Classic Poem

‘Then let it blow!’ exclaimed our doting man,
Whose tongue, restrained, had burst aloose at last;
‘I'll weather well the tempest if I can,
Whoever else may founder in the blast.
My colors, see, they're nailed upon the mast!
The pirate's crimson stain is on their fold;
Come, look with wizzard ken into the past,
For by your subtle arts I would be told
Where bloody Kidd concealed that chest of glittering gold.