Page:The heptalogia, or, The seven against sense - a cap with seven bells (IA heptalogiaorseve00swin).pdf/42

A man's own yacht, blown—What? off land?
Tack back, or veer round here, then—queer!
Reef points, though—understand?

III.

I'm blest if I do. Sigh? be blowed!

Love's doves make break life's ropes, eh? Tropes!
Faith's brig, baulked, sides caulked, rides at road;
Hope's gropes befogged, storm-dogged and bogged—
Clogged, water-logged, her load!

IV.

Stowed, by Jove, right and tight, away!

No show now how best plough sea's brow,
Wrinkling—breeze quick, tease thick, ere day,