- found in handwritten notes of the late Frank Willmott.

In the misty morn our consorts, dim discerned like Ghosts appear
By the rake of their masts we know them, by the set of their sails and gear,
And as they meet or pass us, mid-channel or long shore,
They use the sailorman's greeting, the cheery "Where're you for?"

Familiar midst the "Seaspray", at "Dawn" the "Swin Ghost" slides,
"Veruna", "Centaur", "Mayland", "Ready" what e'er betides,
Alaric, Bankside, Saltcote Bell, The Kitty so discreet,
The Falconet and "Little Delce" the baby of the fleet.

We follow the Roman triremes, with their hinged iron shod beaks,
We follow the Viking long-ships, our keels know the same fleet creeks,
Hoys, pinnaces, schooners, ketches, we follow their billowy trail,
The redsailed spreeted barges, the last of England's sail.