Epigraph:
When Sailors go to Sea,
and seek distant lands.
As every man Knows,
The Reaper's at Hand.
So, that's how it Goes
and that's how it stands.
When Sailors go to Sea,
And seek Distant lands.
On thirty-foot waves,
Now rides their plight.
The scraps of shorn sails,
By low lantern light.
Most steering Gone,
lost at last sight,
Would the ship founder,
or float through the night?
A tempest Hurricane,
was...
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