Or a twister of hair, or a man at a hell,
Playing the part of a Bonnetter well.
No, no; that is no go;
The public never will let it be so:
You are a navigator born,
And all your life will be rounding Cape Horn;
Your sails will be full of fair wind to the last,
And there's no one more perfectly used to the blast!
Cooke! Cooke! you comical elf,
You never dress'd anything but yourself;