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'Twas the morn after the bonfire when all through
the isle
Snoring resounded. Jack slept with a smile.
The pirate was tucked up all snug in the sand
With visions of rum bottles clutched in his hand.
When out on the beach there arose such a clatter
He sprang from his snooze to see what was the matter.
The sun on the breast of the glaring sea spread
Gave him a pain worse than oars on the head
When what to his wondering eyes should appear
But grubby Elizabeth with a keg of rum dear.
She was dressed in a white shift from shoulders to foot
And her clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
More rapid than seagulls her twinkling legs flew,
She tossed the barrel and the whole island blew!
Like powder in pistols and cannons in war
The palm trees exploded, the rum was no more.
Up to the treetops the flames and smoke rose
Burning the food and stinging his nose.
"No! Not good! Stop! Not good!" The poor pirate cried.
But the sad deed was done. The lassie had lied.
Jack threatened and whined, he frothed and he waved
He stomped and he stamped, he fumed and he raved.
Then Liz heard him exclaim, ere he shot her on sight,
"But why is the rum gone? It just ain't right!"
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