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TOM BOWLING. |
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2.
Tom never from his word departed,
His virtues were so rare : 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 turn'd to melancholy,
For Tom is gone aloft. |
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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: Thus death, who kings and tars despatches,
In vain Tom's life hath dofT'd, For though his body's under hatches,
His soul is gone aloft. |
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H. 4S6S |
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