“When the axe brought me down, and soon lopped was each bough,
“And to form a ship I was converted,
“Manned by true hearts of oak, the wide ocean to plough,
“And by victory never deserted.
“But, worn out by Time, and reduced to a wreck,
“Bereft of my anchor and cable,
“A carpenter bought me, and, with part of my deck,
“Made what you see me now—an oak table.
“Now thrust in a corner, put out of the way,—
“But I fear I your patience am tiring.