Allowance of Grog

When on board the Hector I first went to sea, How the boatswain did grumble and flog, I swore then no longer a sailor I'd be, 'Till they serv'd my allowance of grog. It was then rough or fair, safe moor'd or at sea, Going large from the land or close under the lee, For to reef or to steer, or to wear, Up the hatchway I'd merrily jog, While to moisten my eye, Mister Purser, says I, Pray where's my allowance of grog?

Once sick of a fever, a whole week I lay, From my hammock I hardly could jog, Just like some old junk they had stow'd me away, And stop'd my allowance of grog; Keep her full says I boy, or you're taken a back, And the sharks will be making a meal of poor Jack, For the doctor's mate said he was sure I was dead, 'Till I called him an impudent dog! Hard a starboard, says I, you lubber, you lie, All I want is my quantum of grog.