Watching the vessel’s fall and rise,
’Twas thus he did soliloquise—
“I may not wear my sword and spurs,
But one glad thought my bosom stirs,
’Tis this that I shall surely be
Presented to His Majesty!
It may be when he sees my face
He will reward me with a place
With my deserts commensurate
The Secretary, say, of State