The poem begins with a stuttering rhythm. A man, a man, a man arrives from London, and the repetition makes the journey feel like a joke, as if the words are stumbling or stamping along. The same trick follows him to the arms of a captain. Then the tone shifts. The long final line drops the chant and turns into a sudden, slightly stiff confession: the speaker realizes they have been "a little too free to make mirth" about someone who is, after all, "a very sober and an upright man."
What makes the poem work is that change of gear. The first lines read like teasing, almost nursery-rhyme mockery, and the title, "On Second Thought," tells us the speaker is about to take it back. The feeling is a small pang of conscience, mild embarrassment, and a grudging respect. The mood is light and wry, with a quiet moral sting: the laughter was fun until the speaker thought twice.