Whose hand is this that pulls my head,
Labouring to lug me out of bed?
These ears have heard for weeks together
The long, long roar of wintry weather,
Pumps, waves, ropes rattling, tempest squalling;
But such a pinching and a bawling—
Zounds! I believe he’ll twist my neck—
On deck, there, ho! ye dogs on deck,
What means this execrable yelling?
Have ye let all the fiends of Hell in?