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TO THE PACIFIC.
Why, if you'd know perfect ease, Just all that your heart can please,
Then off, mate, I say,
Ship, man, and away To the isles of the Southern Seas.
In a whaler just box about,
Watching round for a sperm-whale's spout, Some six months or so That for land you may know
How to keep, mate, a sharp look-out.
Then for shore when you're prime sharp-set, And the land's look you half forget,
With a good trade wind,
Your whaler behind, For port, let your course be set.