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

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

Here lies Nolly Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll,
Who wrote like an angel, and talk’d like poor Poll.

I always think I'm the Tom Cruise of music - a lot of success and fans, but no critics, darling.

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.