Now the signal is flying, and, fleet in her course, She chases a sail, far superior her force; And now the brisk broadside is merrily pour’d, And splinters, cut ropes, and masts go by the board; Next, yard-arm and yard-arm entangled they lie, The tars loudly swearing to conquer or die; ’Till hull’d and cut up, getting more than she likes, To the pride of the ocean the enemy strikes. The prize is sent home, and, alert in a trice, They make gaskets and points, and they knot and they splice; While knowing Jack tars of their gallantry talk, Tell who served well Boscawen, and Anson, and Hawke; ’Till, all of a sudden, a calm, then a scud, A tempest brings on that the face of the flood, The thunder and lightning, and wind, so deform, The pride of the ocean scarce lives out the storm. And now, having nobly defended the cause Of the nation, of freedom, religion, and laws, Her timbers all crazy, all open her seams, Torn and wounded her planks, and quite rotten her beams, To the last humbly fated her country to aid, Near the very same slip where her keel was first laid, No trace of her rate but her ports and her bulk, The pride of the ocean’s cut down a sheer hulk. CHARLES DIBDIN. ―――― THE HIGH-METTLED POLITICIAN. See, the house throng’d with members; debate is begun The confusion――“hear, hear,” cries of “spoke,” and “well done.” A hundred strange voices resound far and near, Whigs, Tories, and Radicals greet the tir’d ear, While with neck well cravatted, arranging his vest, Proud, pert, and a puppy with hand on his breast, Slightly turning his hair, with a dandyish grace, The young politician first starts for a place. Now the premier’s turn’d out, to succeed him they rush, Whigs and Tories both making a desperate push. They plot and intrigue, and by craft every day, Expect into office to find a quick way; While alike born for liberal or aristocrat, Always sure to come over, a regular rat. When the premier’s blown out by a party’s foul breath, The young politician is _in_ at the death. Grown stale quite us’d up and turn’d out of the stud Of treasury _protégés_ yet with some blood, While keen boroughmongers his pedigree trace, How he made this long speech, how he gained that good place, And what pensions he won his companions count o’er As they stand with lank purse at the treasury door; While disgrace sorely galls, with his remnant of nouse, The young politician’s a hack in the house.