A strong nor'wester's blowing, Bill; Hark! don't ye hear it roar now? Lord help 'em, how I pities them Unhappy folks on shore, now.

His form was of the manliest beauty, His heart was kind and soft, Faithful, below, he did his duty; But now he's gone aloft.

For though his body's under hatches, His soul has gone aloft.

For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft,/ To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!

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

Did you ever hear of Captain Wattle? / He was all for love and a little for the bottle.