1 Tis said, we vent'rous die-hards, when we leave the shore, Our friends should mourn, Lest we return, To bless their sight no more; But this is all a notion, Bold Jack can't understand, Some die upon the ocean, And some upon the land, Then, since tis clear, Howe'er we steer.

No man's life's under his command, Let tempests howl, And billows rowl, And dangers press; Of those in spite there are some joys, Us jolly tars to bless, For Saturday night still comes my boys, To drink to Poll and Bess.

2 One seaman hands the sail, another heaves the log, The purser swops, Our pay for slops, The landlord sells us grog. Thus each man to his station, To keep life's ship in trim, What argufies noration, The rest is fortunes whim; Cheerly my hearts, Then play your parts, Boldly resolve to sink or swim, The mighty surg, May run urge, And dangers press. &c,

3 For all the world, just like the ropes, aboard a ship, Each man's rigg'd out, A vessel stout, To take for life a trip; The shrouds, and stays, and braces, Are joys, and hopes, and fears, The halliards, sheets, and traces, Still as each passion veers; And whim prevails, Direct the sails, As on the sea of life he steers, Then let the storm, Heaven's face deform, And danger press; Of those in spight, &c.