The Royal Tar.

A jolly sea-dog is the Duke,
An Admiral bold and free,
With a six-foot sword
And the air of a Lord
A-cruising about at sea.

He's a skipper of great renown,
And a sailor you'd agree
If you saw on the "Ophir"
How he sits on a sofa
While plunging along at sea.

A laugh, a quip, and a joke
He sends to the gales a-lee,
As down in the hold
Where he won't catch cold
He weathers the rolling sea.

Scampering round the decks
There's none so quick as he—
In big cocked hats
And patent leather spats
Roving around at sea.

To the gallant and jovial tar
Let's drink in Barley Bree
As in uniform bright
As the stars of night
He roves away over the sea.