Cast their quivering long reflections down the ripple of the tide,
Then the ships they start a-yarning, just the same as sailors do
In a hundred docks and harbours from Port Talbot to Chefoo,
Just the same as deep-sea sailormen a-meeting up and down
In the bars and boarding-houses and the streets of Sailor-town.
Just the same old sort of ship-talk sailors always like to hear—
Just the same old harbour gossip gathered in from far and near,
In the same salt-water lingo sailors use the wide world round,
From the shores of London river to the wharves of Puget Sound,
With a gruff and knowing chuckle at a spicy yarn or so,