Verses Written on Board His Majesty’s Ship the Astræa, by the Younger Midshipmen of That Frigate, 1798
When in the cockpit all was dim,
And not a mid dared show his glim,
A youth was left alone.
He scratched his head, surveyed his clothes,
Then took the other cheering dose,
And thus began his moan:—
‘Ah! Cursed be that fatal day
When I from home was led astray,
In this damned place to dwell:
Oh! had I in the country stay’d
I might have learnt some useful trade
And scorn’d the white lapelle.
‘When first on board the ship I went,
My belly full, my mind content,—
No sorrows touched my heart:
I view’d my coat, so flash and new,
My gay cockade, my hanger too,
And thought them wondrous smart.
‘But now, alas! my coat is rent;
My hanger’s pawned; my money spent;
My former friends I’ve missed;
And when of hardships I complain,
My messmates swear ’tis all in vain,
And cry “What made you list?”
‘But hark! I hear the corp’ral’s tread:
Another dose, and then to bed,
Of every joy bereft:
I shake my bottle with a doubt;
My poor half-pint is quite drained out,
Not one kind drop is left.’
The youth with indignation burns,
Into his hated hammock turns;
Alas! not long to sleep:
The quartermaster, with hoarse tongue,
Awakes him; says ‘The bell has rung!’
He’s roused, his watch to keep.
Shiv’ring he walks the quarter-deck,
Dreading the stern lieutenant’s check,
Who struts the weather-side;
With glass and trumpet in his hand,
He bellows forth his harsh command,
With arrogance and pride.