Sequel to Poll of Plymouth

When Edward first heard Poll of Plymouth was dead, The functions of life made a pause, His piteous eyes stood aghast in his head, His ship-mates enquir'd the cause; Reviving awhile, he address'd them around, His hand closely press'd on his heart, Within this sad letter at once I have found, The spectre of death and his dart.

It tells that my dear Poll of Plymouth is dead, My comfort, my joy, and my wife, When I was torn from her, she flew to her bed, And sighing, resign'd her dear life. He fancy'd he saw his dear Poll in the clouds; Ah, stay for poor Edward he cries, Then, swift as his fancy, he ran up the shrouds, And eagerness flash'd in his eyes.

He call'd for all hands, and he gave a loud shriek, And now all distracted he raves; Said, do you not see that my heart's sprung a leak, Then threw himself into the waves. All hands were employ'd to prevent his sad fate, And the long-boat was put out in vain, That drags him aboard, but, alas, 'twas too late, For he never once breathed again!