Till I'm dead, till I'm dead."

But it was more especially the long struggle with Napoleon that led to
an outburst of naval poetry. It is to the national feelings current
during this period that we owe such songs as "The Bay of Biscay, O," by
Andrew Cherry; "Hearts of Oak," by David Garrick[110]; "The Saucy
Arethusa," by Prince Hoare; "A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea," by Allan
Cunningham; "Ye Mariners of England," by Thomas Campbell, and a host of
others. Amongst this nautical choir, Charles Dibdin, who was born in
1745, stands pre-eminent. Sir Cyprian Bridge, in his introduction to Mr.
Stone's collection of _Sea Songs_, tells us that it is doubtful whether
Dibdin's songs "were ever very popular on the forecastle." The really
popular songs, he thinks, were of a much more simple type, and were
termed "Fore-bitters," from the fact that the man who sang them took his
place on the fore-bitts, "a stout construction of timber near the
foremast, through which many of the principal ropes were led." However
this may be, there cannot be the smallest doubt that Dibdin's songs
exercised a very powerful effect on landsmen, and contributed greatly to
foster national pride in the navy and popular sympathy with sailors. It
was presumably a cordial recognition of this fact that led Pitt to grant
him a pension. It would, indeed, be difficult to conceive poetry more
calculated to make the chord of national sentiment vibrate responsively
than "Tom Bowling" or that well-known song in which Dibdin depicted at
once the high sense of duty and the rough, albeit affectionate,
love-making of "Poor Jack":

I said to our Poll, for, d'ye see, she would cry,
When last we made anchor for sea,
What argufies sniv'ling and piping your eye?
Why, what a damn'd fool you must be!
. . . . .
As for me in all weathers, all times, tides and ends,
Nought's a trouble from duty that springs,
For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino my friend's,
And as for my life it's the King's;
Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft
As for grief to be taken aback,
For the same little cherub that sits up aloft
Will look out a good berth for poor Jack!

Pride in the navy and its commanders is breathed forth in the following
eulogy of Admiral Jervis (Lord St. Vincent):

You've heard, I s'pose, the people talk
Of Benbow and Boscawen,
Of Anson, Pocock, Vernon, Haw