Jack Junk or a cruize on shore A Humorous Poem by the Author of the Sailor Boy [i.e. S. W. H. Ireland] |
 |
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| I. |
| II. | CANTO II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | Jack Junk or a cruize on shore |  |
33
CANTO II.
34
THE ARGUMENT.
The poet's claim to consideration.—Moll in the dumps, with humours of the pop shop.—Junk, disliking uncle's duds, rigs Moll anew from stem to stern.— Jack introduced to Moll's female cronie.—A chaise and pair the order of the day.—Makes sail for the depot at Portchester, touching at every public house by the way.—Jack treats favorite wenches with labors of the French prisoners.—Is recognized by a Mounseer.—Yields assistance to an enemy in distress.—An invocation to philanthropy.
35
“'Tis said that with grog and our lasses,
“Because jolly sailors are free,
“That money we squander like asses,
“Which like horses we earn'd when at sea.
“Because jolly sailors are free,
“That money we squander like asses,
“Which like horses we earn'd when at sea.
“But let them say this, that, or t'other,
“In one thing they're forc'd to agree,
“Honest hearts find a friend and a brother
“In each worthy that ploughs the salt sea.”
Dibdin.
“In one thing they're forc'd to agree,
“Honest hearts find a friend and a brother
“In each worthy that ploughs the salt sea.”
The Muse pipes up all hands anew,
To bring Jack Junk to public view;
Wherefore the bard shall sing out stronger,
And keep his sails aback no longer;
There's mighty danger in delays,
With sons of rhyme, who claim the bays;
And as my plea to fame is strong,
Both from my subject and my song,
I'll profit by the fav'ring hour,
Nor let it now escape my power:
For men that wisely understand,
Will always keep the staff in hand.
Avast, then, prating, I'll pursue
The general theme, and straight bring too.
To bring Jack Junk to public view;
Wherefore the bard shall sing out stronger,
And keep his sails aback no longer;
36
With sons of rhyme, who claim the bays;
And as my plea to fame is strong,
Both from my subject and my song,
I'll profit by the fav'ring hour,
Nor let it now escape my power:
For men that wisely understand,
Will always keep the staff in hand.
Avast, then, prating, I'll pursue
The general theme, and straight bring too.
Our Jack and Moll from rest arisen,
Her gib, from some fell cause, look'd wizzen;
A cause it was to her portentous,
That wisest heads would deem momentous;
A cause 'gainst which 'twas two to one,
But direful fate the deed had done;
Now, to make plain this source of woe,
The calls of poverty, we know
Are wond'rous pressing, as 'twas found
By Moll, who oft had been aground.
Who, in such struggles, fled for aid,
To Mister Pinch, of screwing trade,
Who hangs out symbol that appals,
No less, my friend, than three gold balls.
By wise heads deem'd an emblem true,
Of what is likely to ensue;
To such as duds are there impounding,
I mean conviction most astounding;
That chances are, as said before,
Full two to one that all the store
Which there is pledg'd, shall there remain.
And never be redeem'd again.
Such was of Moll the piteous case,
The cause that lengthen'd so her face;
A cause, good friend, that eke would do
The self same thing to me or you.
Junk, seeing something in the wind,
Bade Molly plainly speak her mind,
Which she, without a blush or tear,
In brace of snaps anon made clear.
Jack cries—“Come, give us no more lip,”
Then kissing Moll, a can of flip,
Frothy, upon the chest appears,
Which to his hatchway Jack uprears;
Then hands it o'er to Molly's flipper,
Who proves, I'faith, no squeamish sipper;
Rump steaks are order'd next by Jack,
With onions smother'd for his whack;
The savoury grub soon greets the sight,
And morning's meal is made out right;
Our tar bids Molly next hand o'er
Such duplicates as hold her store,
Who tips him straight the same with glee,
And knowing Junk's bent on a spree;
His locker stow'd with rhino rare,
Thinks it but right to have her share.
Now for the pop shop both make sail,
Where Jack nabs Pinch upon the nail,
Exclaiming—“Old one, here am I,
“Come, rouse your duds, and let us try
“If some of Jack Junk's hard earn'd pelf
“Cant clear, for Moll, her uncle's shelf.”
The tickets Junk on counter throws,
When Pinch produces soon the clothes;
And taking payment—pincher true—
Nabs just six shillings more than's due.
Jack overhauls the bundles straight,
When luck attends on Molly's fate;
The duds not suiting Junk's queer whim,
He tows her off along with him;
Swears she wants rigging, stem and stern,
That he her uncle's trash would spurn;
And, thus resolv'd, he takes the route,
To give his lass a gay fit out;
For Jack's above your common craft,
So rigs his Moll right fore and aft,
Her garb displaying to the view,
All colours of the rainbow's hue.
This feat accomplish'd, Junk looks big,
His mind full fraught with fun and gig;
He bids Moll choose some female chronie,
Who straightway bawls out—“Bet Mahoney;”
When Jack Junk's ammunition wife,
Swearing he's dearer than her life,
To White Hart Row directs the way,
Where Bet hangs forth her colors gay;
Our sailor, dry as summer thistle,
For grog sings out, to wet his whistle;
Bids Bet Mahoney rig her best,
While he awaits her welcome guest;
To Bet one word's as good as fifty,
Of lucky chances wond'rous thrifty;
Besides Moll Chauntress gave a wink
Significant—that made her think
Some fav'ring breeze would well repay
Her rigging out in best array.
All three now joyful sally out,
Jack Junk escorting on the route;
Still undecided what to do,
'Till lo! a chaise appears in view;
Incertitude no longer reigns,
Jack's for a cruize to village plains;
To feast his mind, and please the fair,
The cry is then—“A chaise and pair;”
Junk gains an inn, and gives the word,
When straight the rumbling wheels are heard;
All preparation soon is done,
By post boy Tom, who twigs the fun;
Then mounts the bar, and ere he drives
Of Junk, with ammunition wives,
Demands the route, and bows quite civil,
Junk cries—“Make sail, man, for the devil.”
“Master, lord bless my darling eyes,
“That road's main rugged”—Tom replies.
“To h---l, your honour, I've ne'er been,
“I'll drive you there—and back you in.”
“I'm done”—says Junk, quick throwing down,
For Tom, the post boy, half a crown;
“Steer where you will, I'm stow'd d'ye see,
“H---l or old nick's all vone to me.”
Tom smacks his whip, along they bowl,
While Jack within, a jovial soul,
Between his Bet and loving Moll,
Like Sultan, takes an easy lol,
Till Halfway Houses meet his view,
Where Junk cries—“Steersman, let's bring too.”
At Blacksmith's Arms the chaise then stands,
Obedient to our tar's commands,
Whose lungs stentorian loudly sing,
“Avast—some O be joyful! bring.”
His customer my landlord knows,
In largest bowl the liquor flows;
Moll swears the draught is soft as silk,
Bet likens it to mother's milk,
Junk swigs, and cries—“'Tis stiff and good,”
Then bawls to Tom—“Here, d---n your blood,
“Drink till you swim in grog, you lubber,
“And then I'll boil you for your blubber.”
The bowl is shortly high and dry,
And rhino stump'd—then off's the cry.
Forward they roll, in merry vein,
'Till Kingston pulls them up again;
When halting at the Anchor Blue,
Junk, to the jorum always true,
Bids landlord rum and milk supply;
The host obeys—but, by the bye,
To Jack forgetting due respect,
By wearing hat—such fell neglect
Our tar resenting, cries—“My buck,
“Avast there, Nip Cheese—douce your truck.”
The host, with speed, Junk's will obeys,
And his uncover'd nob displays,
While Jack and girls the potion ply,
Whose fumes add lustre to each eye.
From Kingston Tom, with rapid pace,
Drives onward to next resting place,
And Cosham gain'd, again brings too,
Drops anchor with the George in view;
For gin and bitters next they sing,
Junk gives the toast—“God save the King;”
And of his coop'd-up birth grown weary,
The cabin leaves to Bet and deary;
Heedless of danger and his neck,
Jumps on the roof, and claims his deck;
Then sings out—“Tom, drive on, my hearty,”
And in this trim makes sail the party;
From Cosham, then, in dashing stile
They bowl along—our tar the while
Perch'd up aloft, seems fate to dare,
For Junk's some fost'ring cherub's care;
Our tar at Portchester arrives,
And to the Crown in glory drives,
Since Junk at every inn must stop,
Of cheering grog to quaff a drop.
Some reader may enquire, no doubt,
Why thither Tom should steer his route;
The truth, at once, I will discover,
The post boy Tom, friend, was a lover,
Who some time company had kept
With wench most modest—for he slept,
Whene'er he wish'd, in her red arms,
And Portchester contain'd these charms.
Junk, from aloft, with speed descends,
And leads from chaise his doxy friends;
Takes from his jolly host the can,
His race of boozing not half ran;
Then pledging Tom, and Moll, and Bet,
Bids landlord too his whistle wet;
Russel, a downwright honest fellow
As ever yet with friend got mellow;
When Junk, with wife beneath each wing,
Straight for the depot takes his swing;
Where thousands, for ambition's son,
The race of glory having run,
In sad captivity remain,
No lenient hand to break the chain.
Napolean, deaf to pity's cries
Of Gaul's own sons, the plea denies.
Jack enters soon the Castle gate,
To view the Mounseer's suff'ring state;
And at the sight feels pity's glow,
The pris'ner ne'er a Briton's foe;
For workmanship of captive Gauls,
The gen'rous seaman next o'erhauls
A store of rhino, which to Molly
He gives, and then to cronie Dolly;
The snuff box carv'd, the bracelets rare,
Of plaited and elastic hair;
The woven rings, with mottos true,
Of loving me, and loving you;
Boxes of straw, to please the eyes,
Constructed neat, of sundry dies;
And lace, of patterns superfine,
To dizen Moll, and make her shine;
In short, whatever took her whim
He purchas'd—cash was naught to him;
At length, when getting under weigh,
A voice entreating, bade Junk stay,
Who tow'rd the barrier turn'd his eyes,
To learn why thus the Frenchman cries;
When soon, in broken English, he
Tells Junk that he was ta'en at sea;
And in the face of Jack then knew,
One of the conqu'ring English crew,
Whose life was risk'd, his own to save,
Doom'd without help, to Neptune's grave;
Our tar rememb'rance overhauls,
And soon the Frenchman's gib recalls,
Grapples his wing with glowing heart,
And eager comfort to impart,
Hands flimsies out, Mounseer to bless,
And sooth Gaul's seaman in distress.
The grateful captive strives to speak,
To Junk his lingo sounds like Greek;
“Avast, no cheek!”—exclaims the tar,
“You've got the ugly fate of war;
“Perhaps, ere long, some evil chance
“May take me on a cruize to France,
“Vere, should ve meet, as it might be,
“Look you, but do the same by me.”
To 'scape palaver, Junk anon
Weighs anchor, wishing to be gone;
The prayers of Mounseer will not list,
But once more shaking hard his fist,
An hearty blessing loudly bawls,
And straight makes sail from prison's walls.
Her gib, from some fell cause, look'd wizzen;
A cause it was to her portentous,
That wisest heads would deem momentous;
A cause 'gainst which 'twas two to one,
But direful fate the deed had done;
37
The calls of poverty, we know
Are wond'rous pressing, as 'twas found
By Moll, who oft had been aground.
Who, in such struggles, fled for aid,
To Mister Pinch, of screwing trade,
Who hangs out symbol that appals,
No less, my friend, than three gold balls.
By wise heads deem'd an emblem true,
Of what is likely to ensue;
To such as duds are there impounding,
I mean conviction most astounding;
That chances are, as said before,
Full two to one that all the store
Which there is pledg'd, shall there remain.
And never be redeem'd again.
Such was of Moll the piteous case,
The cause that lengthen'd so her face;
38
The self same thing to me or you.
Junk, seeing something in the wind,
Bade Molly plainly speak her mind,
Which she, without a blush or tear,
In brace of snaps anon made clear.
Jack cries—“Come, give us no more lip,”
Then kissing Moll, a can of flip,
Frothy, upon the chest appears,
Which to his hatchway Jack uprears;
Then hands it o'er to Molly's flipper,
Who proves, I'faith, no squeamish sipper;
Rump steaks are order'd next by Jack,
With onions smother'd for his whack;
The savoury grub soon greets the sight,
And morning's meal is made out right;
Our tar bids Molly next hand o'er
Such duplicates as hold her store,
39
And knowing Junk's bent on a spree;
His locker stow'd with rhino rare,
Thinks it but right to have her share.
Now for the pop shop both make sail,
Where Jack nabs Pinch upon the nail,
Exclaiming—“Old one, here am I,
“Come, rouse your duds, and let us try
“If some of Jack Junk's hard earn'd pelf
“Cant clear, for Moll, her uncle's shelf.”
The tickets Junk on counter throws,
When Pinch produces soon the clothes;
And taking payment—pincher true—
Nabs just six shillings more than's due.
Jack overhauls the bundles straight,
When luck attends on Molly's fate;
The duds not suiting Junk's queer whim,
He tows her off along with him;
40
That he her uncle's trash would spurn;
And, thus resolv'd, he takes the route,
To give his lass a gay fit out;
For Jack's above your common craft,
So rigs his Moll right fore and aft,
Her garb displaying to the view,
All colours of the rainbow's hue.
This feat accomplish'd, Junk looks big,
His mind full fraught with fun and gig;
He bids Moll choose some female chronie,
Who straightway bawls out—“Bet Mahoney;”
When Jack Junk's ammunition wife,
Swearing he's dearer than her life,
To White Hart Row directs the way,
Where Bet hangs forth her colors gay;
Our sailor, dry as summer thistle,
For grog sings out, to wet his whistle;
41
While he awaits her welcome guest;
To Bet one word's as good as fifty,
Of lucky chances wond'rous thrifty;
Besides Moll Chauntress gave a wink
Significant—that made her think
Some fav'ring breeze would well repay
Her rigging out in best array.
All three now joyful sally out,
Jack Junk escorting on the route;
Still undecided what to do,
'Till lo! a chaise appears in view;
Incertitude no longer reigns,
Jack's for a cruize to village plains;
To feast his mind, and please the fair,
The cry is then—“A chaise and pair;”
Junk gains an inn, and gives the word,
When straight the rumbling wheels are heard;
42
By post boy Tom, who twigs the fun;
Then mounts the bar, and ere he drives
Of Junk, with ammunition wives,
Demands the route, and bows quite civil,
Junk cries—“Make sail, man, for the devil.”
“Master, lord bless my darling eyes,
“That road's main rugged”—Tom replies.
“To h---l, your honour, I've ne'er been,
“I'll drive you there—and back you in.”
“I'm done”—says Junk, quick throwing down,
For Tom, the post boy, half a crown;
“Steer where you will, I'm stow'd d'ye see,
“H---l or old nick's all vone to me.”
Tom smacks his whip, along they bowl,
While Jack within, a jovial soul,
Between his Bet and loving Moll,
Like Sultan, takes an easy lol,
43
Where Junk cries—“Steersman, let's bring too.”
At Blacksmith's Arms the chaise then stands,
Obedient to our tar's commands,
Whose lungs stentorian loudly sing,
“Avast—some O be joyful! bring.”
His customer my landlord knows,
In largest bowl the liquor flows;
Moll swears the draught is soft as silk,
Bet likens it to mother's milk,
Junk swigs, and cries—“'Tis stiff and good,”
Then bawls to Tom—“Here, d---n your blood,
“Drink till you swim in grog, you lubber,
“And then I'll boil you for your blubber.”
The bowl is shortly high and dry,
And rhino stump'd—then off's the cry.
Forward they roll, in merry vein,
'Till Kingston pulls them up again;
44
Junk, to the jorum always true,
Bids landlord rum and milk supply;
The host obeys—but, by the bye,
To Jack forgetting due respect,
By wearing hat—such fell neglect
Our tar resenting, cries—“My buck,
“Avast there, Nip Cheese—douce your truck.”
The host, with speed, Junk's will obeys,
And his uncover'd nob displays,
While Jack and girls the potion ply,
Whose fumes add lustre to each eye.
From Kingston Tom, with rapid pace,
Drives onward to next resting place,
And Cosham gain'd, again brings too,
Drops anchor with the George in view;
For gin and bitters next they sing,
Junk gives the toast—“God save the King;”
45
The cabin leaves to Bet and deary;
Heedless of danger and his neck,
Jumps on the roof, and claims his deck;
Then sings out—“Tom, drive on, my hearty,”
And in this trim makes sail the party;
From Cosham, then, in dashing stile
They bowl along—our tar the while
Perch'd up aloft, seems fate to dare,
For Junk's some fost'ring cherub's care;
Our tar at Portchester arrives,
And to the Crown in glory drives,
Since Junk at every inn must stop,
Of cheering grog to quaff a drop.
Some reader may enquire, no doubt,
Why thither Tom should steer his route;
The truth, at once, I will discover,
The post boy Tom, friend, was a lover,
46
With wench most modest—for he slept,
Whene'er he wish'd, in her red arms,
And Portchester contain'd these charms.
Junk, from aloft, with speed descends,
And leads from chaise his doxy friends;
Takes from his jolly host the can,
His race of boozing not half ran;
Then pledging Tom, and Moll, and Bet,
Bids landlord too his whistle wet;
Russel, a downwright honest fellow
As ever yet with friend got mellow;
When Junk, with wife beneath each wing,
Straight for the depot takes his swing;
Where thousands, for ambition's son,
The race of glory having run,
In sad captivity remain,
No lenient hand to break the chain.
47
Of Gaul's own sons, the plea denies.
Jack enters soon the Castle gate,
To view the Mounseer's suff'ring state;
And at the sight feels pity's glow,
The pris'ner ne'er a Briton's foe;
For workmanship of captive Gauls,
The gen'rous seaman next o'erhauls
A store of rhino, which to Molly
He gives, and then to cronie Dolly;
The snuff box carv'd, the bracelets rare,
Of plaited and elastic hair;
The woven rings, with mottos true,
Of loving me, and loving you;
Boxes of straw, to please the eyes,
Constructed neat, of sundry dies;
And lace, of patterns superfine,
To dizen Moll, and make her shine;
48
He purchas'd—cash was naught to him;
At length, when getting under weigh,
A voice entreating, bade Junk stay,
Who tow'rd the barrier turn'd his eyes,
To learn why thus the Frenchman cries;
When soon, in broken English, he
Tells Junk that he was ta'en at sea;
And in the face of Jack then knew,
One of the conqu'ring English crew,
Whose life was risk'd, his own to save,
Doom'd without help, to Neptune's grave;
Our tar rememb'rance overhauls,
And soon the Frenchman's gib recalls,
Grapples his wing with glowing heart,
And eager comfort to impart,
Hands flimsies out, Mounseer to bless,
And sooth Gaul's seaman in distress.
49
To Junk his lingo sounds like Greek;
“Avast, no cheek!”—exclaims the tar,
“You've got the ugly fate of war;
“Perhaps, ere long, some evil chance
“May take me on a cruize to France,
“Vere, should ve meet, as it might be,
“Look you, but do the same by me.”
To 'scape palaver, Junk anon
Weighs anchor, wishing to be gone;
The prayers of Mounseer will not list,
But once more shaking hard his fist,
An hearty blessing loudly bawls,
And straight makes sail from prison's walls.
Philanthropy! thou darling child,
From heav'n all bounteous, meek, and mild,
Thy theme the bardic song shall stop,
And claim the bright translucent drop,
Which fast from feeling's eye distills,
Whose soul, awakened by the thrills
Our Junk creates, must pause awhile,
Till roaring fun replants the smile,
And to the song of Momus guides
Our readers all, with splitting sides;
For naught can rhyme so fitly season,
As sometimes temp'ring fun with reason.
Wherefore my muse the page now closes,
And, for a time, with joy reposes;
Her thoughts engross'd by valor's son,
Old England's Tar, whose fame shall run
To hoary Time's remotest age,
Emblazoning Glory's brightest page.
From heav'n all bounteous, meek, and mild,
50
And claim the bright translucent drop,
Which fast from feeling's eye distills,
Whose soul, awakened by the thrills
Our Junk creates, must pause awhile,
Till roaring fun replants the smile,
And to the song of Momus guides
Our readers all, with splitting sides;
For naught can rhyme so fitly season,
As sometimes temp'ring fun with reason.
Wherefore my muse the page now closes,
And, for a time, with joy reposes;
Her thoughts engross'd by valor's son,
Old England's Tar, whose fame shall run
To hoary Time's remotest age,
Emblazoning Glory's brightest page.
| Jack Junk or a cruize on shore | |