And trousers shrink;
And the groaning, moaning, droning tide
Goes splashing and dashing from side to side,
With all its might, from morn to night,
And from night to morning's dawning.
II.
The shore's a flood of puddly mud,
And the rocks are limy and slimy—
And I've tumbled down with a thud—good lud!—
And I fear I swore,