"O swiftly speed the gallant bark!—
I say, you mind my luggage, porter!
I do not heed yon storm-cloud dark,
I go to wed old Jenkin's daughter.
I go to claim my own Mariar,
The fairest flower that blooms in Harwich;
My panting bosom is on fire,
And all is ready for the marriage."

Thus spoke young Mivins, as he stepped
On hoard the "Firefly," Harwich packet;
The bell rang out, the paddles swept
Plish-plashing round with noisy racket.
The louring clouds young Mivins saw,
But fear, he felt, was only folly;
And so he smoked a fresh cigar,
Then fell to whistling "Nix my dolly!"

The wind it roared; the packet's hulk
Rocked with a most unpleasant motion;
Young Mivins leant him o'er a bulk,
And poured his sorrows to the ocean.
Tints—blue and yellow—signs of woe—
Flushed, rainbow like, his noble face in,
As suddenly he rushed below,
Crying, "Steward, steward, bring a basin!"

On sped the bark: the howling storm
The funnel's tapering smoke did blow far;
Unmoved, young Mivins' lifeless form
Was stretched upon a haircloth sofar.
All night he moaned, the steamer groaned,
And he was hourly getting fainter;
When it came bump against the pier,
And there was fastened by the painter.
Young Mivins rose, arranged his clothes,
Caught wildly at his small portmanteau;
He was unfit to lie or sit,
And found it difficult to stand, too.

He sought the deck, he sought the shore,
He sought the lady's house like winking,
And asked, low tapping at the door,
"Is this the house of Mr Jenkin?"
A short man came—he told his name—
Mivins was short—he cut him shorter,
For in a fury he exclaimed,
"Are you the man as vants my darter?
Yot kim'd on you, last night, young sqvire?"
"It was the steamer, rot and scuttle her!"
"Mayhap it vos, but our Mariar
Yalked off last night with Bill the butler."

"And so you've kim'd a post too late."
"It was the packet, sir, miscarried!"
"Vy, does you think a gal can vait
As sets 'er 'art on being married?
Last night she vowed she'd be a bride,
And 'ave a spouse for vuss or better:
So Bill struck in; the knot vos tied,
And now I vishes you may get her!"

Young Mivins turned him from the spot,
Bewildered with the dreadful stroke, her
Perfidy came like a shot—
He was a thunder-struck stockbroker.
"A curse on steam and steamers too!
By their delays I have been undone!"
He cried, as, looking very blue,
He rode a bachelor to London.