There never lived a worthier man
Than Captain Archibald McKan.
I knew him well some time ago
(I speak of twenty years or so);
Sans peur et sans reproche was he;
He was the soul of chivalry,
Was Captain Archibald McKan.
True greatness showed in all his mien,
No haughty pride in him was seen,
Though, captain of a steamer, he,
From Greenwich unto far Chelsea,
That, spite of weather, wind, and tide,
From early Spring to Autumn plied,
Brave, modest Captain A. McKan.
He reassured the anxious fears
Of nervous ladies—pretty dears!—
He in his pocket carried toys
And sweets for little girls and boys;
He talked in quite familiar way
With men who voyaged day by day,
Did Captain Archibald McKan.
No man alive—or even dead—
Was freer from reproach than he;
And yet of Fortune's irony
(Though such a very decent sort)
This worthy man was e'en the sport.
Alas! was Captain A. McKan!
"Cherchez la femme." The phrase is trite,
Yet here, as usual, 'twas right.
Our Captain noted every day
A certain girl rode all the way
From Greenwich Pier to Wapping Stair.
"It cannot be to take the air,"
Thought Captain Archibald McKan.
She calmly sat, with downcast eye;
And looking both demure and shy;
Yet, once, he caught a roving glance,
Which made his pulses wildly dance;
And,—though as modest as could be—
"I do believe she's gone on me,"
Considered Captain A. McKan.
"You're frequently aboard my boat,"
Began he; "she's the best afloat;
But, pray, may I enquire, do you
So very much admire the view?"
"Er—moderately, sir," said she.
"Exactly so! It must be me!"
Decided Captain A. McKan.