Odds blood, hammer and tongs, long as I’ve been to sea,
     I’ve fought ’gainst every odds—­but I’ve gained the victory.

That ship there is a Frenchman, and if we don’t take she,
’Tis a thousand bullets to one, that she will capture we;
I haven’t the gift of the gab, my boys; so each man to his gun,
If she’s not mine in half an hour, I’ll flog each mother’s son.

     Odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I’ve been to sea,
     I’ve fought ’gainst every odds—­and I’ve gained the victory.

We fought for twenty minutes, when the Frenchman had enough
I little thought, he said, that your men were of such stuff;
The Captain took the Frenchman’s sword, a low bow made to he;
I haven’t the gift of the gab, monsieur, but polite I wish to be.

     Odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I’ve been to sea,
     I’ve fought ’gainst every odds—­and I’ve gained the victory.

Our Captain sent for all of us; my merry men said he,
I haven’t the gift of the gab, my lads, but yet I thankful be: 
You’ve done your duty handsomely, each man stood to his gun;
If you hadn’t, you villains, as sure as day, I’d have flogged each
  mother’s son.

     Odds bobs, hammer and tongs, as long as I’m at sea,
     I’ll fight ’gainst every odds—­and I’ll gain the victory.

OLD KING COLE.

BY ALFRED H. MILES.

Old King Cole was a merry old soul,
A merry old soul was he! 
He would call for his pipe, he would call for his glass,
He would call for his fiddlers three;
With loving care and reason rare,
He ruled his subjects true—­
Who used to sing, “Long live the King!”
And He—­“the people too!”

Old King Cole was a musical soul,
A musical soul was he! 
He used to boast what pleased him most
Was nothing but fiddle-de-dee! 
But his pipe and his glass he loved—­alas! 
As much as his fiddlers three,
And by time he was done with the other and the one,
He was pretty well done, was he!

Old King Cole was a kingly soul,
A kingly soul was he! 
He governed well, the records tell,
The brave, the fair, the free;
He used to say, by night and day,
“I rule by right divine! 
My subjects free belong to me,
And all that’s theirs is mine!”

Old King Cole was a worthy soul,
A worthy soul was he! 
From motives pure he tried to cure
All greed and vanity;
So if he found—­the country round
A slave to gold inclined,
He would take it away, and bid him pray
For a more contented mind.

Old King Cole was a good old soul,
A good old soul was he! 
And social life from civil strife
He guarded royally,
For when he caught the knaves who fought
O’er houses, land, or store,
He would take it himself, whether kind or pelf,
That they shouldn’t fall out any more.