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And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot
shatter'd navy of Spain, And the little Revenge herself went down by the
island crags To be lost evermore in the main.
“Skins may differ, but affection
WAS twelve o'clock, not twelve at night,
But twelve o'clock at noon;
And not the silver moon.
Or Pots, or Penny Post;
She saw her Pompey's ghost!
From people that are dead,
Her visitors in bed.
Like spirits that are white,
And wouldn't show at night! But of all unexpected things
That happen to us here, The most unpleasant is a rise In what is
dear. So Phæbe screamed an awful scream
To prove the seaman's text, That after black appearances,
White squalls will follow next.
'Oh, Phæbe dear! Oh, Phæbe dear!
Don't go to scream or faint; You think because I'm black I am
The Devil, but I ain't!
Behind the heels of Lady Lambe
I walked while I had breath; But that is past, and I am now
A-walking after Death!
“No murder, though, I come to tell
By base and bloody crime;
To some more fitting time.
My body need attack,
Why I have died so black.
"One Sunday, shortly after tea,
My skin began to burn As if I had in my inside
A heater, like the urn.
And as I lay in bed,
You see upon my head.
“His Lordship for his Doctor sent,
My treatment to begin ;-
Before he called him in!
And passed at Surgeon's Hall,
He never cured at all!
“The Doctor looked about my breast
And then about my back,
And then he shook his head and said,
*Your case looks very black.' And first he sent me hot cayenne
And then gamboge to swallow, But still my fever would not turn
To Scarlet or to Yellow!
"With madder and with turmeric,
He made his next attack;
Could stop my dying black.
And sick of being dosed,
My physic and the ghost!
“Oh, Phæbe dear, what pain it was
To sever every tie! You know black beetles feel as much
As giants when they die. And if there is a bridal bed,
Or bride of little worth, It's lying in a bed of mould,
Along with Mother Earth.
“Alas! some happy, happy day,
In church I hoped to stand, And like a muff of sable skin
Receive your lily hand. But sternly with that piebald match
My fate untimely clashes, For now, like Pompe-double-i, I'm sleeping in my ashes!
“And now farewell! a last farewell!
I'm wanted down below,
One word before I go-
Ne'er spend your precious pelf,
Can do it for myself.
“Henceforth within my grave I rest,
But Death, who there inherits, Allowed my spirit leave to come,
You seemed so out of spirits; But do not sigh, and do not cry,
By grief too much engrossed, Nor for a ghost of color, turn
The color of a ghost!
"Again, farewell, my Phoebe dear!
Once more a last adieu!
As swans of sable hue.”
The shape began to fade-
The Ghost was newly laid !