The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove, Now to the moon in wavering morrice move; And on the tawny sands and shelves Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.

I wasn't in earnest. I only brought it in joke.

My Puerto Rican roommate, who had survived the New York school system, would sarcastically call me a “MAP” or Mexican-American princess because of my boarding school experience.

Being the representative of a town upon the sea, he seems to think it desirable that there should be a nautical bluffness in his style; and he ever suggests in his speeches, a paraphrase into politics of one of [Charles] Dibdin's sea-songs delivered prosewise.