John

JOHN, across the broad Atlantic, Tried to navigate a barque, But he met an unromantic And extremely hungry shark. John (I blame his childhood's teachers) Thought to treat this as a lark, Ignorant of how these creatures Do delight to bite a barque. Said "This animal's a bore!" and, With a scornful sort of grin, Handled an adjacent oar and Chucked it underneath the chin. At this unexpected juncture Which he had not reckoned on, Mr. Shark he made a puncture In the barque—and then in John. Sad am I, and sore at thinking John had on some clothes of mine; I can almost see them shrinking, Washed repeatedly in brine. I shall never cease regretting That I lent my hat to him, For I fear a thorough wetting Cannot well improve the brim. Oh! to know a shark is browsing, Boldly, blandly on my boots! Coldly, cruelly carousing On the choicest of my suits! Creatures I regard with loathing Who can calmly take their fill Of one's Jæger underclothing:— Down, my aching heart, be still!