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 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:
Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches,
In vain Tom’s life hath doffed;
For though his body’s under hatches,
His soul is gone aloft.

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 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.
Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches, in vain Tom’s life hath doffed,
For though his body’s under hatches, his soul is gone aloft.

Charles Dibdin (1745-1814)

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.

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 doff’d;
For, though his body’s under hatches
His soul is gone aloft.

Charles Dibdin (1745-1814)