Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,/ The darling of our crew.
Then trust me there's nothing like drinking, So pleasant on this side of the grave: It keeps the unhappy from thinking, And makes e'en the valiant more brave.
The lass that loves a sailor.
Did you ever hear of Captain Wattle? / He was all for love and a little for the bottle.
Faithful, below, he did his duty; / But now he's gone aloft.
For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft,/ To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!
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