Pilchers is budiful fried, me deears, Or baked in a bussa o' clay, So sterry away wi' the tide, me deears, For Pilchers in the Bay. Slip youm moorin's an' ship youm gears, Down along an' away!
"HOW BE'EE, ME DEEAR?"
(The Cornish Greeting). "How be'ee, me deear?" I heard her say, But I was foached to be far away, For the breeze was braave an' the boat in the bay, An' Granny was old an' grey.
I didn' turn back to say "Good-bye," For slottery weather was in the sky, The anchor was up an' the punt stood by, Yet Granny was old an' grey!
Far I sailed, an' didn' I cast Many a look at the old times past? The lil' grey port as I saw it last? An' Granny old an' grey?
At last I came from the yowlin' main, Guessin' to see the place again Jest as it was, as nate an' plain, An' Granny old an' grey.
Why didn' I seed the end was nigh? Why didn' I bide to say "Good-bye?" It's too late now to make reply, Granny is gone away.
But someday beyond the farthest tide, At last I shall safely at anchor ride, An' I shall be hailed as I come 'longside, "How be'ee, me deear?"