English poem
BALLAD. (Then farewel my trim-built wherry)
by Anonymous
Then farewel my trim-built wherry, Oars, and coat, and badge, farewel; Never more at Chelsea ferry Shall your Thomas take a spell.
But to hope and peace a stranger, In the battle's heat I'll go, Where, expos'd to every danger, Some friendly ball shall lay me low.
Then, may-hap, when homeward steering, With the news my mess-mates come, Even you, the story hearing, With a sigh, may cry—poor Tom!
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