The old sailor

There came an old sailor

Who sat to sup

Under the trees

Of the Golden Cup.

Beer in a mug

And a slice of cheese

With a hunk of bread

He munched at his ease.

Then in the summer

Dusk he lit

A little black pipe,

And sucked at it.

He thought of his victuals,

Of ships, the sea.

Of his home in the West,

And his children three.

And he stared and stared

To where, afar,

The lighthouse gleamed

At the harbour bar;

Till his pipe grew cold,

And down on the board

He laid his head,

And snored, snored, snored.