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

Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,/ The darling of our crew.

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.

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.