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By Charles Dibdin
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Here a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling
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The darling of our crew;
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No more he'll hear the tempest howling
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For death has broached him to.
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His form was of the manliest beauty, his heart was kind and soft;
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Faithful below, Tom did his duty
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And now he's gone aloft
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And now he's gone aloft
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Tom never from his word departed
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His virtues were so rare:
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His friends were many and true hearted
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His Poll was kind and fair;
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And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly
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Ah! Many's the time and oft;
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But mirth is turn'd to melancholy
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For Tom is gone aloft
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For Tom is gone aloft
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Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather
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When He who all commands
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Shall give, to call life's crew together
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The word to pipe all hands:
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Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches
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In vain Tom's life hath doff'd
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For tho' his body's under hatches
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His soul is gone aloft
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His soul is gone aloft
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