LINES TO MR. HODGSON.
WRITTEN ON BOARD THE LISBON PACKET.
Huzza! Hodgson, we are going,
Our embargo 's off at last;
Favourable breezes blowing
Bend the canvas o'er the mast.
From aloft the signal 's streaming,
Hark! the farewell gun is fired;
Women screeching, tars blaspheming,
Tell us that our time 's expired.
Here 's a rascal
Come to task all,
Prying from the Custom-house;
Not a corner for a mouse
'Scapes unsearched amid the racket,
Ere we sail on board the Packet.
Now our boatmen quit their mooring,
And all hands must ply the oar;
Baggage from the quay is lowering,
We're impatient, push from shore.
"Have a care! that case holds liquor—
- [For Francis Hodgson (1781-1852), see Letters, 1898, i. 195, note I.]
version eighteen lines of his own composition, by way of moral or application.]