And out upon the billows they do go—
Not soon will they forget what followeth, I trow.
Then viands meet for holiday they buy—
Pork pies, fresh “natives,” sausages, cold beef—
And as, forsooth, such cakes make folk’s mouth dry,
The flowing cans do furnish much relief.
At length the railway bell doth loudly ring,
To tell them they no longer mote there stay;
They crowd in train, they songs again do sing,
As from the festive scene they go away.