“Why, then,” said she, “you’ve lost the feet Of legs in war’s alarms, And now you cannot wear your shoes Upon your feats of arms!” XI. “O, false and fickle Nelly Gray! I know why you refuse: Though I’ve no feet--some other man Is standing in my shoes! XII. “I wish I ne’er had seen your face; But, now, a long farewell! For you will be my death;--alas! You will not be my _Nell_!” XIII. Now when he went from Nelly Gray, His heart so heavy got-- And life was such a burthen grown, It made him take a knot! XIV. So round his melancholy neck, A rope he did entwine, And, for his second time in life, Enlisted in the Line! XV. One end he tied around a beam, And then removed his pegs, And, as his legs were off,--of course, He soon was off his legs! XVI. And there he hung, till he was dead As any nail in town,-- For though distress had cut him up, It could not cut him down! XVII. A dozen men sat on his corpse, To find out why he died-- And they buried Ben in four cross-roads, With a _stake_ in his inside! THE SEA-SPELL. “_Cauld_, _cauld_, he lies beneath the deep.” _Old Scotch Ballad._ I. It was a jolly mariner! The tallest man of three,-- He loosed his sail against the wind, And turned his boat to sea: The ink-black sky told every eye, A storm was soon to be! II. But still that jolly mariner Took in no reef at all, For, in his pouch, confidingly, He wore a baby’s caul; A thing, as gossip-nurses know, That always brings a squall! III. His hat was new, or, newly glazed, Shone brightly in the sun; His jacket, like a mariner’s, True blue as e’er was spun; His ample trowsers, like Saint Paul, Bore forty stripes save one. IV. And now the fretting foaming tide He steer’d away to cross; The bounding pinnace play’d a game Of dreary pitch and toss; A game that, on the good dry land, Is apt to bring a loss! V. Good Heaven befriend that little boat, And guide her on her way! A boat, they say, has canvas wings, But cannot fly away! Though, like a merry singing-bird, She sits upon the spray! VI. Still east by south the little boat, With tawny sail, kept beating: Now out of sight, between two waves, Now o’er th’ horizon fleeting: Like greedy swine that feed on mast,-- The waves her mast seem’d eating! VII. The sullen sky grew black above, The wave as black beneath; Each roaring billow show’d full soon A white and foamy wreath; Like angry dogs that snarl at first, And then display their teeth. VIII.