The captain says to me, says he:
"Oi, Navigator, ship ashore!"
"Aye," says I, shortly, "so I see."
"Join you not your mates in uproar?"
"I've no need these timbers don't cede."
Here clapped I the mast familiar.
"Bollocks! A sailor 'as his needs.
Think beer an' betties an' billiards!"
"Cap'n, I take brine o'er ale,
For its hue and spirit and foam.
As for sport, I hunt me the whale
From atop his unfathomed home."
"A lady then, to light your hearth?"
"Not were she to pay me, double!
The whore, she parts her legs for warmth,
And takes my coin for my trouble.
"Speak not next, my skipper, of love.
Ne'er did a false star burn so bright!
Your war-like angels from above,
Who oft leave the wounded to die.
Knew a lad, made his lass complete,
Swore an oath he'd never quit her.
Now her lonesome heart bleeds like meat,
Under the butcher's red cleaver."
To this my captain soon replied,
"I lost words an' art to find 'em.
I'd breathe life to what in you died,
But I'd sooner drown Poseidon."
I drank me an eyeful of port,
"Cap'n," says I, "stow your pity!
Hell, I stay more gladly aboard.
Me, I be married to the sea."