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

The lass that loves a sailor.

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

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.

In every mess I find a friend, / In every port a wife.

Faithful, below, he did his duty; / But now he’s gone aloft.