Page:The Seven Seas (Kipling, 1896).djvu/62

40 Yon's strain, hard strain, o' head an' hand, for though Thy Power brings

All skill to naught, Ye'll understand a man must think o' things.

Then, at the last, we'll get to port an' hoist their baggage clear—

The passengers, wi' gloves an' canes—an' this is what I'll hear:

'Well, thank ye for a pleasant voyage. The tender's comin' now.'

While I go testin' follower-bolts an' watch the skipper bow.

They've words for every one but me—shake hands wi' half the crew,

Except the dour Scots engineer, the man they never knew.

An' yet I like the wark for all we've dam' few pickin's here—

No pension, an' the most we earn's four hunder pound a year.

Better myself abroad? Maybe. I'd sooner starve than sail

Wi' such as call a snifter-rod ross. . . . French for nightingale.