O, CAN'T she? Listen! There's a volley! Stand to your guns, my Ipswich boy! Chain-shot ahoy! "Ah, ain't she jolly" (Young Ipswich telegraphing To us upon the quay)! "Some credit chaffing With her!" Decidedly -- "Then gen'lemen are looking." Yes, we are, My noble Ipswich tar -- "Ain't her eyes brown?" (Says telegraph) "Ah, can't she laugh? And ain't she all so nice and pert?" Yes, yes! stand up and flirt! Flirt for the honour of your native town! Flirt! flirt! my man of Ipswich. Not so bad! A good sufficient lad! See how the strong young hearts Dance to the tongue-tips; lightning darts From eye to eye: The maiden is not shy! See the two Manxmen on the schooner there, Who stare With all their souls in silent admiration Of such a very excellent flirtation! Quite out of it -- Those Manxmen -- wait a bit -- Poor fellows! Shall we hail them? No? Ah well, let's go. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BOY BRITTAN [FEBRUARY 8, 1862] by BYRON FORCEYTHE WILLSON THE BATTLE OF THE PIGMIES AND THE CRANES by JAMES BEATTIE NOT YE WHO GOAD by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON THE HINDOO'S DEATH by GEORGE BIRDSEYE RETURN OF THE NATIVE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN A WOMAN'S SONNETS: 10 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: GOD IS MY WITNESS by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |