The press-ganged wedding,
Ahh…the rolling in the hay!
By the fifth I was willing.
Until my tongue felt the shilling.
In the brig, I felt bruising.
And my jail, it was moving.
My heart was then lifted,
For a moment I was blind.
Squinted smile to the stern,
As we sailed to Tenerife,
The effect I would soon feel,
Man’s gift from Prometheus.
With firey canons blasting,
From our good ship Theseus.
Our bravest of all Captains,
Rear Admiral of the Blue.
Lost an arm for the boys,
Huzzah Horatio...the true!
Leftlimping home, egos bruised.
Craving revenge, it was hard,
With no seas or band of brothers,
But then came the Vanguard!
For months on end we sailed,
A scored thirst there was to quench.
Davy’s locker was soon to see,
The whole fleet of the French.
We were fixed on both quarters.
The seas red with the slaughter.
Gave his eye to glory that day.
To his lads who fought hard,
Death dispatched, without delay.
Ship after ship, under Zeus,
I served and would still if alive,
In Eighteen hundred and five.
We won then sailed, teared silence,
He joined us, tankards filled with Ales,
One last time on the main deck,
Then his wind, it filled our sails.
(Copyright) Pedro BatPoet 2019