“At five, mind, without fail!”
And now they’re launch’d upon the deep,
The yacht, like any witch,
Skimm’d o’er the foam at first, and then
She up and down did pitch.
She pitchèd up, she pitchèd down,
All comfort ’gan to leave
That father, and though afternoon,
For him ’twas time of heave!
With cheery voice the mariner