t as for men,
Crying is all my eye.

Then push the can around, my boys, and let us merry be;
We'll rig the pumps if a leak we spring, and work most merrily;
Salt water we have sure enough, we'll add not to its store,
But drink, and laugh, and sing, and chat, and call again for more.
The girls may pump,
As in we jump
To the boat, and say, "Good bye;"
But as for we,
Who sailors be,
Crying is all my eye.

"Bravo, Obadiah! now one more song, and then we'll aboard. It won't do
to bowse your jib up too tight here," said Jemmy; "for it's rather
dangerous navigation among all these canals--no room for yawing."

"No," replied Dick Short.

"Then," said Jemmy, jumping off the table with his fiddle in his hand.
"Let's have the roarer by way of a finish--what d'ye say, my hearties?"

Up they all rose, and gathered together in the centre of the room, save
Jemmy Ducks, who, flourishing with his fiddle, commenced--

Jack's alive, and a merry dog,
When he gets on shore
He calls for his glass of grog,
He drinks, and he calls for more.
So drink, and call for what you please,
Until you've had your whack, boys;
We think no more of raging seas,
Now that we've come back, boys.

"Chorus, now--"

With a _whip, snip_, high cum diddledy,
The cog-wheels of life have need of much oiling;
_Smack, crack_,--this is our jubilee:
Huzza, my lads! we'll keep the pot boiling.

All the seamen joined in the chorus, which they accompanied both with
their hands and feet, snapping their fingers at _whip_ and _snip_, and
smacking their hands at _smack_ and _crack_, while they danced round in
the most grotesque manner, to Jemmy's fiddle and voice; the chorus ended
in loud laughter, for they had now proved the words of the song to be
true, and were all alive and merry. According to the rules of the song,
Jemmy now called out for the next singer, Coble.

Jack's alive and merry, my boys,
When he's on blue water,
In the battle's rage and noise,
And the main-deck slaughter.
So drink and call for what you please,
Until you've had your whack, boys;
We'll think no more of angry seas,
Until that we go back, boys.

_Chorus_--With a _whip, snip_, high cum diddledy,
The cog-wheels of life have need of much oiling;
_Smack, crack_,--this is our jubilee:
Huzza, my lads! we'll keep the pot boiling.

Jansen and Jemmy Ducks, after the dancing chorus had finished--

Yack alive and