That his home port is somewhere round Boston or Maine,
With a jaw that's the cut of a square block of wood,
And beat it, my son, while the going is good!
There'll be scraping and scouring from morning till night
To keep that brass shiny and keep them decks white,
And belaying-pin soup both for dinner and tea,
For them smart down-easters—they're the devil," says he.
"But if by good fortune you chance for to get
A ship that ain't hungry or wicked or wet,
That answers her hellum both a-weather and lee,