And trusts thee, smiling, spite of doom
And traitorous breezes! Hapless, whom
Thy glamour holds untried. For me,
I've dared enough that fitful sea;
Its "breach of promise" grim hath curst
Both purse and person with its worst.
My "dripping weeds" are doffed; and I
Sit "landed," like my wine, and "dry;"
What "weeds" survive I smoke, and rub
My hands in harbour at my Club!