The _Panther's_ captain stood hard by, He was a man of morals strict, If e'er a sailor winked his eye, Straightway he had that sailor licked, Mast-headed all (such was his code) Who dashed or jiggered, blessed or blowed. He wept to think a tar of his Should lean so gracefully on posts, He sighed and sobbed to think of this, On foreign, French, and friendly coasts. "It's human natur', p'raps--if so, Oh, isn't human natur' low!" He called his BILL, who pulled his curl, He said, "My BILL, I understand You've captivated some young gurl On this here French and foreign land. Her tender heart your beauties jog-- They do, you know they do, you dog. [Illustration] "You have a graceful way, I learn, Of leaning airily on posts, By which you've been and caused to burn A tender flame on these here coasts. A fisher gurl, I much regret,-- Her age, sixteen--her name, BABETTE. "You'll marry her, you gentle tar-- Your union I myself will bless, And when you matrimonied are, I will appoint her stewardess." But WILLIAM hitched himself and sighed, And cleared his throat, and thus replied: "Not so: unless you're fond of strife, You'd better mind your own affairs, I have an able-bodied wife Awaiting me at Wapping Stairs; If all this here to her I tell, She'll larrup you and me as well. [Illustration] "Skin-deep, and valued at a pin, Is beauty such as VENUS owns-- _Her_ beauty is beneath her skin, And lies in layers on her bones. The other sailors of the crew They always calls her 'Whopping Sue!'" "Oho!" the Captain said, "I see! And is she then so very strong?" "She'd take your honour's scruff," said he, "And pitch you over to Bolong!" "I pardon you," the Captain said, "The fair BABETTE you needn't wed." Perhaps the Customs had his will, And coaxed the scornful girl to wed, Perhaps the Captain and his BILL, And WILLIAM'S little wife are dead; Or p'raps they're all alive and well: I cannot, cannot, cannot tell. [Illustration] A MERRY MADRIGAL Brightly dawns our wedding day; Joyous hour, we give thee greeting! Whither, whither art thou fleeting? Fickle moment, prithee stay! What though mortal joys be hollow? Pleasures come, if sorrows follow. Though the tocsin sound, ere long, Ding dong! Ding dong! Yet until the shadows fall Over one and over all, Sing a merry madrigal-- Fal la!