Jones, you'll be tossed at sea, as I've a notion;
But the dread perils of the ocean, O shun!
Winds, when the fair Aurora dawns, O roar
Not in your might till Jones has gone ashore;
Waters, swell not yon yeasty billows high,
Till that young swell's on land, and very dry;
For though his name _is_ Jones, and though he did
Enter the palace, and not touch the knocker,
There is no reason right why Jones's kid
Should be consign'd to Davy Jones's locker.