TRAVEL IN DISTANT LANDS

Enough of this dull existence, cried Tom, in a fit of gin.

I’m off to sail the ocean blue,

Walk till I wear out my shoe,

Bid the foreigner how d’you do, and grow a beard on me chin.

I’ll drink to that, said Brother Jim, for he was easy going.

I’ll join you, Tom, if you don’t mind,

The holy grail we’ll seek and find,

And Spanish gold and The Golden Hind, even if it’s snowing.

That’s not exactly what I reckoned, Tom was heard to say.

I thought perhaps a day at the sea,

If Aunty May comes down with me,

And we could board with Mr McGee, at his house in Toby Way.

You dull and dismal fellow, Tom, said Jim as he sought the bottle.

We’d walk in distant sunny climes,

And drink a very great deal of times,

And possibly commit strange crimes, not unlike Aristotle.

Though Tom tried hard he couldn’t follow all that Jim had said.

What has this Aristotle chap

In common with this horse’s crap

That you’ve been talking, Jim old chap, I must be off to bed.