LINES TO MR. HODGSON
By
Lord Byron
Written on Board the Lisbon Packet
Falmouth Roads, June 30, 1809
( First published 1830 )
( Note:
The following lines were in a letter to Francis Hodgson as Byron
set sail on his first pilgrimage.
I have used the original wording from the letter, rather than the version
used in later editions. )
&/\&/\&
1
Huzza ! Hodgson, we are going,
Our embargo's off at last;
Favourable breezes blowing
Bend the canvas o'er the mast.
From aloft the signal's streaming,
Hark ! the farewell gun is fired;
Women screeching, Tars blaspheming,
Tell us that our time's expired.
Here's a rascal
Come to task all,
Prying from the custom-house,
Trunks unpacking,
Cases cracking
Not a corner for a mouse
Scrapes unsearched amid the racket,
Ere we sail on board the Packet.---
2
Now our boatmen quit their mooring,
And all hands must ply the oar;
Baggage from the quay is lowering,
We're impatient --- push from shore ---
"Have a care ! that Case holds liquor
"Stop the boat --- I'm sick --- oh Lord !
"Sick, Maam ! damme, you'll be sicker,
Ere you've been an hour on board.
Thus are screaming
Men & women
Gemmen, Ladies, servants, Jacks,
Here entangling
All are wrangling
Stuck together close as wax,
Such the genial noise and racket
Ere we reach the Lisbon Packet.
3
Now we've reached her, lo ! the Captain
Gallant Kidd commands the crew
Passengers now their berths are clapt in
Some to grumble, some to spew,
Heyday ! call you that a Cabin ?
Why tis hardly three feet square
Not enough to stow Queen Mab in,
Who the deuce can harbour there?
Who Sir? plenty
Nobles twenty
Did at once my vessel fill
Did they --- Jesus !
How you squeeze us
Would to God, they did so still,
Then I'd scape the heat & racket
Of the good ship, Lisbon Packet.
___________________
Note + Erratum ---
For "gallant" read "gallows" ---
4
Fletcher, Murray, Bob, where are you?
Stretched along the deck like logs
Bear a hand --- you jolly tar you !
Here's a rope's end for the dogs,
Hobhouse muttering fearful curses
As the hatchway down he rolls
Now his breakfast, now his verses
Vomits forth & damns our souls,
Here's a stanza
On Braganza
Help ! --- a couplet --- no, a cup
Of warm water,
What's the matter?
Zounds ! my liver's coming up,
I shall not survive the racket
Of this brutal Lisbon Packet ---
5
Now at length we're off for Turkey,
Lord knows when we shall come back,
Breezes foul, & tempests murkey,
May unship us in a crack,
But since life at most a jest is
As Philosophers allow
Still to laugh by far the best is,
Then laugh on --- as I do now,
Laugh at all things
Great & small things,
Sick or well, at sea or shore,
While we're quaffing
Let's have laughing
Who the Devil cares for more?
Save good wine, & who would lack it ?
Even on board the Lisbon Packet.
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