Which my name is Stoker Bill,
And a pleasant berth I fill,
And the care the ladies take of me is clipping;
They have made me pretty snug,
With a blooming Persian rug,
In the Ladies’ new Æsthetic Training Shipping.
There’s my Whistler pastels, there,
As are quite beyond compare,
And a portrait of Miss Connie Gilchrist skipping;
From such art we all expect
Quite a softening effect,
In the Ladies’ new Æsthetic Training Shipping.
And my beer comes in a mug—
Such a rare old Rhodian jug!
And here I sits æsthetically sipping;
And I drinks my grog or ale
On a chair by Chippendale—
We’ve no others in our modern training shipping.
There’s our first Liftenant, too,
Is a rare old (China) Blue,
And you do not very often catch him tripping
At a monogram or mark,
But no more than Noah’s ark,
Does he know the way to manage this here shipping.
But the Boys? the Boys, they stands
With white lilies in their hands,
And they do not know the meaning of a whipping:
For the whole delightful ship is
Like a dream of Lippo Lippi’s,
More than what you mostly see in modern shipping.