‘Dear captain,’ he said then, ‘don’t talk of your pressing; It’s not long ago since I gave six of them a dressing.’ ‘I know that very well, Jack: the truth I must grant you; You are a brave, hearty fellow, and that makes me want you. ‘Dear captain,’ he said then, ‘if the truth I do tell you, I got so much the last war that it quite fill’d my belly; For your damn’d rogues of officers they use men so cruel That a man-of-war is worse than hell or the devil. ‘There is the master a-swearing, the boatswain a-growling, The midshipman a-howling out, “Take that fore-bowling”; If you speak but one word you’re a mutinous rascal, Both your legs laid in irons and try’d by a court-martial.’ Now, boys, we are press’d away from our habitation, And we leave wife and children in grief and vexation; We venture our sweet lives in defence of our nation, And we get nothing for it but toil and vexation.’ _THE JOLLY SAILOR’S TRUE DESCRIPTION OF A MAN-OF-WAR._ When first on board of a man-of-war We go, whether by press or enter, And alongside of our ship we come, We boldly in her venture. Such twigging then at we fresh men. ‘They’re clever fellows,’ some say, While the buffers stand with their rattans, Crying, ‘Keep down out of the gangway.’ Then aft upon the quarter-deck We go, it being common; Our officers examine us, to know Who and who are seamen; There’s some are seamen, some are freemen, Some one thing, some another: Then we down below on the main deck go, Boys, after one another. Next to old Trinculo we go For an order to get our hammocks, Then aft again and down amain, Not forgetting our stomachs. The steward pens, he takes our names, And tells us to our messes; But nipping there they can’t forbear, For the Devil them possesses. Then up again upon the deck, So briskly, boys, we bundle; Since we have secur’d our pack, We have no cause to grumble. Then we clap on what we heave upon, Some piping, others singing: There’s hoist away, likewise belay. Thus we make a beginning. When once our ship has got all in, And nothing now neglected, To think of sea we do begin, Our orders soon expected. Then with a career we get all clear, In readiness for unmooring, Boats alongside with wind and tide To carry the women ashore in. ‘All hands, unmoor,’ the boatswain calls, And he pipes at every hatchway; If you Tom Cockswain’s traverse tip him Take care he don’t catch you; For without a doubt, if he finds you out, You may be sure within you, Over face and eyes, to your surprise He’ll arm you without mercy.