Of shaking the dust from a Serapis,
Or the dust from the halls of fame.
I whirl the wheel of the wash machine
In the spray of a soap-suds sea;
But I know in my heart that the daring Jones
Is winning the fight for me.
And I think it is sweet of John Paul Jones,
In playing the good old game,
To do all the fighting just for love—
With never a thought of fame.