Thomas John Dibdin

Longing while living for laurel and bays, Under this willow a poor poet 'lays'; With little to censure, and less to praise, He wrote twelve dozen and three score plays: He finish'd his 'Life', and he went his ways.

The Dons came to plunder the island; But, snug in the hive, the Queen was alive, And "buzz" was the word in the island.

Then a very great war man, call'd Billy the Norman, Cried "D--n it, I never lik'd my land."

Daddy Neptune one day to Freedom did say, If ever I live upon dry land, The spot I should hit on wou'd be little Britain! Says Freedom, "Why that's my own island!" O, it's a snug little island! A right little, tight little island,