THAT PLACE BELOW
Who can guess from whence they come,
Or what event makes them laugh?
Playing with decks less than half,
Their bellies so full of rum.
Pray tell me, where they came from?
With mud clear up to their calf,
Red noses peeling with chaff,
Staggering so, not all, but some.
Far distant one hears still yet,
From one they respect. I'd bet.
He shouts and they are fearin',
And loud to their own hearin'.
"Brush the mud from your dress!
Get below! Ye motley mess."