"Come," cried Jemmy, "now that we are quiet again, let's have another
song; and who is it to be--Dick Short?"

"Short, my boy, come, you must sing."

"No," replied Short.

"Yes, yes--one verse," said Spurey.

"He never sings more," replied Jemmy Ducks, "so he must give us that.
Come, Short."

"Yes," replied Short, taking the pipe out of his mouth, and wetting his
lips with the grog.

_Short_ stay apeak was the anchor,
We had but a _short_ minute more,
In _short_, I no longer could banker,
For _short_ was the cash in my store.
I gave one _short_ look,
As Poll heaved a _short_ sigh
One _short_ hug I took,
_Short_ the matter cut I,
And off I went to sea.

"Go on, Dick."

"No," replied Short, resuming his pipe.