His friends were many, and true-hearted,
His Poll was kind and fair:
And then he’d sing so blithe and jolly,
Ah! many’s the time and oft;
But mirth is turned 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,