The pyrate of old went forth for the gold

and sailed on a perilous deck.

By the skull and crossed boned he defied Davey Jones --

he pot gold, aye, and germs by the peck!

True colors he flew, and all of his crew

were proud of their illegal ways.

"We are pyrutcs!" they said, "Pass the swag or you're dead!

They were frank in those swash-buckling days.

Now the pyrate of old was a picturesque thief

who never would stoop to disguise.

In the open he fought when it chanced that he caught

a strange ship that looked like a prize.

He knew, should he lose. 'twap. to die in his shoes --

he never asked quarter or aid.

Were he nipped, 'twas a yank, or a walk on the plank --

and he went to his doom unafraid.

But the pyrate today has a different way.

he does not tare forth on the sea

With an axe or a knife, or a fight for his life --

nay, a smooth proposition is he.

He knows in advance that he takes no chance

of facing the plank or the rack:

for legal advice he has paid a long price,

and his victim can never fight back.

In mad money lust, he gets up a trust,

and corners a thing people need;

Or some mining scheme that sounds like a dream:

'Get the dough!" is his undying creed.

The pyrate of old, if the truth should be told.

was an honest old thief in his way --

Hie was surely a gent with a sincere intent

when compared to the pyrate today.

- Anonymous

B&M Spring 96