Page:The Bab Ballads.djvu/71

 The Panther's Captain stood hard by,
 * He was a man of morals strict,

If e'er a sailor winked his eye,
 * Straightway he had that sailor licked,

Mast-headed all (such was his code) Who dashed or jiggered, blessed or blowed.

He wept to think a tar of his
 * Should lean so gracefully on posts,

He sighed and sobbed to think of this,
 * On foreign, French, and friendly coasts.

"It's human natur', p'raps—if so, Oh, isn't human natur' low!"

He called his, who pulled his curl,
 * He said, "My, I understand

You've captivated some young gurl
 * On this here French and foreign land.

Her tender heart your beauties jog— They do, you know they do, you dog.

"You have a graceful way, I learn,
 * Of leaning airily on posts,

By which you've been and caused to burn
 * A tender flame on these here coasts.

A fisher gurl, I much regret,— Her age, sixteen—her name.