Ballad—in Castles in the Air

If ever a sailor was fond of good sport, 'Mongst the girls, why that sailor was I, Of all sizes and sorts, I'd a wife at each port, But, when that I saw'd Polly Ply, I hail'd her my lovely, and gov'd her a kiss, And swore to bring up once for all, And from that time black Barnaby splic'd us to this, I've been constant and true to my Poll.

And yet now all sorts of temptations I've stood, For I afterwards sail'd round the world, And a queer set we saw of the devil's own brood, Wherever our sails were unfurled: Some with faces like charcoal, and others like chalk; All ready one's heart to o'erhaul, Don't you go to love me, my good girl,' said I 'walk! I've sworn to be constant to Poll.'

I met with a squaw out at India, beyond, All in glass and tobacco pipes dress'd, What a dear pretty monster! so kind, and so fond. That I ne'er was a moment at rest. With her bobs at her nose, and her quaw, quaw, quaw, All the world like a barthelmy doll, Says I, 'You Miss Copperkin, just hold your jaw, 'I've sworn to be constant to Poll.

Then one near Sumatra, just under the line, As fond as a witch in a play, 'I loves you,' says she, 'and just only be mine, 'Or, by poison, I'll take you away. 'Curse your kindness,' says I, but you can't frighten 'me, 'You don't catch a gudgeon this haul, 'If I do take your ratsbane, why then, do you see, 'I shall die true and constant to Poll.

But I 'scap'd from them all, tawny, lily, and black, And merrily weather'd each storm, And, my neighbours to please, full of wonders came back, But, what's better, I'm grown pretty warm. And so now to sea I shall venture no more, For you know, being rich, I've no call, And live and die constant to Poll.