Classic Poem

Before I set sail, I will not fail
To give that lad my blessing,
And if I had him here there's not much fear
But he'd get a good top dressing;
By the hat on my head but he'd lie on his bed
Till the end of next September,
I'd give him good cause to rub his jaws
And Skin the Goat remember.

But as I won't get the chance to make Carey dance,
I'll give him my benedictions,
So from my heart's core may he evermore
Know nothing but afflictions,
May every buck flea from here to Bray
Jump through the bed that he lies on,
And by some mistake may he shortly take
A flowing pint of poison.

May his toes fill with corns like puckawn's horns
Till he can neither wear slippers or shoes,
With a horrid toothache may he roar like a drake
And jump like a mad kangaroo.
May a horrid big rat make a hole in his hat
And chew all the hair off his head,
May the skin of a pig be made into a wig
And stuck on him when he is dead . . .

May his wife be jealous and pitch up the bellows,
And measure him over the head,
May he get the Devil's fright, that will turn him left and right,
Every night till it knocks him stone dead,
May a horrid baboon jump out of the moon
And tear his old carcase asunder,
And the day he'll sail, may snow and hail
Accompany rain and thunder . . .

When the equator is crossed, may the rudder be lost,
And his vessel be wafted ashore,
To some cannibal isle near the banks of the Nile,
Where savages jump and roar;
With a big sharp knife may they take his life,
While his vessel is still afloat,
And pick his bones as clean as stones,
Is the prayer of poor Skin the Goat.