"Since brass is stout and clay is frail,
Pray let us at a distance sail.
Not your intention that I fear
Sir Brass," adds humble Earthenware,
"While the winds leave you to yourself;
But woe betide my ribs of delf,
If it should dash our sides together;
For mine would be the damage, whether
Their force should you or I impel;
To pray proceed, and fare you well."