Lang mustering up a bitter blast;
A jillet brak his heart at last—jilt
Ill may she be!
So took a berth afore the mast,
An' owre the sea.
To tremble under Fortune's cummock cudgel
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, meal and water
Wi' his proud independent stomach,
Could ill agree;
So row't his hurdies in a hammock, rolled, buttocks