SONG XX. Davy Jones's Locker; Or, a sequel to the favourite song of Poor Jack

When last honest Jack, of whose fate I now write, Weigh'd anchor, and cast out for sea; For he never refus'd for his country to sight, When call'd on no lubber was he. To hand, reef, and steer, and house every thing tight, Full well did he know ev'ry inch; Tho' the top-lifts of sailors the tempest should smite, Jack never was known for to flinch.

Aloft from the mast-head one day he espy'd, Seven sail, which appeared to his view; Clear the decks, spunge the guns, was instantly cried, And each to his station then flew; And fought until many a noble was slain, And silenced was every gun: Twas then all the honest tar's valour was vain, For by numbers, alas! they're undone.

Yet think not hold Jack, tho' by conquest dismayed, Could tamely submit to his fate; When his country he found he no longer could serve, Looking round, he address'd thus each mate; What's life, d'ye see, when our liberty's gone, Much nobler it were for to die— So now for old Davy—then plung'd in the main— E'en the Cherub above, heav'd a sigh,