The Battle of the Bays
And the splitten fry are salted dry by the blink of the morning
And Sal o' the Dune was wed next moon by the man that paid his way With a kipperling netted at noon of night and cured ere the crack of
For such is the law of the herring fleet that bloats on the northern
Tattooed in scars on the chests of the tars with a brand like the
brand of Cain.
And still in the haunts of the Yang-tse-boo
Ever they tell the tale anew
Of the chase for the kipperling swag;
How the smack _Tommy This_ and the smack _Tommy That_
They broached each other like a whiskey-vat,
And the _Fuzzy-Wuz_ took the bag.
A BALLAD OF A BUN.
(AFTER J. D.)
'I am sister to the mountains now,
And sister to the sun and moon.'
'Heed not belletrist jargon.'
From Whitsuntide to Whitsuntide--
That is to say, all through the year--