But who drops a hint about going below?
Why, he'll see I've the knack, boys,
Just like every true Jack, boys,
Of paying my fare with a "Ho, boys! Yeho!"
We have scarcely left port, yet, already,
All my nautical visions grow blurred;
If I move,—well, I feel so unsteady,
That I half wish that I had not stirred.
Weakly smiling, I turn to the steward,
And inquire if he thinks it will blow;