You're both argufying a good bit too fast there,
Whilst that which you stand on seems wobbling.
You'll be in a mess, Messmates, shortly, the pair of you.
Give _me_ a thought in the matter!
_My_ interest's at stake, and it isn't quite fair of you
Me to ignore 'midst your clatter.

If 'twere not for me, Mates, this cold Behring's Sea, Mates,
Would hardly strike you as so tempting.
Do grant your poor prey, if I may make so free, Mates,
From slaughter some annual exempting!
I'm worried and walloped without intermission
Until even family duties
Quite fail, whilst your countrymen cudgel and fish on.
By Jingo, some of 'em are beauties!

My poor wife and children have not half a chance, Mates.
That's not to your interest, I reckon.
Cease shindy, and on a new course make advance, Mates,
Where sense and humanity beckon.
There's not much of either in cruelly clubbing
My progeny all out of season;
And if you are bent upon mutual drubbing,
You must quite have parted with reason.

_Mare clausum_, be blowed! That's all BLAINE's big bow-wow, Mates.
Men can't thus monopolise oceans.
Diplomacy _must_ find a compromise now, Mates,
And, well--I have told you _my_ notions.
Give me a close-time,--I shall be very grateful--