The Sailor to his Parrot

Thou foul-mouthed wretch!  Why dost thou choose

To learn bad language, and no good;

Canst thou not say “Lord be praised”

As easy as “Hell’s fire and blood”?

Why didst thou call the gentle priest

A thief and a damned rogue; and tell

The deacon’s wife, who came to pray,

To hold her jaw and go to hell?

Thou art a foe, no friend of mine,

For all my thoughts thou givest away;

Whate’er I say in confidence,

Thou dost in evil hours betray.

Thy mind’s for ever set on bad;

I cannot mutter one small curse,

But thou dost make it endless song,

And shout it to a neighbour’s house.

Aye, swear to thy delight and ours,

When here I welcome shipmates home,

And thou canst see abundant grog-

But hold thy tongue when landsmen come.

Be dumb when widow Johnson’s near,

Be dumb until our wedding day;

And after that- but not before-

She will enjoy the worst you say.

There is a time to speak and not;

When we’re together, all is well;

But damn thy soul- What! You damn mine!

And you tell me to go to hell!