 | Sea Songs |  |
3
WHAT LUBBERS THEY'RE ON SHORE.
What lubbers they're on shore, now—why,
When I was there, a tailor
Says to me, “Who'd to sea? not I;
Oh, who would be a sailor?”
Poor thing! his face was white as foam;
His arm, a stick to Nancy's;
Says I, “You're one best left at home
To croak your milksop fancies;
And yet a cruise would put some red,
Even into you, you tailor;
'Twould blow those whimsies from your head,
Your pity for a sailor.”
When I was there, a tailor
Says to me, “Who'd to sea? not I;
Oh, who would be a sailor?”
Poor thing! his face was white as foam;
His arm, a stick to Nancy's;
Says I, “You're one best left at home
To croak your milksop fancies;
And yet a cruise would put some red,
Even into you, you tailor;
'Twould blow those whimsies from your head,
Your pity for a sailor.”
“Yes, snip, we face the storm; what then?
We dread it? there's your error;
The seas we sail, they make us men
That cannot feel your terror;
Though work is hard and prog is tough,
Such life the blast blows through us,
With song and laugh, through all we rough
That calm and storm bring to us;
As round your chimney-pots they roar,
The gusts scare you, you tailor,
They frighten you, you things ashore;
They're laughed at by a sailor.”
We dread it? there's your error;
The seas we sail, they make us men
That cannot feel your terror;
4
Such life the blast blows through us,
With song and laugh, through all we rough
That calm and storm bring to us;
As round your chimney-pots they roar,
The gusts scare you, you tailor,
They frighten you, you things ashore;
They're laughed at by a sailor.”
| Sea Songs | |