Where'ere I look, my darling Clarice, I think of you. A flock of geese, A lofty cloud, up in the skies, Reminds me of your brownish eyes. When in the woods I see a fawn, I ponder on your hair of tawn. Across the Iliac I sail In every wave I never fail To see you below, also above— Oh barmaid Clarice, please be my love! Singed, Georges Plouffe, First-Mate (get it?)