And so wickedly I did
As I sailed, as I sailed,
Oh! so wickedly I did
As I sailed.
The cabin was dark, only lit by one kerosene lamp, with a chimbly dark with the smoke of years. Her voice was awful; the tune was awful; I stood it as long as I could seemin’ly, and says I, in agitated tones,
“I wouldn’t sing any more Betsey, if I was in your place.”
Alas! better would it have been for my piece of mind, had I let her sing. For although she stopped the piece with a wild quaver that made me tremble, she spoke right up, and says she,
“My soul seems mountin’ up and in sympathy with the scene. My spirit is soarin’, and must have vent. Josiah Allen’s wife have you any objections to my writin’ a poem. I have got seven sheets of paper in my portmanty.”
The spirit of my 4 fathers rose up in me and says I, firmly,
“When I come onto the deep, I come expectin’ to face trouble—I am prepared for it,” says I, “a few verses more or less haint a goin’ to overthrow my principles.”