Bill's Choice

'All that sort o' guff,' said Bill, 'they may keep About 'ow nice it is bein' buried at sea, For I don't want no rest in the rollin' deep, Nor yet no blinkin' fishes a-nibblin' me.' 'I never could see no sense in slingin' a rhyme Over a bolt o' sail an' a dollop o' lead, An' sailormen get salt water enough in their time Not to be wantin' the taste of it after they're dead.' 'An' if I was goin' to be buried, the place for me 'Ud be some snug port or other, I don't mind where, Somewhere within the sound an' smell o' the sea, East or West or South - well, I won't much care.' 'So long's I can lay quiet an' hear the ships Goin' an' comin' . . . an' sailormen 'avin' their fun . . . A song an' a laugh an' a drink an' a girl's red lips . . . An' a bit of a shellback's yarn when the long day's done.'