A SHIP'S SULLAGE

Long has the English navy been manned by,
Infected with, and haven for savage Rats:
Convict crews commanded by officer Cats,
Who, on yardarms, scarred mates by their necks' tie
For saying in the face of dumbness "Why?"
--For, like their rotting ship's ropes, snapping 'twain
And, as fiery suns, burning brightly sane!
Voicing basic truth 'gainst a blatant lie.
Convicts true, British worships on Seas blue,
Like four festers, pollute Nature's sweetness:
Spreading scum through an Ocean's crystal hue,
These flying harpies stretch their wing's darkness
Over oasis numbering so few!
'Bove deserts that are so painfully now.