"I wish, I do—oh, lor!
You'd shipped aboard a trader:
Are you a sailor, or
A negro serenader?"

But still the stricken cad,
Aloft or on his pillow,
Howled forth in accents sad
His aggravating "Willow!"

Stern love of duty had
Been Joyce's chiefest beauty—
Says he, "I love that lad,
But duty, damme! duty!"