Girls swallow’d ’em faster than fishermen got ’em,
Yet ne’er were so cloy’d, but they still long’d for more;
’Tis just at low water when crabs are seen crawling,
For shelter beneath heavy tang-cover’d stones,
That girls from all quarters come eagerly calling
For fish full of gristle, hard roes, and no bones.
At the gills of this creature you’ll see them all peeping,
And if as sick damsels they’re livid and pale,
They’ll tell you these fish are no better for keeping,
Like lobsters long caught, they’ve no spring in the tail;