At Viscount Nelson-s lavish funeral,
While the mob milled and yelled about St Paul-s,
A General chatted with an Admiral:

-One of your colleagues, Sir, remarked today
That Nelson-s exit, though to be lamented,
Falls not inopportunely, in it-s way�

-He was a thorn in our flesh-, came the reply-
-The mot bird-witted, unaccountable,
Odd little runt that ever I did spy�.

-One arm, one peeper, vain as Pretty Poll,
A meddler too, in foreign politics
And gave his heart in pawn to a plain moll.

-He would dare lecture us Sea Lords, and then
Would treat his ratings as though men of honour
And play leap-frog with his midshipmen!

We tried to box him down, but up he popped,
And when he banged Napoleon on the Nile
Became too much the hero to be dropped.

-You-ve heard that Copenhagen -blind eye- story?
We-d tied him to Nurse Parker-s apron- strings-
By G-d, he snipped them through and snatched the glory!�

-Yet�, cried the General, -sic-and-twenty sail
Captured or sunk by him off Trafalgar-
That writes a handsome finis to the tale�

-Handsome enough. The seas are England-s now.
That fellow-s foibles need no longer plague us
He died most creditably, I-ll allow.�

-And Sir, the secret of his victories?�
-By his unServicelike, familiar ways, Sir,
He made the whole Fleet love him, damn his eyes!�