Читать книгу Songs of the Sea and Lays of the Land - Charles Godfrey Leland - Страница 11

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Once when I went upon a trip

Likewise to the Southern sea,

We had a man upon the ship

And a wonderful man was he.

A handsomer man I never did spy,

At home or in any port;

But there was something in his eye

Of a most peculiar sort.

And all in Trinidado’s port

Was a woman fair and rich,

With her my messmate did consort,

And I heard she was a witch.

Her eyes, like his, had a greenish glare,

They seemed to be quite of a level,

And the general look of the loving pair

Was exactly the look of the devil.

Now when it was time to up and lift,

And the ship must leave the docks,

He came aboard with her parting gift,

A brown little wooden box.

Now this man had hardly a shirt to his back,

When he started on this trip,

And the mate declared that such a Jack

Was a regular shame to the ship.

Then this man he winked a dreadful wink,

And said to the mate, “I’ll be floored:

But I’ve got more clothes in my box, I think,

Than all of the men on board.”

Now his box was only one foot square,

And what was our surprise

When he opened it and pulled out a pair

Of shirts before our eyes!

Next came a hat and a jacket blue,

With trousers of the best,

For everything was nice and new,

And so on with all the rest.

And when he was drest, all spick and span,

We observed upon our oaths

That we didn’t believe even our old man

Had got such a suit of clothes.

Twenty-four hours arter, I heard him say,

And I thought it was very strange:

“I never wear my clothes but a day

And now it is time to change.

“I make you a gift on ’em fair and plain,

With a quid of tobacco to boot.”

Sayin’ this he opened his box again,

And pulled out another new suit.

And the same thing happened the very next day,

At about the very same bells,

He took off his second suit so gay,

And gave it to somebody else.

So it happened every day again,

Till he’d rigged us all from his store;

And such a dandy lot of men

Were never in a ship before.

Then we never had any scrimmages

For fear of spilin’ our slops:

We looked like the graven images

Before the tailors’ shops.

But a man named Knox from Edinboro toun,

Always took the thing amiss,

And often remarked with a doubtful frown:

“There is something eereligious in this!”

So one day when our friend had opened his box,

Before we could prevent,

Up behind him came Mr. Knox

And dropped in his New Testament.

There came a flash of lightning bright,

And an awful thunder’s roar,

And the box and the sailor went clean out o’ sight,

And we never beheld ’em more.

And all to ashes and all to wreck

Went our clothes, and we looked forlorn,

For there we were standing on the deck

As naked as we were born!

And this is the lesson short and small,

Which we learned from our liberal friend,

That the things which cost you nothing at all

Never come to any good in the end.

And when the laugh at this had died away,

Mose Brown of Bristol in the whaling line

Said: “Mermaids are the witches of the sea,

Which in good looks are really superfine.

And on this subject I will give a song,

Which I daresay you all already know,

But anyway it isn’t very long,

Though it was made a hundred years ago,

I guess that mermaids were much plentier then;

Perhaps they’re scared of steamboats and the swell

Which drives the fish as foxes do a hen—

So like the steamers I will now propel.”