I suffered an absence of note,
Yet my house is visibly afloat,
Some attempted offence,
And were patronised thence,
But I forgive them for whatever they wrote

Now though there are some riddles here,
Good Ship - it wasn't in the middle, clear,
Moros, you lost it,
At the end of your slosh-pit,
So morbidly I shed a little tear

Beirut has routed from sight,
For fear or out of spite,
Will someone attempt,
To speak contempt,
Or with their words cause slight?

There was a soldier from Rome,
Who under Pompeius had combed,
All lands near Utica,
For the gold or booty - ah!
But Sulpicius had him stoned.