But, once discharged the dromond's hold, the bireme beached once more, Splendaciously mendacious rolled the Brass-bound Man ashore.
The thranite now and thalamite are pressures low and high, And where three hundred blades bit white the twin-propellers ply. The God that hailed, the keel that sailed, are changed beyond recall, But the robust and Brass-bound Man he is not changed at all!
From Punt returned, from Phormio's Fleet, from Javan and Gadire, He strongly occupies the seat about the tavern fire, And, moist with much Falernian or smoked Massilian juice, Revenges there the Brass-bound Man his long-enforced truce! </poem>
The Lowestoft Boat
<poem> (East Coast Patrols) 1914-18
In Lowestoft a boat was laid,
Mark well what I do say!
And she was built for the herring trade,
But she has gone a-rovin', a-rovin', a-rovin', The Lord knows where!
They gave her Government coal to burn, And a Q. F. gun at bow and stern, And sent her out a-rovin', etc.
Her skipper was mate of a bucko ship While always killed one man per trip, So he is used to rovin', etc.
