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Sea Songs

By W. C. Bennett
 
 
 

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THE TOGS, THEY DO NOT MAKE THE SAILOR.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


103

THE TOGS, THEY DO NOT MAKE THE SAILOR.

In all togs we've fought and we've won;
What mattered to us what we wore?
Our rigging? why all that was done
By those that ruled such things ashore;
We could make Don and Mounseer to strike,
Howe'er we were rigged by the tailor;
We've taught them all, say what they like,
That the togs, they do not make the sailor.
We know now, when bare-skins were worn,
And our fathers thought blue dyes full dress,
The Romans our pluck couldn't scorn;
We stood for our rights well, I guess;
When petticoats next had their reign,
Women we were not made by the tailor;
In skirts, how we leathered the Dane;
No—your togs, they do not make the sailor.

104

Later on, in a steel coat and hat,
Your sea-dog and captain were seen;
But, if we wore mail, what of that?
In that, we were all we've still been;
At Sluys and at Harfleur, we showed,
Howe'er we were rigged by the tailor,
Our togs only to him we owed;
It's the man in 'em that is the sailor.
Then came the great days of Queen Bess,
With their Frobisher, Hawkins and Drake,
When we taught the proud Dons to confess,
Ruffs, our courage the less didn't make;
Our breeches were bagged then as much
As Mynheer's by our then Tudor tailor;
But we taught the Armada in such,
That the queerest togs don't spoil the sailor.
And when Blake and Dean and stout Monk,
From Van Tromp and De Ruyter won fame,
Though buff-coats might hold our salt-junk,
Yet, within 'em, we still were the same;
In full-bottomed wigs, next we're found;
Laced jackets we had from our tailor,
But, with Shovel and Rooke, we're renowned,
For the change of togs don't change the sailor.

105

To fight Nap, we powdered our hair
And our pigtails would scarce let us wink,
But, whatever our togs, everywhere
We did good work in 'em, we think;
Our old rig might now make us grin,
But, whatever we got from the tailor,
With pigtails, we knew how to win,
For, his rigging, that isn't the sailor.
Now it's blue jacket and shiny hat
That our steaming tea-kettles must man;
We've no pigtails, but what matters that?
We shall win, for we know that we can;
We're all that we ever have been,
However we're rigged by the tailor,
And, if need be, it plain will be seen,
Our togs, they have not spoiled the sailor.