Classic Poem

Once upon your trim-built galley
To Cythera's shore
Lovers on their way would dally:
Now they come no more.

In its hold the bilge is shaking
Swaying to and fro,
Every joint is water making
And it will not go.

Tossing seas have scored its belly
And the stays are slack;
Sails its breasts as soft as jelly,
Broken yard for back.

Pity then the luckless rover
Who on waters dark
With his oar shall try and move her,
Your old coffin ark.