And Bill's teeth fast in his tail!

_Chorus:_ Small wonder a Bear should quail!
To have larded his nose, to have greased his eyes,
And be stung at the last in his tail.

Pull, Bo'sun! Pull, Bear! In the hot sweet gloom,
Pull Bruin, pull Bill, for the skies!
Pull--out of their gold with a bombard's boom
Come Black Bill's honeyed thighs!
Pull! Up! Up! Up! with a scuffle and scramble,
To that little blue ring of bliss,
This Bear doth go with our Bo'sun in tow
Stinging his tail, I wis.

_Chorus:_ And this Bear thinks--"Many great bees I know,
But there never was Bee like this!"

All in the gorgeous death of day
We had slipped from our emerald creek,
And our _Cloud i' the Sun_ was careening away
With the old gay flag at the peak,
When, suddenly, out of the purple wood,
Breast-high thro' the lilies there danced
A tall lean figure, black as a nigger,
That shouted and waved and pranced!

_Chorus:_ A gold-greased figure, but black as a nigger,
Waving his shirt as he pranced!

"'Tis Hylas! 'Tis Hylas!" our chaplain flutes,
And our skipper he looses a shout!
"'Tis Bill! Black Bill, in his old sea-boots!
_Stand by to bring her about!
Har-r-rd a-starboard!"_ And round we came,
With a lurch and a dip and a roll,
And a banging boom thro' the rose-red gloom
For our old Black Bo'sun's soul!

_Chorus:_ Alive! Not dead! Tho' behind his head
He'd a seraphin's aureole!

And our chaplain he sniffs, as Bill finished his tale,
(With the honey still scenting his hair!)
O'er a plate of salt beef and a mug of old ale--
"By Pope Joan, there's no sense in a bear!"
And we laughed, but our Bo'sun he solemnly growls
--"Till the sails of yon heavens be furled,
It taketh--now, mark!--all the beasts in the Ark,
Teeth and claws, too, to make a good world!"

C