  (A Confidential Carol, by a Cockney Owner, who inwardly feels that he is not exactly "in it," after all) What makes me deem I'm of Viking blood (Though a wee bit queer when the pace grows hot), A briny slip of the British brood? My Yot! What makes me rig me in curious guise? Like a kind of a sort of—I don't know what, And talk sea-slang, to the world's surprise? My Yot! What makes me settle my innermost soul On winning a purposeless silver pot, And walk with a (very much) nautical roll? My Yot! What makes me learned in cutters and yawls, And time-allowance—which others must tot—, And awfully nervous in sudden squalls? My Yot! What makes me sprawl on the deck all day, And at night play "Nap" till I lose a lot, And grub in a catch-who-can sort of a way? My Yot! What makes me qualmish, timorous, pale, (Though rather than own it I'd just be shot) When the Fay in the wave-crests dips her sail? My Yot! What makes me "patter" to skipper and crew In a kibosh style that a child might spot, And tug hard ropes till my knuckles go blue? My Yot! What makes me snooze in a narrow, close bunk, Till the cramp my limbs doth twist and knot, And brave discomfort, and face blue-funk? My Yot! What makes me gammon my chummiest friends To "try the fun"—which I know's all rot— And earn the dead-cut in which all this ends? My Yot! What makes me, in short, an egregious ass, A bore, a butt, who, not caring a jot For the sea, as a sea-king am seeking to pass? My Yot! At Whitby.—Visitor (to Ancient Mariner, who has been relating his experiences to crowd of admirers). "Then do you mean to tell us that you actually reached the North Pole?" Ancient Mariner. "No, sir; that would be a perwersion of the truth. But I seed it a-stickin' up among the ice just as plain as you can this spar, which I plants in the sand. It makes me thirsty to think of that marvellous sight, we being as it were parched wi' cold." [A. M.'s distress promptly relieved by audience. DANGERS OF HENLEY THE DANGERS OF HENLEYVoice from the bridge above. "Oh, lor, Sarah, I've bin and dropped the strawberries and cream!" man paddling canoe His Fair Companion (drowsily). "I think a Canadian is the best river craft, after all, as it's less like work than the others!" THE RULE OF THE RIVER(As Deduced from a late Collision) The rule of the river's a mystery quite, Other craft when you're steering among, If you starboard your helm, you ain't sure you are right, If you port, you may prove to be wrong. |
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