Salt Water Celebrated

Oh may the worthy wight be blest, In happiest state of man's salvation, Who first found out for the distrest Th' ingenious art of navigation.

By this how oft the needy swain, Who scarce on land can get a living, Cheerful and happy ploughs the main, While wise and family are thriving.

The merchant spreads the swelling sail, And goes o'er pathless oceans strolling; Then quick returns with prosperous gale, And sees his riches round him rolling.

Even Britain owes its envied state To this most fortunate invention; Then may the caitiff meet with hate, Who of it makes irreverent mention.

When he with rank disease shall pine, And stand in need of purge or vomit, May he be forc'd to swill the brine, No benefit receiving from it.

Of what he speaks of fallen Eve, With much attention we've been thinking, The brine was meant, I do believe, To keep a certain place from stinking:

So naturalists say, that salt Is given to keep the ocean sweet, Else we should e'er be finding fault Our fish were never fit to eat.

You, who your best friends thus disgrace, Deserve to have a hearty banging, And should be thankful in this case, Salt water often saves from hanging.

If that should ever be your lot, No briny tide we then will borrow, But careless see you go to pot, Without a single mark of sorrow.

But rather do we wish to see (Oh how our fancies it does tickle!) The boatswain flog you heartily, Then wash you well in briny pickle.