Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which
Is a trick all seamen larn,
And having got rid of a thumping quid,
He spun this painful yarn:

"'Twas in the good ship _Nancy Bell_
That we sailed to the Indian sea,
And there on a reef we come to grief,
Which has often occurred to me.

"And pretty nigh all o' the crew was drowned
(There was seventy-seven o' soul),
And only ten of the _Nancy's_ men
Said 'Here!' to the muster roll.

"There was me and the cook and the captain bold,
And the mate of the _Nancy_ brig,
And the bo'sun tight and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig.

"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink,
Till a-hungry we did feel,
So, we drawed a lot, and, accordin' shot
The captain for our meal.

"The next lot fell to the _Nancy's_ mate,
And a delicate dish he made;
Then our appetite with the midshipmite
We seven survivors stayed.