And the bowl was crank as the crankest cockboat,
It hadn’t a keel, and its bottom was queer;
And it rolled and pitched like a tipsy porpoise,
And it couldn’t sail, and it wouldn’t steer.
They might have sailed in a genuine clipper,
’Arry and Jemmy, and little Randee,
But they’d had a row with the Free Trade skipper,
And were filled with the spirit of mutinee.
Their craft—“Fair Trade” was the name they christened it—
They jointly launched on the tumbling ocean,