the walrus said to speak of many things. Of shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings, and why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings. From Lewis Carroll Alice in wonderland. Some one else add a favorite verse.
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the walrus said to speak of many things. Of shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings, and why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings. From Lewis Carroll Alice in wonderland. Some one else add a favorite verse.
It is good to learn a bit ot poetry now and then. And with that
in mind I offer this: The Yarn of the Nancy Bell Attributed to William Schwenck Gilbert (English 1836-1911) 'Twas on the shores that round our coast From Deal to Ramsgate span, That I found alone on a piece of stone An elderly naval man. His hair was weedy, his beard was long And weedy and long was he; And I heard this wight on the shore recite, In a singular minor key:- "Oh, I am the cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captains' gig." 'Till I really felt afraid, For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking, And so I simply said:- "O elderly man, it's little I know Of the duties of men of the sea, And I'll eat my hand if I understand However you can be "At once a cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig." And he shook his fists and tore his hair, And he gave a hitch to his trousers, which Is a trick that all seaman larn, And having got rid of a thumping quid, He spun his painful yarn:- "'Twas on the good ship Nancy Bell That we sailed to the Indian Sea, And there on a reef we come to grief, Which has often occurred to me. "And pretty nigh all the crew was drowned (There were seventy-seven o'soul), And only ten of the Nancy's men Said 'Here!' to the muster roll. "There was me and the cook and the captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And the bo'sun tight and midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig. "For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink, Till a-hungry we did feel; So we drawed a lot, and accordin', shot The captain for our meal. The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate, And a delicate dish he made; Then our appetite with the midshipmite We seven survivors stayed. "And then we murdered the bo'sun tight, And he much resembled a pig; Then we wittled free, did the cook and me, On the crew of the captain's gig. "Then only the cook and me was left, And the delicate question, 'Which Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose, And we argued it out as sich. "For I loved that cook as a brother, I did, And the cook he worshipped me; But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed In the other chap's hold, you see. "I'll be eat if you dines of me,' says Tom; 'Yes, that' says I, 'you'll be: I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I; And 'Exactly so,' quoth he. "Says he, 'Dear James, to murder me Were a foolish thing to do, For don't you see that you can't cook me, While I can - and will - cook you?' "So he boils the water, and takes the salt And the pepper in portions true (Which he never forgot), and some chopped shallot, And some sage and parsley too. "'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride, Which his smiling features tell; "'Twill soothing be if I let you see How extremely nice you'll smell.' "And he stirred it round and round and round, And he sniffed at the foaming froth; When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals In the scum of the boiling broth. "'And I eat that cook in a week or less, And - as I eating be The last of his chops, why, I almost drops, For a vessel in sight I see! "And I never larf, and I never smile, And I never lark nor play, But sit and croak, and a single joke I have - which is to say: - "Oh, I am the cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captains' gig."
in mind I offer this: The Yarn of the Nancy Bell Attributed to William Schwenck Gilbert (English 1836-1911) 'Twas on the shores that round our coast From Deal to Ramsgate span, That I found alone on a piece of stone An elderly naval man. His hair was weedy, his beard was long And weedy and long was he; And I heard this wight on the shore recite, In a singular minor key:- "Oh, I am the cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captains' gig." 'Till I really felt afraid, For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking, And so I simply said:- "O elderly man, it's little I know Of the duties of men of the sea, And I'll eat my hand if I understand However you can be "At once a cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig." And he shook his fists and tore his hair, And he gave a hitch to his trousers, which Is a trick that all seaman larn, And having got rid of a thumping quid, He spun his painful yarn:- "'Twas on the good ship Nancy Bell That we sailed to the Indian Sea, And there on a reef we come to grief, Which has often occurred to me. "And pretty nigh all the crew was drowned (There were seventy-seven o'soul), And only ten of the Nancy's men Said 'Here!' to the muster roll. "There was me and the cook and the captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And the bo'sun tight and midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig. "For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink, Till a-hungry we did feel; So we drawed a lot, and accordin', shot The captain for our meal. The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate, And a delicate dish he made; Then our appetite with the midshipmite We seven survivors stayed. "And then we murdered the bo'sun tight, And he much resembled a pig; Then we wittled free, did the cook and me, On the crew of the captain's gig. "Then only the cook and me was left, And the delicate question, 'Which Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose, And we argued it out as sich. "For I loved that cook as a brother, I did, And the cook he worshipped me; But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed In the other chap's hold, you see. "I'll be eat if you dines of me,' says Tom; 'Yes, that' says I, 'you'll be: I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I; And 'Exactly so,' quoth he. "Says he, 'Dear James, to murder me Were a foolish thing to do, For don't you see that you can't cook me, While I can - and will - cook you?' "So he boils the water, and takes the salt And the pepper in portions true (Which he never forgot), and some chopped shallot, And some sage and parsley too. "'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride, Which his smiling features tell; "'Twill soothing be if I let you see How extremely nice you'll smell.' "And he stirred it round and round and round, And he sniffed at the foaming froth; When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals In the scum of the boiling broth. "'And I eat that cook in a week or less, And - as I eating be The last of his chops, why, I almost drops, For a vessel in sight I see! "And I never larf, and I never smile, And I never lark nor play, But sit and croak, and a single joke I have - which is to say: - "Oh, I am the cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captains' gig."
It is good to learn a bit ot poetry now and then. And with that
in mind I offer this: The Yarn of the Nancy Bell Attributed to William Schwenck Gilbert (English 1836-1911) 'Twas on the shores that round our coast From Deal to Ramsgate span, That I found alone on a piece of stone An elderly naval man. His hair was weedy, his beard was long And weedy and long was he; And I heard this wight on the shore recite, In a singular minor key:- "Oh, I am the cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captains' gig." 'Till I really felt afraid, For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking, And so I simply said:- "O elderly man, it's little I know Of the duties of men of the sea, And I'll eat my hand if I understand However you can be "At once a cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig." And he shook his fists and tore his hair, And he gave a hitch to his trousers, which Is a trick that all seaman larn, And having got rid of a thumping quid, He spun his painful yarn:- "'Twas on the good ship Nancy Bell That we sailed to the Indian Sea, And there on a reef we come to grief, Which has often occurred to me. "And pretty nigh all the crew was drowned (There were seventy-seven o'soul), And only ten of the Nancy's men Said 'Here!' to the muster roll. "There was me and the cook and the captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And the bo'sun tight and midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig. "For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink, Till a-hungry we did feel; So we drawed a lot, and accordin', shot The captain for our meal. The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate, And a delicate dish he made; Then our appetite with the midshipmite We seven survivors stayed. "And then we murdered the bo'sun tight, And he much resembled a pig; Then we wittled free, did the cook and me, On the crew of the captain's gig. "Then only the cook and me was left, And the delicate question, 'Which Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose, And we argued it out as sich. "For I loved that cook as a brother, I did, And the cook he worshipped me; But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed In the other chap's hold, you see. "I'll be eat if you dines of me,' says Tom; 'Yes, that' says I, 'you'll be: I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I; And 'Exactly so,' quoth he. "Says he, 'Dear James, to murder me Were a foolish thing to do, For don't you see that you can't cook me, While I can - and will - cook you?' "So he boils the water, and takes the salt And the pepper in portions true (Which he never forgot), and some chopped shallot, And some sage and parsley too. "'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride, Which his smiling features tell; "'Twill soothing be if I let you see How extremely nice you'll smell.' "And he stirred it round and round and round, And he sniffed at the foaming froth; When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals In the scum of the boiling broth. "'And I eat that cook in a week or less, And - as I eating be The last of his chops, why, I almost drops, For a vessel in sight I see! "And I never larf, and I never smile, And I never lark nor play, But sit and croak, and a single joke I have - which is to say: - "Oh, I am the cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captains' gig."
in mind I offer this: The Yarn of the Nancy Bell Attributed to William Schwenck Gilbert (English 1836-1911) 'Twas on the shores that round our coast From Deal to Ramsgate span, That I found alone on a piece of stone An elderly naval man. His hair was weedy, his beard was long And weedy and long was he; And I heard this wight on the shore recite, In a singular minor key:- "Oh, I am the cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captains' gig." 'Till I really felt afraid, For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking, And so I simply said:- "O elderly man, it's little I know Of the duties of men of the sea, And I'll eat my hand if I understand However you can be "At once a cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig." And he shook his fists and tore his hair, And he gave a hitch to his trousers, which Is a trick that all seaman larn, And having got rid of a thumping quid, He spun his painful yarn:- "'Twas on the good ship Nancy Bell That we sailed to the Indian Sea, And there on a reef we come to grief, Which has often occurred to me. "And pretty nigh all the crew was drowned (There were seventy-seven o'soul), And only ten of the Nancy's men Said 'Here!' to the muster roll. "There was me and the cook and the captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And the bo'sun tight and midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig. "For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink, Till a-hungry we did feel; So we drawed a lot, and accordin', shot The captain for our meal. The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate, And a delicate dish he made; Then our appetite with the midshipmite We seven survivors stayed. "And then we murdered the bo'sun tight, And he much resembled a pig; Then we wittled free, did the cook and me, On the crew of the captain's gig. "Then only the cook and me was left, And the delicate question, 'Which Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose, And we argued it out as sich. "For I loved that cook as a brother, I did, And the cook he worshipped me; But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed In the other chap's hold, you see. "I'll be eat if you dines of me,' says Tom; 'Yes, that' says I, 'you'll be: I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I; And 'Exactly so,' quoth he. "Says he, 'Dear James, to murder me Were a foolish thing to do, For don't you see that you can't cook me, While I can - and will - cook you?' "So he boils the water, and takes the salt And the pepper in portions true (Which he never forgot), and some chopped shallot, And some sage and parsley too. "'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride, Which his smiling features tell; "'Twill soothing be if I let you see How extremely nice you'll smell.' "And he stirred it round and round and round, And he sniffed at the foaming froth; When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals In the scum of the boiling broth. "'And I eat that cook in a week or less, And - as I eating be The last of his chops, why, I almost drops, For a vessel in sight I see! "And I never larf, and I never smile, And I never lark nor play, But sit and croak, and a single joke I have - which is to say: - "Oh, I am the cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captains' gig."
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
by the men who moil for gold. The arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold. The northern lights have seen queer sights but the queerest I ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee
by the men who moil for gold. The arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold. The northern lights have seen queer sights but the queerest I ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
by the men who moil for gold. The arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold. The northern lights have seen queer sights but the queerest I ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee
by the men who moil for gold. The arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold. The northern lights have seen queer sights but the queerest I ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee
The Cremation of Sam McGee
One of the many famous poems by well known Canadian poet & writer - Robert W. Service (1874-1958) Good ol' Sam - related on my father's side of the family - born and raised in my home town. (about 75 years before me)
One of the many famous poems by well known Canadian poet & writer - Robert W. Service (1874-1958) Good ol' Sam - related on my father's side of the family - born and raised in my home town. (about 75 years before me)
The Cremation of Sam McGee
One of the many famous poems by well known Canadian poet & writer - Robert W. Service (1874-1958) Good ol' Sam - related on my father's side of the family - born and raised in my home town. (about 75 years before me)
One of the many famous poems by well known Canadian poet & writer - Robert W. Service (1874-1958) Good ol' Sam - related on my father's side of the family - born and raised in my home town. (about 75 years before me)
You don't need a weather man...
You don't need a weather man to tell which way the wind blows.... --Bob Dylan
You don't need a weather man to tell which way the wind blows.... --Bob Dylan
You don't need a weather man...
You don't need a weather man to tell which way the wind blows.... --Bob Dylan
You don't need a weather man to tell which way the wind blows.... --Bob Dylan
This will date me, big time!
There were three men came out of the West, Their fortunes for to try, And these three men made a solemn vow: John Barleycorn must die. But this from my favorite Frost, and the words I used to bury my youngest son... The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.
There were three men came out of the West, Their fortunes for to try, And these three men made a solemn vow: John Barleycorn must die. But this from my favorite Frost, and the words I used to bury my youngest son... The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.
This will date me, big time!
There were three men came out of the West, Their fortunes for to try, And these three men made a solemn vow: John Barleycorn must die. But this from my favorite Frost, and the words I used to bury my youngest son... The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.
There were three men came out of the West, Their fortunes for to try, And these three men made a solemn vow: John Barleycorn must die. But this from my favorite Frost, and the words I used to bury my youngest son... The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.
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