 | The complete poetical works of Thomas Hood |  |
PAIN IN A PLEASURE-BOAT A SEA ECLOGUE
‘I apprehend you!’
—School of Reform.
—School of Reform.
BOATMAN.
Shove off there!—ship the rudder, Bill—cast off! she's under way!
MRS. F.
She's under what?—I hope she's not! good gracious, what a spray!
BOATMAN.
Run out the jib, and rig the boom! keep clear of those two brigs!
MRS. F.
I hope they don't intend some joke by running of their rigs!
BOATMAN.
Bill, shift them bags of ballast aft—she's rather out of trim!
298
Great bags of stones! they're pretty things to help a boat to swim!
BOATMAN.
The wind is fresh—if she don't scud, it's not the breeze's fault!
MRS. F.
Wind fresh, indeed! I never felt the air so full of salt!
BOATMAN.
That Schooner, Bill, harn't left the roads, with oranges and nuts!
MRS. F.
If seas have roads, they're very rough—I never felt such ruts!
BOATMAN.
It's neap, ye see, she's heavy lade, and couldn't pass the bar.
MRS. F.
The bar! what, roads with turnpikes too? I wonder where they are!
BOATMAN.
Ho! brig ahoy! hard up! hard up! that lubber cannot steer!
MRS. F.
Yes, yes,—hard up upon a rock! I know some danger's near!
Lord, there's a wave! it's coming in! and roaring like a bull!
BOATMAN.
Nothing, Ma'am, but a little slop! go large, Bill! keep her full!
MRS. F.
What, keep her full! what daring work! when full, she must go down!
BOATMAN.
Why, Bill, it lulls! ease off a bit—it's coming off the town!
Steady your helm! we'll clear the Pint! lay right for yonder pink!
MRS. F.
Be steady—well, I hope they can! but they've got a pint of drink!
BOATMAN.
Bill, give that sheet another haul—she'll fetch it up this reach.
MRS. F.
I'm getting rather pale, I know, and they see it by that speech!
I wonder what it is, now, but—I never felt so queer!
299
Bill, mind your luff—why Bill, I say, she's yawing—keep her near!
MRS. F.
Keep near! we're going further off; the land's behind our backs.
BOATMAN.
Be easy, Ma'am, it's all correct, that's only 'cause we tacks:
We shall have to beat about a bit,—Bill, keep her out to sea.
MRS. F.
Beat who about? keep who at sea?—how black they look at me!
BOATMAN.
It's veering round—I knew it would! off with her head! stand by!
MRS. F.
Off with her head! whose? where? what with?—an axe I seem to spy!
BOATMAN.
She can't not keep her own, you see; we shall have to pull her in!
MRS. F.
They'll drown me, and take all I have! my life's not worth a pin!
BOATMAN.
Look out you know, be ready, Bill—just when she takes the sand!
MRS. F.
The sand—O Lord! to stop my mouth! how every thing is plann'd!
BOATMAN.
The handspike, Bill—quick, bear a hand! now Ma'am, just step ashore!
MRS. F.
What! ain't I going to be kill'd—and welter'd in my gore?
Well, Heaven be praised! but I'll not go a sailing any more!
| The complete poetical works of Thomas Hood | |