XXXIX
SONG OF ARIEL
Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands,—
Curtsied when you have and kiss'd;
(The wild waves whist)—
Foot it featly here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.
Hark, hark!
Bough wough,
The watch dogs bark,
Bough wough,
Hark, hark! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer,
Cry, cock-a-doodle-doo.
W. Shakespeare
XL
HOW'S MY BOY?
Ho, sailor of the sea!
How's my boy—my boy?
'What's your boy's name, good wife,
And in what good ship sail'd he?'
My boy John—
He that went to sea—
What care I for the ship, sailor?
My boy's my boy to me.
You come back from sea
And not know my John?
I might as well have asked some landsman
Yonder down in the town.
There's not an ass in all the parish
But he knows my John.
How's my boy—my boy?
And unless you let me know
I'll swear you are no sailor,
Blue jacket or no,
Brass button or no, sailor,
Anchor and crown or no!
Sure his ship was the Jolly Briton—
'Speak low, woman, speak low!'