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The Jolly Toper
By Tom D'Urfey (1653-1723)
She tells me with claret she cannot agree,
And she thinks of a hogshead whene'er she sees me;
For I smell like a beast, and therefor must I
Resolve to forsake her or claret deny :
Must I leave my dear bottle that was always my friend,
And I hope will continue so to my life's end ?
Must I leave it for her ? 'tis a very hard task,—
Let her go to the Devil, bring the other whole flask !
Had she tax'd me with gaming and bade me forbear,
'Tis a thousand to one I had lent her an ear;
Had she found out my Chloris up three pairs of stairs,
I had baulk'd her and gone to St. James's to pray'rs;
Had she bid me read homilies three times a day,
She perhaps had been humour'd with little to say ;
But at night to deny me my flask of dear red—
Let her go to the Devil, and there's no more to be said.
THE JOLLY TOPER1
The women all tell me I'm false to my lass, That I quit my poor Chloe and stick to my glass: But to you men of Reason, my reasons I'll own, And if you don't like them why let them alone.
1 I don't know who wrote this fine song, which I found in an untitled collection of drinking songs of the eighteenth century in the British Museum.