Wallace Irwin
They were twenty men on the ‘Cabbage Rose’
As she sailed from the Marmaduke Piers
For I counted ten on me fingers and toes
And ten on me wrists and ears.

As gallant as skipper as ever skipped
Or sailors as ever sailed
As valiant trippers as ever tripped
Or tailors as ever tailed.

What has become of the ‘Cabbage Rose’
That steered for the oping sea
And what has become of them and those
That went for a trip in she?

Oh, a maiden she stood on the brown wharf’s end
A-watching the distant sail
And she says with a sigh to her elderly friend
“I’m trimming my hat with a veil.”

A roundsman says to a little Jack Tar
“I orfentimes wonder if we - “
And the Jackey replied as he bit his cigar
“Aye, aye, me hearty,” says he.

And a beggar was setting on Marmaduke Piers
Collecting of nickels and dimes
And a large stout party on Marmaduke Piers
Was a-reading the Morning Times.

Little they thought of the ‘Cabbage Rose’
And the whirl-i-cane gusts a-wait
With the polly-wows to muzzle her bows
And bear her down to her fate.

But the milliner’s lad by the outer rim
He says to hisself, “No hope!”
And the little brown dog as belonged to him
Sat chewing a yard of rope.

And a pale old fisherman beat his breast
As he gazed far out on the blue
For the nor’east wind it was blowing west
Which it hadn’t no right to do.

But what has become of the ‘Cabbage Rose’
And her capting, Ezra Flower?
Dumd if I cares and dumd if I knows
She’s only been gone an hour.
The end