Hakluyt Unpurchased

MAN is a fool and a bag of wind!
Or was it madness that stopped my buying
The old brown Hakluyt I chanced to find
At twelve and sixpence, dustily lying

With shilling shockers? An if ‘t were here
I’d kick off shoes and pull on slippers
And settle back to my brier and beer
For a windy voyage with Hakluyt’s skippers.

Up the blue sea and down the sky
To Java Head or warm Cipango,
With albatrosses floating by
And a wind that whistles of spice and mango;

Into the ice with Frobisher’s men,
Or south with Raleigh to seek Guiana,
In the Jesus of Lubeck with Hawkins then
To plunder the dons of smug Habana,

And east. . . . But my ale is dregs and lees,
My pipe won’t draw, and I, besotted,
The sport of devils — I failed to seize
On the rich old tome till another got it.

And so, instead of an offshore gale
And a tropical sea and a lion skipper,
I sit and blow at my mug of ale
And stare at a toe through a toeless slipper.