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Song of the Mug
I envy no mortal though ever so great, Nor scorn I a wretch for his lowly estate ; But what I abhor and esteem as a curse, Is poorness of spirit, not poorness of purse.
Then dare to be generous, dauntless and gay, Let us merrily pass life's remainder away ; Upheld by our friends, we our foes may despise, For the more we are envied, the higher we rise.
SONG OF THE MUG1
If Sorrow, the tyrant, invade the breast, Haul out the foul fiend by the lug, the lug !
Let no thought of the morrow disturb your rest, But banish despair in a mug, a mug !
Or if business, unluckily, goes not well, Let the fond fools their affections hug ;
To show our allegiance we'll go to " The Bell," And banish despair in a mug, a mug !
Or if thy wife prove none of the best, Or admits no time but to think, to think,
Or the weight of the horns bow down thy crest, Divert the dull Demon with drink, with drink !
Or if thy mistress proves unworthy to thee, Ne'er pine, ne'er pine at the wanton pug;
1 From " Songs of the Vine."
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