SHINGLE-SHORT
First wind ’ud whip your feather off,
First wave ‘ud stroke them skewers down,
An’ smudge your cardboard,—an’ the wet
’Ud stop your works, an’ there you’d drown—
Nice endin’ to a trial trip!
Jolly good thing!—You ain’t no ship!
Well, but there is....I seen ’em, some,
In Town there, in the Musë-um....?
Much o’ your size, too: in a row:
Five of ’em, steamers—an’ they’re fine!
Bridges they got, an’ gold, an’ brass,
An’ sets there smilin’, under glass;
Right to a hair, an’ not a speck,—
Fresher than Fancy, full o’ shine!
An’ one of ’em’s a real twin-screw,
An’ one with sailors on her deck.
But each an’ all is in a box;
Glass, but (I tried ’em), all with locks;
So, clearly, they ain’t meant to go?
An’, when I asked the man, he said:
“You bloomin’ loony, ’course they ain’t—
Nor don’t you try it!—Them’s for show!”
....Well, then....?
Ho, yes! Got just the face,
Ain’t you, to glorify your glass?
Guess you’d git in a special class,
An’ take first prize—as a Grimace!
Oh, here’s a rotten game I’ve play’d!
Ain’t you a dandy!—Real home-made!
Your works half-worn, your riggin’ string,
An’ all odd colours—Burst the thing!
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