I had the flour, and plums all picked, and suet all chopped fine, To mix into a pudding rich, for all the mess to dine: I pawn’d my ear-rings for the beef, it weighed at least a stone: Now my fancy man is sent to sea, and I am left alone. Here’s Bet and Sue Who stand here too, A-shivering by my side; They both are dumb, They both look glum, And watch the ebbing tide. Poll put her arms a-kimbo: At the admiral’s house look’d she; To thoughts that were in limbo, She now a vent gave free: You’ve got a turkey, I’ll be bound, With which you will be crammed; I’ll give you a bit of my mind, old hound: Port Admiral, you be damned. CHORUS. _We’ll give you a bit of our mind, old hound: Port Admiral, you be damned._ I’m sure that in this weather they cannot cook their meat: To eat it raw on Christmas Day will be a pleasant treat; But let us all go home, girls; it’s no use waiting here: We’ll hope that Christmas Day to come they’ll have a better cheer. So Bet and Sue, Don’t stand here too, A-shivering by my side; Don’t keep so dumb, Don’t look so glum, Nor watch the ebbing tide. Poll put her arms a-kimbo: At the admiral’s house look’d she; To thoughts that were in limbo, She now a vent gave free. So while they cut their raw salt junks, With dainties you’ll be cramm’d; Here’s once for all my mind, old hunks: Port Admiral, you be damned. CHORUS. _So once for all our mind, old hunks: Port Admiral, you be damned._ _OH! CRUEL._ Oh! cruel were my parents to tear my love from me, And cruel were the press-gang that took him off to sea, And cruel was the little boat that row’d him from the strand, And cruel was the great big ship that sailed from the land. _Sing too rol lo, etc._ Oh! cruel was the water that bore her love from Mary, And cruel was the fair wind that would not blow contrary; And cruel was the captain, the boatswain and the men, Who didn’t care a farthing if we ever met again. Oh! cruel was the splinter to break my deary’s leg, Now he’s obliged to fiddle, and I’m obliged to beg: A vagabonding vagrant, and a rantipoling wife, We fiddle, limp, and scrape it, thro’ the ups and downs of life. Oh! cruel was th’ engagement in which my true love fought, And cruel was the cannon-ball that knock’d his right eye out; He us’d to leer and ogle me with peepers full of fun, But now he looks askew at me, because he has but one.