Dibdin Modernized

I steamed from the Downs in the Nancy,
My jib how she smoked through the breeze.
She's a vessel as tight to my fancy
As ever boil'd through the salt seas.

* * * * *

When up the flue the sailor goes
And ventures on the pot,
The landsman, he no better knows,
But thinks hard is his lot.

Bold Jack with smiles each danger meets,
Weighs anchor, lights the log;
Trims up the fire, picks out the slates,
And drinks his can of grog.

* * * * *

Go patter to lubbers and swabs, do you see,
'Bout danger, and fear, and the like;
But a Boulton and Watt and good Wall's end give me;
And it an't too a little I'll strike.

Though the tempest our chimney smack smooth shall down smite,
And shiver each bundle of wood;
Clear the wreck, stir the fire, and stow everything tight,
And boiling a gallop we'll scud.