"PUTTING OFF."

Look here, bonny boys! As we're launching our ship, And stringing our energies up for the tussle, Allow your old Stroke to suggest the straight tip! This is not a mere matter of Milo-like muscle. You are all looking fit, we've the pull in the weights— Not much, to be sure, forty pounds, say, or thereabout. Still, that much should tell 'gainst the smartest of eights; It should give us the race, which is all that we care about. 'Twill be a close fight, bet your boots about that, If we get a clear course without serious obstruction, Of which I'm not sanguine; the practice of Pat Has proved to possess universal seduction. Our last spin was muffed; never mind whose the fault; Let bygones be bygones! But now comes the crisis! It's now win or lose. Every man worth his salt Will pull like a Titan from Cam or from Isis. But—pull clean together, and put on the pace When I call for a spurt, or we're in for a licking. And, Cox, don't you steer us all over the place. In the fight that's before us, the course requires picking! So keep at attention, Mac, sharp all the way; A split-second's slackness may set our foes grinning. Verb. sap.! Our last "spin" proved a "mull," I must say; We must quicken the pace, if this bout we mean winning!