THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL"by W. S. Gilbert (circ 1866, Gilbert & Sullivan)
'Twas
on the shores that round our coast
From Deal to Ramsgate
span,
That I found alone
on a piece of stone
An elderly naval
man.
His
hair was weedy, his beard was long,
And weedy and long
was he,
And I heard this
wight on the shore recite,
In a singular minor
key:
"Oh,
I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the
Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight,
and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the
captain's gig."
And
he shook his fists and he tore his hair,
Till I really felt
afraid,
For I couldn't help
thinking the man had been drinking,
And so I simply said:
"Oh,
elderly man, it's little I know
Of the duties of
men of the sea,
But I'll eat my hand
if I understand
How you can possibly
be?
"At
once a cook, and a captain bold,
And the mate of the
Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight,
and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the
captain's gig."
Then
he gave a hitch to his trousers, which
Is a trick all seamen
larn,
And having got rid
of a thumping quid,
He spun this painful
yarn:
"
'Twas in the good ship Nancy Bell
That we sailed to
the Indian sea,
And there on a reef
we come to grief,
Which has often occurred
to me.
"And
pretty nigh all o' the crew was drowned
(There was seventy-seven
o' soul),
And only ten of the
Nancy's men
Said 'Here!' to the
muster-roll.
"There
was me and the cook and the captain bold,
And the mate of the
Nancy brig,
And the bo'sun tight,
and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the
captain's gig.
"For
a month we'd neither wittles nor drink,
Till a-hungry we
did feel,
So we drawed a lot,
and accordin' shot
The captain for our
meal.
"The
next lot fell to the Nancy's mate,
And a delicate dish
he made;
Then our appetite
with the midshipmite
We seven survivors
stayed.
"And
then we murdered the bo'sun tight,
And he much resembled
pig;
Then we wittled free,
did the cook and me,
On the crew of the
captain's gig.
"Then
only the cook and me was left,
And the delicate
question, 'Which
Of us two goes to
the kettle?' arose
And we argued it
out as sich.
"For
I loved that cook as a brother, I did,
And the cook he worshipped
me;
But we'd both be
blowed if we'd either be stowed
In the other chap's
hold, you see.
"
'I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says Tom,
'Yes, that,' says
I, 'you'll be,'--
'I'm boiled if I
die, my friend,' quoth I,
And 'Exactly so,'
quoth he.
'Says
he,' Dear James, to murder me
Were a foolish thing
to do,
For don't you see
that you can't cook me,
While I can--and
will--cook you!'
"So
he boils the water, and takes the salt
And the pepper in
portions true
(Which he never forgot),
and some chopped shalot,
And some sage and
parsley too.
"
'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride,
Which his smiling
features tell,
' 'Twill soothing
be if I let you see,
How extremely nice
you'll smell.'
"And
he stirred it round and round and round,
And he sniffed at
the foaming froth;
When I ups with his
heels, and smothers his squeals
In the scum of the
boiling broth.
"And
I eat that cook in a week or less,
And--as I eating
be
The last of his chops,
why, I almost drops,
For a wessel in sight
I see!
"And
I never grin, and I never smile,
And I never larf
nor play,
But I sit and croak,
and a single joke
I have--which is
to say:
"Oh,
I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the
Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight,
and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the
captain's gig!"