Punch, or the London Charivari

The splendid Petty Officer fell flat upon the deck; They bore him to the Sick Bay just a weak and worthless wreck; But an A.B. who was standing by had caught the wicked word And told the Duty Officer exactly what occurred:-- "Boy Simpkins (Second Class, too!), which I think yer oughter know, Sir, 'Ad the lip ter mutter 'Blast you!' ter the Fust-Class C.P.O., Sir."

There is silence in the foc's'le, on the quarter-deck dismay, And the lower deck is humming in a most unusual way; The working-party pauses as it cleans a six-inch gun, And tho Officer on Duty whispers hoarse to "Number One":-- "Boy Simpkins (Second Class, too!), I suppose you ought to know, Sir, Had the cheek to mutter 'Blast you!' to a First-Class C.P.O., Sir."

Number One, his face is ashen and his knees knock as he runs (A curious phenomenon quite rare in Number Ones); But on he rushed until he saw the tall brass-hatted Bloke, And, nervously saluting, incoherently he spoke:-- "Boy Simpkins (Second Class, to