TOM DEADLIGHT (1810)
Farewell and adieu to you noble hearties, --
Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain,
For I've received orders for to sail for the Deadman,
But hope with the grand fleet to see you again.
I have hove my ship to, with main-top-sail aback, boys;
I have hove my ship to, for to strike soundings clear --
The black scud a'flying; but, by God's blessing, dam' me,
Right up the Channel for the Deadman I'll steer.
I have worried through the waters that are callèd the Doldrums,
And growled at Sargasso that clogs while ye grope --
Blast my eyes, but the light-ship is hid by the mist, lads: --
Flying Dutchman -- odds bobbs -- off the Cape of Good Hope!
But what's this I feel that is fanning my cheek, Matt?
The white goney's wing? -- how she rolls! -- 't is the Cape!
Give my kit to the mess, Jock, for kin none is mine, none;
And tell Holy Joe to avast with the crape.
Dead reckoning, says Joe, it won't do to go by;
But they doused all the glims, Matt, in sky t' other night.
Dead reckoning is good for to sail for the Deadman;
And Tom Deadlight he thinks it may reckon near right.
The signal! -- it streams for the grand fleet to anchor.
The captains -- the trumpets -- the hullabaloo!
Stand by for blue-blazes, and mind your shank-painters,
For the Lord High Admiral, he's squinting at you!
But give me my tot, Matt, before I roll over;
Jock, let's have your flipper, it's good for to feel;
And don't sew me up without baccy in mouth, boys,
And don't blubber like lubbers when I turn up my keel.
Farewell and adieu to you noble hearties, --
Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain,
For I've received orders for to sail for the Deadman,
But hope with the grand fleet to see you again.
I have hove my ship to, with main-top-sail aback, boys;
I have hove my ship to, for to strike soundings clear --
The black scud a'flying; but, by God's blessing, dam' me,
Right up the Channel for the Deadman I'll steer.
I have worried through the waters that are callèd the Doldrums,
And growled at Sargasso that clogs while ye grope --
Blast my eyes, but the light-ship is hid by the mist, lads: --
Flying Dutchman -- odds bobbs -- off the Cape of Good Hope!
But what's this I feel that is fanning my cheek, Matt?
The white goney's wing? -- how she rolls! -- 't is the Cape!
Give my kit to the mess, Jock, for kin none is mine, none;
And tell Holy Joe to avast with the crape.
Dead reckoning, says Joe, it won't do to go by;
But they doused all the glims, Matt, in sky t' other night.
Dead reckoning is good for to sail for the Deadman;
And Tom Deadlight he thinks it may reckon near right.
The signal! -- it streams for the grand fleet to anchor.
The captains -- the trumpets -- the hullabaloo!
Stand by for blue-blazes, and mind your shank-painters,
For the Lord High Admiral, he's squinting at you!
But give me my tot, Matt, before I roll over;
Jock, let's have your flipper, it's good for to feel;
And don't sew me up without baccy in mouth, boys,
And don't blubber like lubbers when I turn up my keel.