Miscellanies in Verse and Prose [by Richardson Pack] |
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Writ at Sea in 1709, to a Friend on Board the Admiral.
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 | Miscellanies in Verse and Prose |  |
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Writ at Sea in 1709, to a Friend on Board the Admiral.
To you, dear Cotton, who on Board
Have all that Land, or Seas afford,
And, if you please, in Fortune's Spight,
May laugh from Morning until Night;
Poor Pack in doleful Cabbin shut,
No bigger than the Cynick's Hut,
Makes bold to send this homely Greeting,
Hopeing, e'er long, a happy Meeting.
Have all that Land, or Seas afford,
And, if you please, in Fortune's Spight,
May laugh from Morning until Night;
Poor Pack in doleful Cabbin shut,
No bigger than the Cynick's Hut,
Makes bold to send this homely Greeting,
Hopeing, e'er long, a happy Meeting.
The Moon has thrice renew'd her Prime,
(Aid me, some friendly Muse, with Rhime!)
Since first our Redcoats and their Trulls,
Were stow'd on Board these rotten Hulls;
Where we, condemn'd to Dirt and Fleas,
Live, God knows, little at our Ease,
For all we're cramm'd with Pork and Pease.
Oft have I wish'd the Coxcomb damn'd,
Who weary of his Native Land,
First fell'd for Masts the Mountain Pine,
And spoil'd good honest Beef with Brine.
'Tis true, whilst we indulg'd in Claret,
I made some kind o'Shift to bear it.
But what Defense against the Hip—
Now we're reduc'd from Wine to Flip?
Nay more, I fear I shall e'er long
Have neither Liquor small or strong,
To quench my Thirst, or cool my Tongue.
Unless, my Dear, I can prevail,
With you to Beg, or else—to Steal,
A Dozen or Two of Wine or Ale.
May you succeed! and so Farewel.
(Aid me, some friendly Muse, with Rhime!)
Since first our Redcoats and their Trulls,
Were stow'd on Board these rotten Hulls;
117
Live, God knows, little at our Ease,
For all we're cramm'd with Pork and Pease.
Oft have I wish'd the Coxcomb damn'd,
Who weary of his Native Land,
First fell'd for Masts the Mountain Pine,
And spoil'd good honest Beef with Brine.
'Tis true, whilst we indulg'd in Claret,
I made some kind o'Shift to bear it.
But what Defense against the Hip—
Now we're reduc'd from Wine to Flip?
Nay more, I fear I shall e'er long
Have neither Liquor small or strong,
To quench my Thirst, or cool my Tongue.
Unless, my Dear, I can prevail,
With you to Beg, or else—to Steal,
A Dozen or Two of Wine or Ale.
May you succeed! and so Farewel.
| Miscellanies in Verse and Prose | |