My Boy Jack?

‘Have you news of my boy Jack? ‘
Not this tide.
‘When d’you think that he’ll come back? ‘
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.
‘Has anyone else had word of him? ‘
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing and this tide.
‘Oh, dear, what comfort can I find? ‘
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind-
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.
Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!