Classic Poem

His cruise being o'er, the candidate again
Must spread his canvass on the public main;
By mess and bounty, trusty pilots court,
To steer him safely to the former port;
With flowing pennant deck his rendezvous,
To fill his log-book with a sturdy crew;
Unfurl his clewings, fill each mess-mate's bowl,
Lest he may founder ere he makes the pole.
When safe in port, his tars paid off as lumber,
For seven long years he may refit, or slumber.

'Tis partly thus with ev'ry play-house lubber,
From him who steers, to the box-lobby scrubber.
When flies the signal that he means to sail,
And doubtful trust him to the public gale,
That he has charter'd for one night the ship,
To risk his fortune on a single trip;
At the main-top his luring ensign flies,
Whilst swab his jacks around the harbour plies;
His ship-mates stand each at his proper rope,
Weigh ev'ry anchor, and rely on—Hope.
Shou'd hope alone a British tar inflame!
When Duncan leads him to immortal fame,
Who 'midst loud tempests our dread thunder bore,
To shake the Belgians on their very shore;
Spread his blue flag triumphant at the main,
And led them captives thro' their own domain.
On languid hope let Dons and Mynheers rest,
Whilst certain conquest fires each Briton's breast.
May Duncan long, with union flag unfurl'd,
As George's vice-roy rule the liquid world;
His brave companions all his laurels share;
And I be grateful for this evenings fare.
My little bark in safety now may ride,
With sails, with rigging, and sea-store supply'd;
Can by your freight clear out all costs and charges,
Nor dread the grappling of your city barges.
Tho' now a master of repute, and stable,
Wer't not for you, I must have slipt my cable.