Yo-ho, blow the land down!
Oh, where are you going to, my pretty maid?—
And give us some time to blow the land down!
The words were not long familiar. They quickly became detestable. The farther they went, of course, the more they appealed to Simons, Bill, and the singer himself. As for Engelhardt, obviously he was in no position to protest; nor could mere vileness add at all to his discomfort, with that noose still round his neck, and the rope-end still tight in Bill's clutch. Then the refrain for every other line was no bad thing in itself; at all events, he joined in throughout, and at the close stood at least as well with his persecutors as before.
It now appeared, however, that sailors' chanties were the Bo's'n's weakness. He insisted on singing two more, with topical and impromptu verses of his own. As, for instance:
The proud Miss Pryse may toss 'er 'ead—
An' they say so—an' we hope so—
The proud Miss Pryse will soon be dead—
The poor—old—gal!