And tears of water and of rum,
Stood in each manly eye.
Said he, "My lads, dispel this gloom,
"Bid grief and sorrow halt;
"For if the sea must be his tomb,
"D'ye see it aint his f(v)ault.
"' Tis true we'll never see his like
"At 'cutting in' a whale—
"At usin knife an' marlin-spike,
"But blubber won't avail.