smoke in his gravy,
And shall dash him with England's broad pennant:
Here's a health to the Sea,
From all Jacobins free,
And a Ship for so brave a Lieutenant!