Classic Poem

O, can't she? Listen! There's a volley!
Stand to your guns, my Ipswich boy!
Chain-shot ahoy!
" Ah, ain't she jolly "
(Young Ipswich telegraphing
To us upon the quay)!
" Some credit chaffing
With her! " Decidedly —
" The gen'lemen are looking. " Yes, we are,
My noble Ipswich tar —
" Ain't her eyes brown? "
(Says telegraph)
" Ah, can't she laugh?
And ain't she all so nice and pert? "
Yes, yes! stand up and flirt!
Flirt for the honour of your native town!
Flirt! flirt! my man of Ipswich. Not so bad!
A good sufficient lad!
See how the strong young hearts
Dance to the tongue-tips; lightning darts
From eye to eye:
The maiden is not shy!
See the two Manxmen on the schooner there,
Who stare
With all their souls in silent admiration
Of such a very excellent flirtation!
Quite out of it —
Those Manxmen — wait a bit —
Poor fellows! Shall we hail them? No?
Ah well, let's go.