The mate was fixed by the bos’n’s pike, </br> The bos’n brained with a marlinspike. - Young E. Allison

Suppose every word that every member of this intelligent and most respectable audience has said today:—the merchant to his customers and creditors; the man of leisure to his cronies and companions, the professional man to his clients; even the ladies to their bosom friends at tea or euchre—suppose, I say, that every word you had uttered had been taken down by some marvelous mechanical contrivance, and should be published verbatim tomorrow morning with your names attached showing just what each of you had said. What do you think would happen? I can tell you from observation. You would likely spend next year explaining, denying, apologizing and repenting. Suits for slander would appear on the courthouse shelves as thick as blackberries in August. There would be friendships shattered, confidences dissipated, feuds established, social anarchy enthroned and perhaps this admirable club could never hold another meeting for lack of a quorum of members willing to meet each other in one room.

We wrapped ’em all in a mains’l tight, </br> With twice ten turns of a hawser’s bight, </br> And we heaved ’em over and out of sight— </br> With a yo-heave-ho! </br> And a fare-you-well! </br> And a sullen plunge </br> In the sullen swell </br> Ten fathoms deep on the road to hell— </br> Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

A flimsy shift on a bunker cot, </br> With a thin dirk-slot through the bosom spot </br> And the lace stiff-dry in a purplish blot. </br> Or was she wench... </br> Or some shuddering maid...? </br> That dared the knife </br> And that took the blade! </br> By God! she was stuff for a plucky jade— </br> Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!