They pulled away, ahoy! sir,
Ven oh! too strong for his weak hand,
They run against a buoy, sir.
My eyes! how the wild waves did roar,
Poor Bill thought Poll vos dying,
Black Joe, he reached the fatal shore,
Ven he begun a-crying.
For ven towards the wreck he look’d
His child he did discover.
Von mutton fist in her hair was hook’d