The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, The gunner, and his mate, Loved Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, But none of us cared for Kate; For she had a tongue with a tang, Would cry to a sailor, Go hang! She loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch; Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch. Then, to sea, boys, and let her go hang! |