That bears the heedless lovers.

I start, I dart, I screech, I blare,

I belch forth coal-black vapours;

I make the angry oarsmen swear

To write to all the papers.

I murder quiet ’neath the stars;

For any mischief willing;

I cut away young yachtsmen’s spars;

Treat anglers to a swilling.

The loveliest scenery I spoil,