"Mayhap you have heard, that as dear as their lives,

All true-hearted Tars love their ships and their wives."

So DIBDIN declared, and he spoke for the Tar;

He knew Jack so well, both in peace and in war!

But hang it! times change, and 'tis sad to relate,

The old Dibdinish morals seem quite out of date;

Stick close to your ship, lads, like pitch till you die?—

That sounds nonsense to-day, and I'll tell ye for why.

The good old Foudroyant—how memory dwells on

Those brave fighting names!—was once flag-ship to NELSON.

But NELSON, you know, died a good while ago,

And his flag-ship has gone a bit shaky, and so

JOHN BULL, who's now full of low shopkeeping cares,

And thinks more of the Stocks than of naval affairs,

Regards not "Old Memories," that "eat off their head."

Turn old cracks out to grass? No, let's sell 'em instead!

A ship's like the high-mettled racer once sung

By that same dashing DIBDIN of patriot tongue,

Grown aged, used up, is he honoured? No, zounds!

"The high-mettled racer is sold to the hounds!"

And so with a barky of glorious name,

(It is business, of course—and a Thundering Shame!)

Worn out, she is nought but spars, timbers and logs,

And so, like the horse, should be sold—to the dogs!

As for the Foudroyant, the vessel was trim

When it fought with the French, for JOHN BULL, under Him,

The Star of the Nile. Yes, it carried his flag,

When it captured the Frenchman. There's no need to brag,

Or to say swagger things of a generous foe.

Besides, things have doosedly altered, you know.

We're no more like NELSON than I to a Merman;

We can sell his flag-ship for firewood, to the German!

Sounds nice, does it not? If that great one-armed Shade

Could look down on the bargain he'd—swear, I'm afraid

(If his death-purged bold spirit held yet ought of earth).

And I fancy 'twill move the gay Frenchman to mirth

To hear this last story of shop-keeping JOHN—

Or his huckster officials. The Frenchman, the Don,

The Dutchman, all foes we have licked,—may wax bold

When they hear that the brave old Foudroyant is—Sold!!!

Great TURNER has pictured the old Téméraire

Tugged to her last berth. Why the sun and the air

In that soul-stirring canvas, seem fired with the glory

Of such a brave ship, with so splendid a story!

Well, look on that picture, my lads, and on this!

And—no, do not crack out a curse like a hiss,

But with stout CONAN DOYLE—he has passion and grip!—

Demand that they give us back NELSON's old Ship!

British hands from protecting her who shall debar?

Ne'er ingratitude lurked in the heart of a Tar.

"(Sings DIBDIN) That Ship from the breakers to save"

Is the plainest of duties e'er put on the brave.

While a rag, or a timber, or spar, she can boast,

A place of prime honour on Albion's coast

Should be hers and the Victory's! Let us not say,

Like the fish-hucksters, "Memories are cheap, Sir, to-day!"

Of "garnered leaves"

And "garnered sheaves"

Sing sentimental donkeys.

Perhaps e'er long

Their simple song

Will be of Garnered Monkeys!

My name and style are ELLIS ASHMEAD BART—

Ah! happy augury. Would I could

Leave it so. But 'twill not do.

Like soap of Monkey brand,

It will not wash clothes,

Or, in truth, ought else.

'Tis but an accident of rhythm

Born of the imperative mood that makes one

Start a poem of this kind on ten feet,

Howe'er it may thereafter crawl or soar.

What I really was about to remark was that

My name and style are ELLIS ASHMEAD BART-

LETT, Knight; late Civil Lord of Admiralty

You know me. I come from Sheffield; at least

I did on my return thence