It is too maddening. I've got to fly off, right now, to some devilish navy yard, three hours in a seasick steamer, and after being heartily sick, I'll have to speak three times, and then I'll be sick coming home. Still, who would not be sick for England?
What have I done, or tried, or said In thanks to that dear woman dead? Men triumph over women still, Men trample women's rights at will, And man's lust roves the world untamed. * * * * O grave, keep shut lest I be shamed.
Oh some are fond of Spanish wine, and some are fond of French, And some'll swallow tay and stuff fit only for a wench; But I'm for right Jamaica till I roll beneath the bench, Says the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
From '41 to '51 I was my folk's contrary son; I bit my father's hand right through And broke my mother's heart in two.