September 19: Dead Men Tell No Whatsits

West County be me dialect, me gait
Is not unlike the rolling of the swells,
And this wide world I’d circumnavigate
To take a richly laden caravel.

I give no quarter, nor expect I none
From vessels I attack, and I’d be blowed
To see me salty crew mates thus undone
By craven coves who keep not to the code.

So if me Jolly Roger should ye see
Surrender, and for my great mercy thank
Your gods that ye had little chance to flee,
Or else ye and your crew would walk the plank.

And if me cadences I overplay,
I blame it on Talk Like a Pirate Day.

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