H. John

John, across the broad Atlantic,
  Tried to navigate a barque,
But he met an unromantic
  And extremely hungry shark.

John (I blame his childhood's teachers)
  Thought to treat this as a lark,
Ignorant of how these creatures
  Do delight to bite a barque.

Said "This animal's a bore!" and,
  With a scornful sort of grin,
Handled an adjacent oar and
  Chucked it underneath the chin.

At this unexpected juncture on
  Which he had not reckoned on,
Mr. Shark he made a puncture
  In the barque -- and then in John.

Sad am I, and sore at thinking
  John had on some clothes of mine;
I can almost see them shrinking,
  Washed repeatedly in brine.

I shall never cease regretting
  That I lent my hat to him,
For I fear a thorough wetting
  Cannot well improve the brim.

Oh! to know a shark is browsing,
  Boldly, blandly, on my boots!
Coldly, cruelly carousing
  One of the choicest of my suits!

Creatures I regard with loathing
  Who can calmly take their fill
Of one's Jaeger underclothing : --
  Down, my aching heart, be still!

Graham, Harry (as "Col. D. Streamer"). Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes. New York: R. H. Russell 1901