_Neptune._ Pooh! Only my fun.
Fire away with your yarn. Let's see, where had you got to?

_Vulcan._ You know that I lived some nine years in a grotto,
With Thetis, that _belle_ of the Ocean, and therefore
I'm _not_ such a land-lubber. Not that I care for
Your coarse briny flouts, my old Mulberry-nose.

_Neptune._ Humph! You've turned a teetotaller now, I suppose,
And should I sing "Hey! Ho! and a bottle of rum,"
You'd not join in the song--or the swizzle?

_Vulcan._ Oh, come,
We have no WILFRID LAWSON in Sicily yet;
All my Cyclops would strike. Yes! I'm game for a "wet."

_Neptune._ That's hearty. Now, then, you young TRITON, look slippy,
Fetch up t'other bottle. I feel rather nippy.
And then the occasion! BRITANNIA'S my dear,
We must drink to her health in this Jubilee Year.

_Vulcan._ I'm glad you say "We."

_Neptune._ Well, I own you are "in it."
I wouldn't dispute your fair claims for a minute,
But they're thundering ugly, your new Iron Walls,
And when a big fight comes,--well, look out for squalls.
This playing at battle is all very grand,
But _I_ think twelve-inch metal much fitter for land.
Wood's the stuff for the sea; that's a point in my _credo._
That "mount" of yours safe? I don't think a torpedo
A patch on a Sea-horse, or even a Triton.

_Vulcan._ All right! 'tisn't charged, so there's nothing to frighten.
Things are not now done in your toasting-fork way.

_Neptune._ Humph! My trident enabled BRITANNIA to sway
In a style that's admitted on every side;
Whilst your guns and torpedoes remain to be tried.
Your ARMSTRONGS and WHITEHEADS may give themselves airs,
But they don't seem to stop periodical "scares."
Perhaps you may wish, when it _does_ come to war,
For the old Man-of-war and the old pig-tailed Tar.
However, old boy, here's the grog. That's a bottle
That might have glug-glug'd down my NELSON'S brave throttle;
It's been in my cellar since Trafalgar.

_Vulcan._ Truly?

_Neptune._ Yes. 'Tis a big day,--let us honour it duly;
A splendid wind-up to the Jubilee _fetes_.
Well, manhood and pluck are not matters of date.
Let us hope, when it really does come to a tussle,
That brave British spirit and stout British muscle
May have the