University of Virginia Library

What! bilk your Commander!—desart—and then rob!
And go scuttling a poor little Drummer-boy's nob;
Why, my precious eyes! what a bloodthirsty swab!—
There's old Davy Jones, Who cracks sailors' bones
For his jaw-work, would never, I'm sure, s'elp me Bob,
Have come for to go for to do sich a job!
Hark ye, Waters,—or Matcham,—whichever's your pursername,
—T'other, your own, is, I'm sartain, the worser name,—
Twelve years have we lived on like brother and brother!
Now—your course lays one way, and mine lays another!”—
“No, William, it may not be so;
Blood calls for blood!—'tis Heaven's decree!
And thou with me this night must go,
And give me to the gallows-tree!
Ha!—see—He smiles—He points the way!
On, William, on!—no more delay!”
Now Bill,—so the story, as told to me, goes,
And who, as his last speech sufficiently shows,
Was a “regular trump,”—did not like to “turn Nose;”
But then came a thunder-clap louder than any
Of those that preceded, though they were so many:
And hark!—as its rumblings subside in a hum,
What sound mingles too?—By the hokey—A Drum!!