That Sailor-man, he said he'd seen that morning on the shore, A son of--something--'twas a name I'd never heard before, A little "gallows-looking chap"--dear me! what could he mean? With a "carpet-swab" and "muckingtogs," and a hat turned up with green. He spoke about his "precious eyes," and said he'd seen him "sheer," --It's very odd that Sailor-men should talk so very queer-- And then he hitched his trousers up, as is, I'm told, their use, --It's very odd that Sailor-men should wear those things so loose. I did not understand him well, but think he meant to say He'd seen that little vulgar Boy, that morning, swim away In Captain Large's Royal George, about an hour before, And they were now, as he supposed, "some_wheres_" about the Nore. A landsman said, "I _twig_ the chap--he's been upon the Mill-- And 'cause he _gammons_ so the _flats_, ve calls him Veeping Bill!" He said he'd "done me wery brown," and nicely "_stow'd_ the _swag_," --That's French, I fancy, for a hat--or else a carpet-bag. I went and told the constable my property to track; He asked me if "I did not wish that I might get it back?" I answered, "To be sure I do!--it's what I'm come about." He smiled and said, "Sir, does your mother know that you are out?" Not knowing what to do, I thought I'd hasten back to town, And beg our own Lord Mayor to catch the Boy who'd "done me brown." His Lordship very kindly said he'd try and find him out, But he "rather thought that there were several vulgar boys about." He sent for Mr. Whithair then, and I described "the swag," My Macintosh, my sugar-tongs, my spoons, and carpet-bag; He promised that the New Police should all their powers employ; But never to this hour have I beheld that vulgar Boy! MORAL. Remember, then, what when a boy I've heard my Grandma' tell, "BE WARN'D IN TIME BY OTHERS' HARM, AND YOU SHALL DO FULL WELL!" Don't link yourself with vulgar folks, who've got no fixed abode, Tell lies, use naughty words, and say they "wish they may be blow'd!" Don't take too much of double X!--and don't at night go out To fetch your beer yourself, but make the pot-boy bring your stout! And when you go to Margate next, just stop, and ring the bell, Give my respects to Mrs. Jones, and say I'm pretty well! FOOTNOTES: [40] QUI FACIT PER ALIUM FACIT PER SE--Deem not, gentle stranger, that Mr. Cobb is a petty dealer and chapman, as Mr. Simpkinson would here seem to imply. He is a _maker_, not a retailer of stingo,--and mighty pretty tipple he _makes_. * * * * *