The bay is alive with them,—hark! what a row, sirs,
A young one has crept up Jack Harris's trowsers,
Who pales with affright, and exerting his muscle,
Belabours the place where a maid ties her bustle.
And thus they kept shouting and whacking away,
Till at last they got down to the floor of the bay,
Where full thirty old ones, 'tis true, on my soul,
Were found (as is often the case,) in one hole.
And then, such an uproar, when they were got out,
Such shouting, and barking, and running about;
All, all, save one old one, were fated to die;
Bill Stokes caught Joe Foster a whack on the eye.
Thus ended the warfare! full ninety had died.
Without counting seven they'd topper'd outside;
When, finding no others were left them to munch,
They left off, and went into Benton's to lunch.
In marrying, as in pearl fishing, the odds are fearfully against us. It is not every oyster-shell that contains a pearl.
