As the Seafarer is quenching her thirst, one of her crewmen turns to another and asks if there is any fish stew left over from the previous night's meal. Of course, the question triggers the remembrance of another poem. And so begins her recitation of rhyme. . .

'Augustus was a chubby lad; Fat, ruddy cheeks Augustus had; And e'erybody saw with joy The plump and hearty, healthy boy. He ate and drank as he was told, And ne'er let his soup get cold.

But one day, one cold winter's day, He screamed out —"Take the soup away! O take the nasty soup away! I will not have any soup today."

Next day begins his tale of woes; Quite lank and lean Augustus grows. Yet, though he feels so weak and ill, The naughty fellow cries out still— "Not any soup for me, I say: O take the nasty soup away! I will not have any soup today."

The third day comes; O what a sin! To make himself so pale and thin. Yet, when the soup is put on table, He screams as loud as he is able— "Not any soup for me, I say: O take the nasty soup away! I will not have any soup today."

Look at him, now the fourth day's come! He scarcely weighs a sugar-plum; He's like a little bit of thread, And on the fifth day, he was. . .dead!'