This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral: well, here's my comfort.

[Drinks.

[Sings.]

The master, the swabber, the boatswain and I,

The gunner and his mate

Loved Mall, Meg and Marian and Margery,

But none of us cared for Kate;

For she had a tongue with a tang,

Would cry to a sailor, Go hang!

She loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch: