Now, 'ere's my tip
Fer the Fusion ship,
An' I tells it straight an' square.
I'm a rare old tar
As nigh an' far
You'll not meet ev'rywhere.
I've seen 'er sail
In many a gale,
But she's done 'er final trip;
So I 'itches me breeches, an' a simple tale I pitches
O' this good ole Fusion ship.
'Twas Alf an' Joe,
Long years ago,
They built 'er any 'ow.
'Twas a strange ole skiff
With 'er keel skew-wiff,
An' a double-ended bow.
Yus, a nose each end,
An' a Grecian bend
Amidships, quaint an' queer.
When I seen 'er take the water, "Ho!" ses I, "she is a snorter!"
An' I gives a 'earty cheer.
An' sail she did.
But I'l lay ten quid
No ship, before nor since,
Done 'arf 'er tricks;
'Er darned ole fix
'Ud make longshoremen wince.
She'd bob and bow,
The blamed old scow,
Like a wet an' foolish 'en;
An' 'er subsekint behav'er an' the effects fer to save 'er
Was a treat fer sailor-men.
An' Alf 'e was
'Er skipper, 'cos
No other could be got
To sail that craft!
An' fore an' aft
They was a rare ole lot.
So queer a crew
I never knew
An' Joe, 'e was fust mate.
An' to 'ear 'im scold and rate 'er, when 'e tried to navigate 'er -
Well, I tell yeh, it was great!
Fer some they said
To point 'er 'ead
Fer nor'-nor'-east by east,
Fer Tory Bay,
An' some said "Nay,"
An' the langwidge never eased.
An' some they pressed
To sail doo west,
Fer the ole Freetection port.
An' the way she waltzed an' wobbled, while they 'owled an' fought an' squabbled.
Ho, I never seen sich sport!
An' pore ole Joe!
'Is watch below
Was mostly short an' sweet;
Fer 'e never knew
Wot time that crew
Might up an' change 'er beat.
But Alf, the boss,
'E took 'is doss,
An' 'e let 'er sail or stop;
Fer in days when seas was finer 'e was skipper of a liner,
An' 'e sorter felt the drop.
Now, she's dropped at last
'Er anchor fast
In the 'arbor of Recess.
'Er sheets is tore,
An' 'er plates is wore,
An' she'll sail no more, I guess.
Alf got the pip
On 'er final trip,
An' there's some as said 'e swore
'E was sickened of 'er capers; so 'e 'anded in 'is papers,
An' she'll put to sea no more.
But it's 'ip, 'ip, 'ip!
Fer the Fusion ship,
Fer the navigatin' 'en!
Since 'er cruise begun
She 'as give great fun
To us 'eart sailor-men.
We 'ave cheered an' laughed
An' joked an' chaffed
Since the day she put to sea;
So I takes a pull and 'itches (as our 'abit is) my breeches,
An' I give 'er three times three.
First published in The Bulletin, 23 January 1913
Author reference sites: C.J. Dennis, Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography, Australian Poetry Library
See also.
