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V. BACCHANALIAN AND SOCIAL 211 |
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It is the moon, I ken her horn,
That's blinkin in the lift sae hie : She shines sae bright to wyle us hame,
But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee!
Wha first shall rise to gang awa,
A cuckold, coward loun is he! Wha first beside his chair shall fa',
He is the king amang us three!
No. 236. No churchman am I for to rail and to write.
Tune : Come let us prepare (see infra).
No churchman am I for to rail and to write, No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight, No sly man of business contriving a snare, For a big-belly'd bottle's the whole of my care.
The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow;
I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low;
But a club of good fellows, like those that are here,
And a bottle like this, are my glory and care.
Here passes the squire on his brother—his horse, There centum per centum, the cit with his purse, But see you The Crown, how it waves in the air? There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care.
The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die; For sweet consolation to church I did fly; I found that old Solomon proved it fair, That a big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care.
I once was persuaded a venture to make; A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck; But the pursy old landlord just waddled upstairs With a glorious bottle that ended my cares.
* Life's cares they are comforts'—a maxim laid down
By the bard, what d'ye call him ? that wore the black gown;
And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair;
For a big-belly'd bottle's a heav'n of a care.
A STANZA ADDED IN A MASON LODGE.
Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow, And honours masonic prepare for to throw; May every true brother of the compass and square Have a big-belly'd bottle, when harass'd with care! |
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