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Our ancient poets sung the praise
Of nectar and of wine,
And made us believe their influence
Was god‑like and divine;
But I'll embrace another theme,
A novel one I own:
In random verse I now chaunt forth
The praises of cologne.
Eau de Cologne, 'tis you I mean,
The toilet's ornament;
What fribbling exquisite on shore
Without you is content;
Yet 'mongst the fashionable throng
You're not adored alone,
On board our ship your name is held
In high repute, cologne.
Yes, our famed frigate's hardy crew,
Whilst ploughing the stormy sea,
Found out but a few days ago
Your worth and quality;
And many a dollar was laid out,
For which they did not moan,
And round the purser's room flock'd crowds
Purchasing you, cologne.
Although our ship was off Cape Horn,
The billows mountain high,
Yet 'spite of all the tempest's force,
Cologne was all the cry;
And 'mongst our frigate's jolly crew,
I'm certain there were none
That did not give their meed of praise
To you, all‑famed cologne.
It may be asked, what was the cause
This was in such demand;
Perhaps you think they used it
As the dandies do on land!
p71 Oh no, indeed; our hardy tars
So foppish had not grown:
The fact is they made first-rate punch
Out of the dear cologne.
Some days before the grog-money
Was to the ship's crew paid,
And till they'd reach their destined port,
Each dollar by was laid;
But when the news of this dear stuff
Around the ship had flown,
Each monk‑bag, it was opened wide,
Purchasing you, cologne.
You might around the purser's room
An eager group now see,
With glittering silver in their hands,
And faces full of glee;
With voice quite low, that it might reach
The steward's ear alone,
They cry, "come quick, here is the cash,
Let me have some cologne."
But this fountain it was soon stop'd up,
'Twas said it was all gone;
But the fact is, that some certain folks
Had clapped a stopper on;
And when they heard the news, it turned
Each heart as cold as stone.
To think they could no more enjoy
Their dear-beloved cologne.
So here's success to every tar
That loves his glass in reason,
For sure a drop of stimulus
At sea is no great treason;
And who can tell but when this scrape
Some time has over blown,
Our tars may fix on other stuff
As good as old cologne.
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Page updated: 5 Oct 21