And men and saints, to my own thinking,
Are often prone unto hard drinking.
Heaven, we are told, through a glass is seen;
A glass of grog is what they mean.
* * * * *
The poem closes with a description of Tommy’s fate:—
Hushed is the fiddle—Tommy’s gone;
But did he roam, unhoused, unknown,
Again thro’ wilds and deserts drear?
No succour nigh, or alehouse near?