Of the Wooden Walls of England, and likeways the Thin Red Line;
But for those as form that Line, mate, or for those as man them Walls,
Scribes don't seem so precious anxious to kick up their lyric squalls.
Not a bit of it, my hearty; for one reason--it don't pay;
There is small demand, my TOMMY, for a DIBDIN in our day.
Oh, I know that arter dinner your M.P.'s can up and quote
Tasty tit-bits from old CHARLEY, which they all reel off by rote;
But if there _is_ a cherub up aloft to watch poor JACK,
That there cherub ain't a poet,--bards are on another tack.

TOMMY ATKINS, TOMMY ATKINS, BULL is sweet on "loyal toasts,"
And he spends his millions freely on his squadrons and his hosts,
But there isn't much on't, messmate, not so fur as _I_ can see,
Whether 'tis rant or rhino, that gets spent on you and me.
Still the _Times_ has took our case up,--werry handsome o' the _Times_!--
I have heard it charged with prejudice, class-hate, and similar crimes,
But it shows it's got fair sperret and a buzzum as can feel
When it backs us with a "Leader" arter printing our "Appeal."
You are better off, my TOMMY, than the Navy Rank and File,
You _may_ chance to get promotion,--arter waiting a good while--
But the tip-top of Tar luck's to be a Warrant Officer;
We ain't like to get no further, if we even get _as_ fur.
'Tain't encouraging, my hearty. As for me, I'm old and grey,
'Tis too late now for promotion if it chanced to come _my_ way;
And my knowledge, and my patter, and my manners--well I guess
They mayn't be percisely fitted for a dandy ward-room mess.
But the Navy of the Future, TOMMY ATKINS, is our care,
We have gone through many changes, and for others must prepare.
It will make the Navy popular, more prospect of advance;
And what I say is, TOMMY,--_let the young uns have a chance!_