Laird of Logie/The Sailor's Epitaph
The Sailor's Epitaph; or, Jack under the Hatches.
HERE a ſheer hulk lies poor Tom Bowling,
the darling of our crew,
No more he'll hear the tempeſt howling,
for Death hath brought him to.
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.
Tom never from his word departed,
his virtues were ſo rare,
His friends were many and true hearted,
his Poll was kind and fair.
And then he'd ſing ſo blithe and jolly,
ah! many the time and oft,
But mirth is turn'd to melancholy,
For Tom is gone aloft.
Yet ſhall poor Tom find pleaſant weather,
when he who all commands,
Shall give to call life's crew together,
the word to pipe all hands.
Thus Death, who Kings and Tars diſpatches,
Tom's life has vainly doft,
For though his body's under hatches,
his ſoul has gone aloft.