Let's ha' a shy.

You go aft and think of a verse, an' I'll go forra'd an' make another, an' then us'll see which sounds best.' 'Done,' says he, an' off he goes.
"Well, I sits there for mor'n an hour, thinkin' hard, and terrable work I found et.

At last Joe shouts across, 'Hav'ee done?
Time's up'; and I told 'un I'd done purty middlin'.

So us stepped amidships, and spoke out what us had made." Caleb made a long pause.
"I should like to hear the verses, if you remember them," said Mr.
Fogo.
"Should 'ee now ?" Caleb asked with fine modesty.

"Well, I don't mind, on'y you mus'n' expect 'em to be like Maister Moggridge's.
Mine went thicky way." He recited very slowly, with a terrific rolling of syllables:-- "See her glidin' dro' the water, Far, far away! Many a true heart's niver to be found.
"The last line alludes to my gal wot had recently e-loped wi' the Rooshan," Caleb explained.
"Was that all ?" "That was all o' mine, sir, but Joe's was p'ints better.
Just listen:--" "Fare thee well, Barnstaple steeple,--" "(He was a Barnstaple man, sir, was Joe)--" "Fare thee well, I say, Never shall I see thee, once agen, a long time ago." "Well, sir, we was just a-goin' to step back an' have another shy, when the breeze sprang up a'most as sudden as et fell, and the consikence es, sir, that I've niver made no more poetry from that day to this." The sun was getting low, as Mr.Fogo and Caleb stepped ashore on the ruined quay at Kit's House, not far from the spit of land where the lazars were buried.