The Letter of a Certain Admiral

Mr. Cleveland, I pray, to their lordships you'll say
We are glad and rejoice above measure :
When you have read what is writ you, you'll laugh till it split you,
And so give me joy of my pleasure.

We'd a wind, you must know, as fair as could blow,
And therefore in days just eleven,
We had sail'd from the shore, full ten leagues or more,
And saw nought but the ocean and heaven.

Then seventeen ships came licking their lips.
And crying out, ' Fee, faw and furn ';
Bigger each than Saint Paul; guns, the devil and all;
And, egad, looking wondrous glum.

But no matter for that, who says pit-a-pat ?
We tack'd, and we stood to the. weather ;
We tack'd quite about, right and left, brave and stout,
And so we were sideways together.

Souls five score and two, maugre all they could do,
We took in a tartan alive;
Six hundred did sail in the vessel so frail,
But our hundred had eat up the five.

But of this by the bye ; for now we drew nigh
To each other quite close nay, 'tis true ;
Six times two of the line, large, grand, bright and fine ;
Five frigates ! but look'd rather blue.

'Fair honour,' quoth I, ' in thy arms let me die,
And my glory burn clear in the socket';
Not an ounce more of powder, or a gun a note louder.
So the directions] I put in my pocket.

Brave West led the van, I followed amain ;
Such closing, and raking, and work,
With foresails and braces all flutt'ring in pieces,
'Twould have melted the heart of a Turk.

But the devil, in spite, to blast our delight,
Got aboard the Intrepid, his daughter ;
Made her jump, fly, and jumble, reel, elbow, and tumble,
And drove us quite out of the water.

And now, being tea-time, we thought it was the time
To talk over what we had done;
So we put on the kettle our tempers to settle ;
And presently set the fair sun.

Our council next day, in seemly array,
Met, sat, and debated the story :
We found that our fleet at last might be beat,
And then, you know, where is the glory ?

Moreover, 'twas plain, three ships in the van
Had their glasses and china all broke;
And this gave the balance, in spite of great talents,
Against us a damnable stroke !

Without fear of reproaches, as sound as your roaches,
Of glory we've sav'd our whole stock;
'Twere pity, indeed, to lose it, or bleed,
For a toothless old man and a rock.