Ere we reach the Lisbon Packet.

Now we've reached her, lo! the captain,
Gallant Kid, commands the crew;
Passengers their berths are clapped in,
Some to grumble, some to spew.
"Hey day! call you that a cabin?
Why, 'tis hardly three feet square;
Not enough to stow Queen Mab in--
Who the deuce can harbor there?"
"Who, sir? plenty--
Nobles twenty
Did at once my vessel fill."--
"Did they? Jesus,
How you squeeze us!
Would to God they did so still;
Then I'd 'scape the heat and racket
Of the good ship Lisbon Packet."

Fletcher! Murray! Bob! where are you?
Stretched along the decks like logs--
Bear a hand, you jolly tar, you!
Here's a rope's end for the dogs.
Hobhouse muttering fearful curses,
As the hatchway down he rolls,
Now his breakfast, now his verses,
Vomits forth--and damns our souls.
"Here's a stanza
On Braganza--
Help!"--"A couplet?"--"No, a cup