(Mr. Punch in the Ocean on the broad of his back, singeth)
I'm afloat, I'm afloat, what matters it where?
So the devils don't know my address, I don't care.
Of London I'm sick, I've come down to the sea,
And let who will make up next week's number for me!
At my lodgings, I know, I'm done frightfully brown,
And e'en lobsters and shrimps cost me more than in town;
I've B. flats in my bed, and my landlady stern,
Says from London I've brought 'em to give her a turn.
Yet I'm happier far in my dear seaside home,
Than the Queen on Dee side, or Art-traveller in Rome;
A Cab-horse at grass would be nothing to me,
On the broad of my back floating free, floating free!
On the broad of my back floating free, floating free!
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! ha!
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! ha!
With the lodging-house-keepers all day on the bite,
And the insects I spoke of as hungry at night,
With the organs "Dog-traying" and "Bobbing Around,"
And extra-size Crinolines sweeping the ground,
You may think Mr. Punch might be apt to complain
That the seaside's but Regent Street over again:
But from devils and copy and proof-sheets set free,
I've a week to do nothing but bathe in the sea.
In steamers and yachts I've been rocked on its breast,
And didn't much like it, it must be confessed;
But a cosy machine and shoal water give me,
And there let me float--let me float and be free!
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! ha!
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! ha!
(1858)
