Of wine,
And beer in stoppered jugs.
Dear! Dear! But I tell ee twill be a fine
ship.
Theres none finer in any of the slips at Chatham.
The third Summers roses have started in to blow,
When the fine stern carving is begun.
Flutings, and twinings, and long slow swirls,
Bits of deal shaved away to thin spiral curls.
Tap! Tap! A cornucopia is nailed into place.
Rap-a-tap! They are putting up a railing filigreed like
Irish lace.
The Three Towns people never saw such grace.
And the paint on it! The richest gold leaf!
Why, the glitter when the sun is shining passes belief.
And that row of glass windows tipped toward the sky
Are rubies and carbuncles when the day is dry.
Oh, my! Oh, my!
They have coppered up the bottom,
And the copper nails
Stand about and sparkle in big wooden pails.
Bang! Clash! Bang!
And he swiggd, and Nick swiggd,
And Ben swiggd, and Dick swiggd,
And I swiggd, and all of us swiggd it,
And swore there was nothing
like grog.
It seems they sing,
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2016-03-17
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