‘When I’m discharged in Liverpool ’n’ draws my bit o’ pay,
I won’t come to sea no more.
I’ll court a pretty little lass ’n’ have a weddin’ day,
’N’ settle somewhere down ashore.
I’ll never fare to sea again a-temptin’ Davy Jones,
A-hearkening to the cruel sharks a-hungerin’ for my bones;
I’ll run a blushin’ dairy-farm or go a-crackin’ stones,
Or buy ’n’ keep a little liquor-store,’—
So he said.
They towed her in to Liverpool, we made the hooker fast,
And the copper-bound officials paid the crew,
And Billy drew his money, but the money didn’t last,
For he painted the alongshore blue,—
It was rum for Poll, and rum for Nan, and gin for Jolly Jack.
He shipped a week later in the clothes upon his back,
He had to pinch a little straw, he had to beg a sack
To sleep on, when his watch was through,—
So he did.
SEA-CHANGE
‘Goneys an’ gullies an’ all o’ the birds o’ the sea,
They ain’t no birds, not really,’ said Billy the Dane.
Not mollies, nor gullies, nor goneys at all,’ said he,
‘But simply the sperrits of mariners livin’ again.
‘Them birds goin’ fishin’ is nothin’ but souls o’ the drowned,
Souls o’ the drowned an’ the kicked as are never no more;
An’ that there haughty old albatross cruisin’ around,
Belike he’s Admiral Nelson or Admiral Noah.
An’ merry’s the life they are living. They settle and dip,
They fishes, they never stands watches, they waggle their wings;
When a ship comes by, they fly to look at the ship
To see how the nowaday mariners manages things.
‘When freezing aloft in a snorter, I tell you I wish—
(Though maybe it ain’t like a Christian)—I wish I could be
A haughty old copper-bound albatross dipping for fish
And coming the proud over all o’ the birds o’ the sea.’
HARBOUR-BAR
All in the feathered palm-tree tops the bright green parrots screech,
The white line of the running surf goes booming down the beach,
But I shall never see them, though the land lies close aboard,
I’ve shaped the last long silent tack as takes one to the Lord.