little," cried the Dominie.

"And swear a little--"

"Swear _not_ a little," echoed Tom.

"And fiddle a little--"

"Fiddle a little," hiccuped the Dominie.

"And foot it a little--"

"Foot it a little," repeated Tom.

"And swig the flowing can,
And fiddle a little,
And foot it a little,
And swig the flowing can--"

roared old Tom, emptying his pannikin.

"And swig the flowing can--"

followed the Dominie, tossing off his.

"And swig the flowing can--"

cried young Tom turning up his pannikin empty.

"Hurrah! that's what I calls glorious. Let's have it over again, and
then we'll have another dose. Come, now, all together." Again was the
song repeated; and when they came to "foot it a little," old Tom jumped
on his stumps, seizing hold of the Dominie, who immediately rose, and
the three danced round and round for a minute or two, singing the song
and chorus, till old Tom, who was very far gone, tripped against the
coamings of the hatchway, pitching his head into the Dominie's stomach,
who fell backwards, clinging to young Tom's hand; so that they all
rolled on the deck together--my worthy preceptor underneath the other
two.

"Foot it _rather too much_ that time, father," said young Tom, getting
up the first, and laughing. "Come, Jacob, let's put father on his pins
again; he can't rise without a purchase." With some difficulty, we
succeeded. As soon as he was on his legs again, old Tom put a hand upon
each of our shoulders, and commenced, with a drunken leer--

"What though his timbers they are gone,
And he's a slave to tipple,
No better sailor e'er was born
Than Tom, the jovial cripple.

"Thanky, my boys, thanky; now rouse up the old gentleman. I suspect we
knocked the wind out of him. Hollo, there, are you hard and fast?"

"The bricks are hard, and verily my senses are fast departing," quoth
the Dominie, rousing himself, and sitting up, staring around him.

"Senses going, do you say, master?" cried old Tom. "Don't throw them
overboard till we have made a finish. One more pannikin apiece, one
more song, and then to bed. Tom, where's the bottle?"

"Drink no more, sir, I beg; you'll be ill to-morrow," said I to the
Dominie.

"_Deprome quadrimum_," hiccuped the Dominie. "_Carpe diem--quam
minimum--creula postero._--Sing, friend Dux--_Quem virum--sumes
celebrare--music amicus_.--Where's my pattypan?--We are not
Thracians--_Natis in usum--laetitae scyphis pugn