First published in Novel Magazine, April 1906.


The Sailor
By P.G. Wodehouse


The vessel may shake like a jelly,
The tempest may ruffle the sea,
The oil from the engine be smelly,
But, bless you, that don't affect me.
Such details are quite my liking,
They cause me no worry or pain,
I feel like an update Viking,
Whatever the state of the main.

I know that full many a man'll
Turn green when the anchor is weighed,
And assume in the chops of the channel
Some even more curious shade;
Such words as "A ground swell" or "leeward"
If you whisper them soft in his ear,
Will make him call to the steward,
Explaining he feels rather queer.

Some find that systems are shaken
If men in their presence should speak
Of the merits of oysters or bacon,
Or succulent bubble and squeak.
If you mention whipped cream in their hearing,
Small pleasures their faces will show;
You notice their backs disappearing
En route to the cabin below.

Myself, be the sea smooth or rougher,
From these sorts of woes I'm exempt.
I think of the people who suffer
With pity that's mixed with contempt.
And I owe my immunity merely
(A fact I've not mentioned before)
To avoid the ocean severely,
I spend my life on the shore.