Hail, Poetry, thou heaven-born maid,
Thou gildest e’en the pirate’s trade!
Hail, flowing fount of sentiment!
All hail, Divine Emollient! (All rise.)
King.
You may go, for you’re at liberty, our pirate rules protect you,
And honorary members of our band we do elect you.
Sam.For he is an orphan boy.
Chorus.He is an orphan boy.
Gen.And it sometimes is a useful thing