Great Dewey, mightiest of men,
To sink or take a ship,
Shows the white flag and feather when
He hears the guns of Grip.
Great Grip! Great Dewey! Oh, my heart,
There’s less tempestuous weather
When they are leagues and leagues apart
Than when they get together.
The air is full of uniform—
Gold lace with buttons blent!—
And then a voice succeeds the storm:
“I’ve downed that festive gent.”
Long shall the tale be told by brave
And high-born cavaliers,
And old Montojo from the grave
Shall rise with all his ears.