_Chorus:_ Roses and honey and laughter would cloy! Give us thorns, too, and sorrow and bears!
"Consider," he saith, "how by fretting a string The lutanist maketh sweet moan, And a bird ere it fly must have air for its wing To buffet or fall like a stone: Tho' you blacken like Pluto you make but more white These blooms which not Enna could yield! Consider, Black Bill, ere the coming of night, The lilies," he saith, "of the field."
_Chorus:_ "Consider, Black Bill, in this beautiful light, The lilies," he saith, "of the field."
"Consider the claws of a Bear," said Bill, "That can rip off the flesh from your bones, While his belly could cabin the skipper and still Accommodate Timothy Jones! Why, that's where a seaman who cares for his grog Perspires how this world isn't square! If there's _cause_ for a _cow_, if there's _use_ for a _dog_, By Pope John, there's no _Sense_ in a _Bear!_"
_Chorus:_ Cause for a cow, use for a dog, By'r Lakin, no _Sense_ in a _Bear!_
But our little ship's chaplain--"Sense," quoth he, "Hath the Bear tho' his making have none; For, my little book saith, by the sting of this bee Would Ursus be wholly foredone, But, or ever the hive he adventureth nigh And its crisp gold-crusted dome, He lardeth his nose and he greaseth his eye With a piece of an honey-comb."
_Chorus:_ His velvety nose and his sensitive eye With a piece of an honey-comb.
Black Bill at the word of that golden crust --For his ears had forgotten the roar, And his eyes grew soft with their innocent lust-- 'Gan licking his lips once more: "Be it bound like a missal and printed as fair, With capitals blue and red, 'Tis a lie; for what honey could comfort a bear, Till the bear win the honey?" he said.
_Chorus:_ "Ay, _whence_ the first honey wherewith the first bear First larded his nose?" he said.
"Thou first metaphysical bo'sun, Bill," Our chaplain quizzingly cried, "Wilt thou riddle me redes of a dumpling still With thy 'how came the apple inside'?" "Nay," answered Bill, "but I quest for truth, And I find it not on your shelf! I will face your Hyrcanian bear, forsooth, And look at his nose myself."
_Chorus:_ For truth, for truth, or a little sweet tooth-- I will into the woods myself.
Breast-high thro' that foam-white ocean of bloom With its wonderful spokes of gold, Our sun-burnt crew in the rose-red gloom Like buccaneer galleons rolled: Breast-high, breast-high in the lilies we stood, And before we could say "good-night," Out of the valley and into the wood He plunged thro' the last rich light.