;
He work’d in woods apart from all his kind,
Fierce were his looks and moody was his mind.
For home the sailor now began to sigh:-
“The dogs are dead, and I’ll return and die;
When all I have, my gains, in years of care,
The younger Cuffs with kinder souls shall share -
Yet hold! I’m rich; - with one consent they’ll say,
‘You’re welcome, Uncle, as the flowers in May.’
No; I’ll disguise me, be in tatters dress’d,