"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