Lines To Mr. Hodgson, |
Written On Board The Lisbon Packet
by George Gordon, Lord Byron
(composed: 30 June 1809)
- Huzza! Hodgson, we are going,
- Our embargos off at last;
- Favourable breezes blowing
- Bend the canvass oer the mast.
- From aloft the signals streaming,
- Hark! the farewell gun is fird;
- Women screeching, tars blaspheming,
- Tell us that our times expird.
- Heres a rascal
- Come to task all,
- Prying from the custom-house;
- Trunks unpacking
- Cases cracking,
- Not a corner for a mouse
- Scapes unsearchd 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,
- Were impatientpush from shore.
- Have a care! that case holds liquor
- Stop the boatIm sickoh Lord!
- Sick, maam, damme, youll be sicker,
- Ere youve been an hour on board.
- Thus are screaming
- Men and women,
- Gemmen, ladies, servants, Jacks;
- Here entangling,
- All are wrangling,
- Stuck together close as wax.
- Such the genial noise and racket,
- Ere we reach the Lisbon Packet.
- Now weve reachd her, lo! the captain,
- Gallant Kidd, commands the crew;
- Passengers their berths are clapt in,
- Some to grumble, some to spew.
- Hey day! call you that a cabin?
- Why t is hardly three feet square;
- Not enough to stow Queen Mab in
- Who the deuce can harbour there?
- Who, sir? plenty
- Nobles twenty
- Did at once my vessel fill.
- Did they? Jesus,
- How you squeeze us!
- Would to God they did so still:
- Then Id scape the heat and racket
- Of the good ship, Lisbon Packet.
- Fletcher! Murray! Bob! where are you?
- Stretchd along the deck like logs
- Bear a hand, you jolly tar, you!
- Heres a ropes end for the dogs.
- Hobhouse muttering fearful curses,
- As the hatchway down he rolls,
- Now his breakfast, now his verses,
- Vomits forthand damns our souls.
- Heres a stanza
- On Braganza
- Help!A couplet?No, a cup
- Of warm water
- Whats the matter?
- Zounds! my livers coming up;
- I shall not survive the racket
- Of this brutal Lisbon Packet.
- Now at length were off for Turkey,
- Lord knows when we shall come back!
- Breezes foul and tempests murky
- May unship us in a crack.
- But, since life at most a jest is,
- As philosophers allow,
- Still to laugh by far the best is,
- Then laugh onas I do now.
- Laugh at all things,
- Great and small things,
- Sick or well, at sea or shore;
- While were quaffing,
- Lets have laughing
- Who the devil cares for more?
- Some good wine! and who would lack it,
- Evn on board the Lisbon Packet?