Ho! Yeho, Boys! Yeho! I'm no craven,
When you set me in face of the sea;
Be it Folkestone--or even Newhaven,
That I hail from, it's all one to me;
For I take up my post by the funnel,
And I reck not which way the winds blow;
And I scorn thoughts of bridge or of tunnel
As I start, singing Ho, boys! yeho!
But who drops a hint about going below?
Why, he'll see I've the knack, boys,
Just like every true Jack, boys,
Of paying my fare with a "Ho, boys! Yeho!"
We have scarcely left port, yet, already,
All my nautical visions grow blurred;
If I move,--well, I feel so unsteady,
That I half wish that I had not stirred.
Weakly smiling, I turn to the steward,
And inquire if he thinks it will blow;
He just gazes to windward and leeward,
And replies, "You'd best get down below."
But no! I'm not thinking of going down below,
Though I'm not easy here,
And I own I feel queer,
I'm equal, as yet, to a modest Yeho!
Well, 'tis over! At truth no use blinking!
Face that passage again? Oh! I daren't!
Through the first half I feared we were sinking,--
Through the second I feared that we weren't!
Though gin, chloral, stout, brandy, and "bitter,"
I tried all in turns, but to find them no go,
Still, in voice for a hospital fitter,
I gave them a plaintive, "Yeho! boys! Yeho!"
For the steward had carried me gently below!
That's the best place, you'll find,
Should you make up your mind,
To shout in Mid-Channel, "Ho! Yeho, boys! Yeho!"
"Bravo!" cried _Mr. Punch_, as the singer finished--"I quite agree
with you. But now let me see what else is to be seen on the sands."
It was a gay scene--all the gayer for the delightful weather. _Mr.
Punch_, knowing that his wishes must immediately be gratified, had
taken care to desire _beau temps en permanence_.
"This is really very charming," murmured the Sage; "and I am not
surprised that one of the brightest of my Artists chose it for his
holiday resting-place last Summer--and, as I live, there he is!
Halloa! Hi! Have you forgotten your old friend?"
"Forgotten you, my dear _Mr. Punch!_" said a gentleman of extreme
elegance, approaching the Sage. "How could you think of such a thing?
Why, you have had proofs of my goodwill every week for the last
quarter of a century."
"So I have," returned _Mr. Punch_, heartily, "and have you anything
from your portfolio you can show me?"
"What do you think of this?" And he showed him two Gauls, _en costume
de bain_.
"What are these?" asked the Sage.
"I will tell you," replied the melancholy-looking tourist, approaching
with his concertina. Then, in a soft voice, he sang the following
lines, which he called