Chorus—­Very good song, and very well sung,
Jolly companions every one;
We all are here for mirth and glee,
We all are here for jollity. 
Very good song, and very well sung,
Jolly companions every one;
Put your hats on to keep your heads warm,
A little more grog will do us no harm.

“Now, Coble, we must have yours,” said Jemmy Ducks.

“Mine! well, if you please:  but half my notes are stranded.  You’ll think that Snarleyyow is baying the moon:  howsomever, take it as it is.”

Oh, what’s the use of piping, boys, I never yet could larn,
The good of water from the eyes I never could disarn;
Salt water we have sure enough without our pumping more,
So let us leave all crying to the girls we leave on shore.

They may pump,
As in we jump
To the boat, and say, “Good-bye;”
But as for men,
Why, I say again,
That crying’s all my eye.

I went to school when quite a boy, and never larnt to read,
The master tried both head and tail—­at last it was agreed
No larning he could force in me, so they sent me off to sea,
My mother wept and wrung her hands, and cried most bitterly.

So she did pump,
As I did jump
In the boat, and said, “Good-bye;”
But as for me,
Who was sent to sea,
To cry was all my eye.

I courted Poll, a buxom lass; when I returned A B,
I bought her ear-rings, hat, and shawl, a sixpence did break we;
At last ’twas time to be on board, so, Poll, says I, farewell;
She roared and said, that leaving her was like a funeral knell.

So she did pump,
As I did jump
In the boat, and said, “Good-bye;”
But as for me
With the rate A B,
To cry was all my eye.

I soon went back, I shoved on shore, and Polly I did meet,
For she was watching on the shore, her sweetheart for to greet,
She threw her arms around me then, and much to my surprise,
She vowed she was so happy that she pumped with both her eyes.

So she did pump,
As I did jump
To kiss her lovingly,
But, I say again,
That as for men,
Crying is all my eye.

Then push the can around, my boys, and let us merry be;
We’ll rig the pumps if a leak we spring, and work most merrily: 
Salt water we have sure enough, we’ll add not to its store,
But drink, and laugh, and sing and chat, and call again for more.

The girls may pump,
As in we jump
To the boat, and say, “Good-bye;”
But as for we,
Who sailors be,
Crying is all my eye.

“Bravo, Obadiah! now one more song, and then we’ll aboard.  It won’t do to bowse your jib up too tight here,” said Jemmy; “for it’s rather dangerous navigation among all these canals—­no room for yawing.”

“No,” replied Dick Short.