Pete Weet

Little bird with slender feet,
     Chasing back the slippery tide,
     When the broken billows slide
     Down the beaches smooth and yellow,
Chased again by billows fleet.
What’s your name, my little fellow?
          No deceit!
     “Pete Weet! Pete Weet!”

Mr. Weet, self-nicknamed Pete,
     You’re a wag, sir, without fail,
     Might we credit your own tail;
     And no Jack Tar is so jolly,
Following the sea, albeit
     A true landman are you, wholly,
          Briskly feat,
     Pete Weet! Pete Weet!

Tip and toss with airs replete,
     Perk your neck so spick and span,
     Flirt your funny little fan,
     Wind your dances prim and pretty,
And the spites may say, who see’t.
     “Who comes here so pert and witty,
          On our beat?”
     “Pete Weet! Pete Weet!”

Snowed upon by briny sleet,
     When old Neptune, rousing up
     From his granite drinking-cup,
     Blows the foam off in a flurry
Of hoarse glee, my nimble Pete,
     Mind the breakers; hurry! Hurry
          Your retreat,
     Pete Weet! Pete Weet!

Go you tripping down to meet
     Little naiads in their bath,
     Who with simulated wrath
     Drive you back among the sedges?
Ha! I hear their laughter sweet,
     As they tumble down the ledges,
          And so cheat
     Pete Weet, Pete Weet!

But you’re ready to repeat
     The same frolic, merry fay;
     Racing, chasing all the day
     Up and down the yellow beaches,
Where the breakers’ whitening sheet,
     Thinly arching, overreaches
          Indiscreet
     Pete Weet, Pete Weet!

Slender, nimble, trim, and neat,
     You’re a daring little prig,
     Courtesying to the waters big,
     As they clinch the sands in anger.
With two words alone you greet
     All their anger and their clangor,
          And repeat
     “Pete Weet, Pete Weet!”