May sell our boasted yatches.
We faintly hears the Club-house gun—
The silver cup she snatches—
And all the English Clubs are done,
The English Clubs of yatches!
They say she didn't go by wind,
But wheels, and springs, and ratches;
And that's the way she weathered on
Our quickest going yatches.
But them's all lies, I'm bound to say—