Classic Poem

The moon on the ocean was dimm'd by a ripple,
Affording a chequer'd delight,
The gay jolly tars pass'd the word for the tipple,
And the toast, for 'twas Saturday night:
Some sweetheart or wife that he loved as his life
Each drank while he wish'd he could hail her;
But the standing toast that pleased the most
Was—The wind that blows, the ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor!

Some drank the king and his brave ships,
And some the constitution,
Some, “May our foes and all such rips
Own English resolution!”
That fate might bless some Poll or Bess,
And that they soon might hail her,
But the standing toast that pleased the most
Was—The wind that blows, the ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor!

Some drank our queen, and some our land,
Our glorious land of freedom!
Some that our tars might never stand
For heroes brave to lead 'em!
That beauty in distress might find
Such friends as ne'er would fail her;
But the standing toast that pleased the most
Was—The wind that blows, the ship that goes,
And the lass that loves a sailor!