TOM TRUELOVE's KNELL

Tom Truelove woo'd the sweetest fair, That e'er to tar was kind; Her face was of a beauty rare, More beautiful her mind. His messmates heard, while with delight, He nam'd her for his bride. A sail appear'd—ah, fatal sight! For grief his love had died. Must I, cry'd he, those charms resign, I lov'd so dear, so well: Would they had toll'd, instead of thine, Tom Truelove's knell.

Break, heart, at once, and there's an end! Thou, all that heav'n could give.— But hold! I have a noble friend, Yet, yet for him I'll live. Fortune, who all her baleful spight, Not yet on Tom had try'd, Sent news, one rough tempestuous night, That his dear friend had dy'd:— And thou too!—must I thee resign, Who honour lov'd so well? Would they had toll'd, instead of thine, Tom Truelove's knell.

Enough, enough, a salt-sea wave, A healing balm shall bring. A sailor you, cry'd one, and brave? Live still, to serve your king! The moment comes, behold the foe, Thanks, generous friend, he cry'd: The second broadside laid him low; He nam'd his love and dy'd. The tale, in mournful accents sung, His friends still sorrowing tell, How sad and solemn, three times rung, Tom Truelove's knell.