The Gentleman's Magazine, LXXI (June 1801), pp. 548-549
An honest tar, and fresh from sea,
With heart just where it ought to be,
Thus hail'd young Billy Moor:
"What cheer, my lad?—Misfortune's gale
Hath torn, I see, thy tatter'd sail;
For thou art wreck'd, and poor."
The simple boy his story true
Told, with a blushing sweetness too;
Then heav'd an heart-sick sigh!—
"But God is good, though man's unkind;
Pass on—my sufferings never mind;
He soon will let me die!"
Jack's heart, with manly feeling yearn'd,
More than his purse in pocket burn'd;
And that, for once, was cramm'd:
First wip'd the spray from either eye—
"Die, messmate!" was the tar's reply,
"If thou do'st, I'll be - - - - - -.
Bear up! I have thee safe in tow,
I'll fit thee straight to face the foe,
And cope with Death, d'ye see!"
He had him rigg'd—the next spring-tide:
His locker full, and well supplied,
Bore Billy Moor to sea.
When there, the boy with grateful heart
Applauded, play'd his stated part,
And scorn'd to flinch, or run:
But oft would bless the happy day
That bore him from distress away
To serve Jack Mizen's gun.