Farewell My Trim-built Wherry

Then farewell, my trim-built wherry,

Oars and coat and badge, farewell,

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 may lay me low.

Then mayhap when homeward steering,

With the news my messmates come,

Even you the story hearing,

With a sigh may cry "Poor Tom!"