The costly ships of England For fire-wood yet may burn, Till to the models of the past Her shipwrights shall return. Then, then, ye clumsy shipbuilders, Our song no more will throw All the blame on your name, Which now merits every blow. _Punch_, December, 1849. ―――― “YE SUBALTERNS IN ENGLAND.” _From_ TUFF, _of the Fusiliers in the Crimea, to_ MUFF, _of the Grenadiers, at St. James’s_. Ye subalterns in England, Who live a life of ease, How little do ye think upon Our sufferings o’er the seas. To sup, lunch, dine, and lunch again, Upon fried pork we go, And three-deep, we’ve to sleep, In the trenches all a-row, With the batteries roaring loud and long, Four hundred guns or so! The ghosts of clothing colonels Would shudder in their graves; For no two of us are rigged the same, And scarce a fellow shaves. Light cavalry and heavy swell Black as coal-heavers show; You can keep clean so cheap, But here a tub’s no go; For water you’ve to shell out strong, And then it’s salt, you know. Out here we need no boot-jacks, For in our boots we sleep, One never sees a dressing-case, And hair brushes are cheap. Deuce a cigar one gets to smoke; Short pipes we’re glad to blow; And we draw rum from store, As we can’t have Bordeaux―― The point is, something short and strong, Although it may be low. But round the flag of England We’ll our last cartridge burn, Till we have made the Russians smart, And victors home return. Then, when, as veteran warriors, At fête and ball we show, With the fame of our name, The ladies’ hearts will glow, And while you swells are voted bores, The pace, oh, shan’t we go! _Punch_, November 18, 1854. Another Parody on “Ye Mariners” appeared in _Punch_, December 11, 1852. It referred to a _fracas_ which had taken place between two Members of Parliament, and has now no interest whatever. ――――:o:―――― A BALLAD BY A BISHOP. (_With Brass Accompaniment._) Ye clergymen of England, Who livings hold at ease, How little do you think upon The troubles of the Sees! Give ear unto my plaintive lay, And I’ll engage to show That a bishop’s poor and needy――whom for being rich and greedy, Up the stormy _Times_ doth blow――oh! oh! oh! oh! _Chorus expressive of Woe_.