Until a man feels both his head and his heels
Reversed as if full of his tipple.
In vain my blue serge when from seas we emerge,
Though dressed as a nautical dandy;
I can't keep my legs, and I call out for "pegs"
Of rum, or of soda and brandy.
A yacht is a thing, they say, fit for a king,
And still it is not to my liking;
My short pedigree does not smack of the sea,—
I can't pose a bit like a viking.