Shells' bells—boy's joys that hap to snap!

It's just sea's fun, breeze done, to spite

God's rods that scourge her surge, I'd urge—

Not proper, is it—quite?

VI.

See, fore and aft, life's craft undone!

Crank plank, split spritsail—mark, sea's lark!

That gray cold sea's old sprees, begun

When men lay dark i' the ark, no spark,

All water—just God's fun!