The Achilles though christened, good ship, 'tis surmised,
From that old man of war great Achilles so prized,
Was he, like our vessel, pray, fairly baptized?
Ti tol lol, &c.

Poets sung that Achilles: if now they've an itch
To sing this, future ages may know which is which;
And that one rode in Greece, and the other in pitch.
Ti tol lol, &c.

What though but a merchant ship, sure our supplies.
Now your men of war's gain in a lottery lies,
And how blank they all look when they can't get a prize!
Ti tol lol, &c.

What are all their fine names? When no rhino's behind,
The Intrepid and Lion look sheepish you'll find;
Whilst, alas! the poor Æolus can't raise the wind!
Ti tol lol, &c.

Then the Thunderer's dumb; out of tune the Orpheus ;
The Ceres has nothing at all to produce;
And the Eagle I warrant you looks like a goose.
Ti tol lol, &c.

But we merchant lads, though the foe we can't maul,
Nor are paid like fine king ships to fight at a call,
Why, we pay ourselves well without fighting at all.
Ti tol lol, &c.