Sniff and the Pirates - The Rhyme of the Ancient Muriner (May 2017 Update)
This is the prequel to Sniff - Mike's epic ballad. Yet unfinshed, Mike will put updates here when he can
Sniff and the Pirates - The Rhyme of the Ancient Muriner (May 2017 Update)
Of voyages to distant lands,
Golden sunsets and silver sands.
Of mermaids, flying fish, and whales,
Gentle zephyrs in rippling sails.
Of restless days and changing seas,
Death, disaster and disease.
Of rogues who’d gladly slit your neck.
Then use your blood to paint the deck.
Of pirates, heartless men of plunder,
Who’d gladly chop you all asunder.
Of gold and jewels and treasure chests,
These things a pirate loves the best.
Of a cruel and heartless, fish-faced skipper,
Known by all as Captain Kipper.
Of a vessel called ‘The Drunken Squid’,
Purchased for nine hundred quid.
Of a crew in search of wealth and fame.
And now to meet them all by name.
‘Patches’ Pat was Quartermaster,
And ‘No-nose’ Tom, the cannon blaster.
First-mate Mick had lost an ear,
Mangled in the anchor’s gear.
The Second-mate was ‘Fleabeard’ Fred,
He’d nine-score stitch marks on his head.
Chop Chop was the cook on board,
His kitchen doubled as ship’s ward.
The Bosun’s name was Bert ‘pus-face’,
Tucked in his belt – a spiky mace.
The Powder Monkey was ‘Toothless’ Tim,
The swab was Hooky – he couldn’t swim.
‘Peg-leg’ Pete, he climbed the mast,
The cabin boy did all was asked.
The mascot lived upon the Skiff,
A rodent by the name of Sniff.
And last, the deck hand – ‘Scurvy’ Stu,
’twas the motliest of motley crews.
Thirteen souls aboard the ship,
This would not be a lucky trip.
Just one would live to tell the tale,
Stop reading now if you feel frail.
They set out in the month of May,
All treasure hunts should start that way.
‘twas Captain Kipper who proclaimed,
“We’ll set our sails for the Coast of Spain,
In search of riches sure and true,
Hidden ‘cept from me and you.
A map I’ve got from pappy’s uncle,
Tattooed it was on ‘is carbuncle.
I’d heard about ‘is treasure map,
So waited ‘till he ‘ad a nap.
Then bein’ pirate through an’ through,
In stealth an’ silence cutlass drew.
I stuck ‘im good an’ stuck ‘im fast,
Then skinned that map right off ‘is ass”.
The crew cried, “Yarrr, all righty skipper!
In ye we trust, an’ in this Clipper,
So lead us ‘cross the Seven Seas,
We’ll go wherever ‘tis ye please.
An’ all we ask – our share of loot,
Betray us and we’re sure to shoot
Ye in the back, then hang ye high,
For after all, we’re pirates – aye!”
And Davy Jones approved he did,
He had his eye upon the Squid,
His locker had been sparse of late
And so he penned, in brine, a date,
In Death’s own diary, in mid-June
When Black Friday fell on the Fullest Moon.
Then Davy called a West wind warm
Instead of the predicted storm;
Of Davy’s plot the crew knew naught,
Else n’er they would've set sail from port.
With lines cast off and anchor weighed,
The Squid for English Channel made.
Polperro’s cove, behind them now
And a crystal sea afore the bow.
No tears were shed by pirate eyes.
For hopes were high as sun did rise.
“Rich all, we’ll be”, was Kipper’s boast,
“When we return to this Cornish coast,
The Norman shore we’ll spy tonight,
We’ll keep ‘er coastline just in sight.
Then South we’ll head for Biscay Bay,
Let’s find some booty on the way!
A fishing boat or helpless Scow,
Who cares? We’ll board ‘em anyhow.
They’ll drown, a few, once they’ve bin sank,
The rest – we’ll make ‘em walk the plank,
‘Else we could spilt their skulls for fun,
And now, me Hearties, fetch the rum!”
The Quartermaster gave a shout
And the bosun brought a barrel out.
Rum-filled it was – right to the brim,
And pirates dipped their tankards in.
The First mate yelled, “Avast ye swabs!
Afore ye slosh it down ya gobs;
A toast, me maties, to Cap’n Kipper,
I’ve known him since I was a nipper,
A worser man ye’ll never find
In ‘im there’s nuthin’ good or kind.
So raise yer mugs ya mangy dogs
And join with me – now down ya grog!”
Then Chop Chop passed ‘round bread and Gouda
Purloined from traders in Bermuda,
But one abstained from rum and cheese,
He smelt disaster on the breeze.
‘twas Sniff the rat who felt the fates
And heard their whispers at Hell’s Gate.
To be continued...