Classic Poem

In the whim of the moment.

Tis said we venturous die-hards, when we leave the shore,
Our friends should mourn,
Left 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 on the land:

Then since 'tis clear,
Howe'er we steer,
No man's life's under his command,
Let tempests howl,
And billows roll,
And dangers press:
Of those in spight, there are some joys
Us jolly tars to bless,
For Saturday night still comes my boys,
To drink to Poll and Bess.

II.

One seaman hands the sail, another heaves the log,
The purser swops
Our pay for slops,
The landlord sells us grog;
Then each man to his station,
To keep life's ship in trim,
What argufies noration?
The rest is all a whim:
Cheerly my hearts,
Then play your parts,
Boldly resolved to sink or swim;
The mighty surge
May ruin urge,
And danger press:
Of those in spight, &c.

III.

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, the stays, and braces
Are joys, and hopes, and fears,
The halliards, sheets, and traces,
Still, as each passion veers,

And whim prevails,
Direct the fails,
As on the sea of life he steers:
Then let the storm
Heaven's face deform,
And danger press:
Of those in spight, &c.