A gale next morning—and when morning broke
There was a gale—“quite equal to bespoke.”
Before high water—(it were better far
To christen it not water then, but waiter,
For then the tide is serving at the bar)
Rose such a swell—I never saw one greater!
Black, jagged billows rearing up in war
Like ragged roaring bears against the baiter,
With lots of froth upon the shingle shed,
Like stout pour’d out with a fine beachy head.