Said she, "You are a person that I really do not know" Her tone was rather cutting, like a file! A serious alteration in her style; I knew her when a maiden without guile, She wouldn't even loan me from her pile, A widow's mite; it agitates my bile!
A Seaside Idyll this; To teach how oft amiss, Doth fall the fate of men who would be free:
It makes me cry heigho, In minor cadence low, When I do mind me Of the fate of three,
To shun hymenial perils, And tired of mashing girls, A smuggler's cave, they took beside the sea, And formed a reckless crew, That swallowed their own brew, Of whiskey, punch and coffee, beer and tea;
But most of beer, and whiskey, as you see, And that's the reason that I cry heigho!
The smiles of fate fell on them from the rock,
Thus mesmerised by mirth, They climbed the rocks, and earth, With fascinated recklessness alack!
My sympathy to show, Again I say heigho! 'Twere better to their cave they had gone back.
Ah! me, the smugglers three, Were blind their fate to see, And lo! capitulation followed soon;
For spite of all their pains, They soon were in the chains, That fettered them in bondage 'neath the moon,
That shone on double case, of treble spoon; Too like the moon, that wanes; And that is why I sing in minor tune, And cry again with sympathy, heigho!
Thus ever day by day, In bondage still they lay, Surrendering provisions, and their brew,
Until the crew did go Into the town, and lo!
A parson had some triple work to do, They're captives now,
hard labour is their due, Alack! the hapless crew; I cry again with sympathy, heigho!