English poem
TO NEPTUNE
by John Cecil Clay (1875–1930)
A health to King Neptune, The boss of the wave! Who sits on the Ocean And makes it behave. Come fill up your bumpers And take a long pull! When he's calm he's not dry— When he rolls, he's not full.
Whether sober or rough, He's always a sport, And we'll never stop toasting him Till we're in port. A jolly old salt, Though he smile or he frown. So here's to King Neptune! Fill up! Drink her down!
We drink your health, O Waiter! And may you be preserved From old age, gout, or sudden death!— At least till supper's served.