“Avast ye, me hearties! A ship to starboard!
And she’s loaded with spices and silk!”
“Do you think they have cream?” A pirate implored;
“I prefer cream in tea, over milk.”
The mate and the swabs chewed upon their hard tack
With cutlasses sharpened, and knives:
(Though some of them knitted , and some played with jacks,
And some wrote sweet poems to their wives.)
The parrot croaked, “murder!” and epithets foul,
And the Captain lit candles in beard
And adjusted his eyepatch, his hook and his scowl,
And thought about wenches, and leered.
But the swabs were distracted by talk of ballet,
And the mate had to check on his fern,
The gunners were busy with their macrame,
And the pies in the oven would burn.
Soon the ship with rich booty was too far to see,
And the Captain he hung up his hook,
And sat down to crumpets and cupcakes and tea,
And read a nice romantic book.