Come, Bet, my pet, and Sal, my pal, a buss, and then farewell—
And Ned, the primest ruffling cove that ever nail'd a swell—
To share the swag, or chaff the gab, we'll never meet again,
The hulks is now my bowsing crib, the hold my dossing ken.
Don't nab the bib, my Bet, this chance must happen soon or later,
For certain sure it is that transportation comes by natur;
His lordship's self, upon the bench, so downie his white wig in,
Might sail with me, if friends had he to bring him up to priggin;
And is it not unkimmon fly in them as rules the nation,
To make us end, with Botany, our public edication?
But Sal, so kind, be sure you mind the beaks don't catch you tripping,
You'll find it hard to be for shopping sent on board the shipping:
So tip your mauns afore we parts, don't blear your eyes and nose,
Another grip, my jolly hearts—here's luck, and off we goes!