Classic Poem

I SAY , little Boy at the Nore,
Do you come from the small Isle of Man?
Why, your history a mystery must be, —
Come tell us as much as you can,
Little Boy at the Nore!

You live it seems wholly on water,
Which your Gambier calls living in clover; —
But how comes it, if that is the case,
You're eternally half seas over, —
Little Boy at the Nore?

While you ride — while you dance — while you float —
Never mind your imperfect orthography; —
But give us as well as you can,
Your watery auto-biography,
Little Boy at the Nore!

LITTLE BOY AT THE NORE LOQUITUR .

I'm the tight little Boy at the Nore,
In a sort of sea negus I dwells;
Half and half 'twixt salt water and Port,
I'm reckoned the first of the swells —
I'm the Boy at the Nore!

I lives with my toes to the flounders,
And watches through long days and nights;
Yet, cruelly eager, men look —
To catch the first glimpse of my lights —
I'm the Boy at the Nore.

I never gets cold in the head,
So my life on salt water is sweet, —
I think I owes much of my health,
To being well used to wet feet —
As the Boy at the Nore.

There's one thing, I'm never in debt:
Nay! — I liquidates more than I oughter;
So the man to beat Cits as goes by,
In keeping the head above water,
Is the Boy at the Nore.

I've seen a good deal of distress,
Lots of Breakers in Ocean's Gazette;
They should do as I do — rise o'er all;
Ay, a good floating capital get,
Like the Boy at the Nore!

I'm a'ter the sailor's own heart,
And cheers him, in deep water rolling;
And the friend of all friends to Jack Junk,
Ben Backstay, Tom Pipes, and Tom Bowling,
Is the Boy at the Nore!

Could I e'er but grow up, I'd be off
For a week to make love with my wheedles;
If the tight little Boy at the Nore
Could but catch a nice girl at the Needles,
We'd have two at the Nore!

They thinks little of sizes on water,
On big waves the tiny one skulks, —
While the river has Men of War on it —
Yes — the Thames is oppressed with Great Hulks.
And the Boy's at the Nore!

But I've done — for the water is heaving
Round my body, as though it would sink it!
And I've been so long pitching and tossing,
That sea-sick — you'd hardly now think it —
Is the Boy at the Nore!