Our embargo's off at last;

Favourable breezes blowing

Bend the canvas o'er the mast.

From aloft the signal's streaming,

Hark! the farewell gun is fired;

Women screeching, tars blaspheming,

Tell us that our time's expired.

Here's a rascal

Come to task all,

Prying from the Custom-house;

Trunks unpacking

Cases cracking,

Not a corner for a mouse

Scapes unsearched amid the racket,

Ere we sail on board the Packet.

2.

Now our boatmen quit their mooring,

And all hands must ply the oar;

Baggage from the quay is lowering,

We're impatient, push from shore.

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