Stephano              
I shall no more to sea, to sea,
Here shall I die ashore --
This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's
funeral: well, here's my comfort.

(Drinks)

(Sings)

 The master, the swabber,  the boatswain, and I,
 The gunner and his mate
 Loved Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,
 But none of us cared for Kate;
 For she had a tongue with a tang,
 Would cry to a sailor, 'Go hang!'
 She loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch,
 Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch:
 Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang!
 This is a scurvy tune too: but here's my comfort.