(A manuscript found in a bottle) <br /> <br /> <br />IT was the good ship Betsy Jane, <br />That sailed in a spanking breeze, <br />With a bunch of militant Suffs on board, <br />Condemned to an island unexplored <br />In far off southern seas. <br /> <br />The Suffs they went on a hunger strike, <br />And nothing eat would they, <br />So the skipper, a conscientious man, <br />Was forced to the forcible feeding plan, <br />In the genteel British way. <br /> <br />A squall came up and the ship went down, <br />And we of the Betsy Jane <br />Were left on a raft in a dreadful plight, <br />With never a friendly sail in sight, <br />On the well-known raging main. <br /> <br />Our skipper, a conscientious man, <br />Divided the grub with care. <br />Says he: 'It's share and share alike, <br />You dames can eat or stay on strike, <br />But damme! there's your share.' <br /> <br />The waves ran high, the grub ran low, <br />And never a sail we saw. <br />The Suffs they scorned the pork and bread, <br />And 'Votes for wimmen!' was all they said, <br />And never a chaw they'd chaw. <br /> <br />The starving crew of the Betsy Jane <br />They watched their end draw near, <br />Till, 'Blast my eyes!' said Bosun Bill, <br />'If <br />they <br />won't eat their chuck <br />I <br />will!' <br />And the rest of us give a cheer. <br /> <br />But the skipper, a conscientious man, <br />A pistol huge drew he. <br />'Who touches a hunk of yonder bread <br />Dies like a dog! Back up!' he said, <br />And- <br />. . . . . . <br /> <br />Right here the tale in the bottle stopped, <br />And left me on tiptoe; <br />For how they straightened the matter out, <br />Or whether their fate is still in doubt, <br />I'd jolly well like to know.<br /><br />Bert Leston Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-rime-of-the-betsy-jane/
