Now tell us how many drams it takes
To honor a jolly new acquaintance.
Five yelps,--that's five; he's mighty knowing!
The night's before us, fill the glasses!--
Quick, Sir! I'm ill,--my brain is going!--
Some brandy,--thank you,--there!--it passes!
Why not reform? That's easily said;
But I've gone through such wretched treatment,
Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread,
And scarce remembering what meat meant,
That my poor stomach's past reform;
And there are times when, mad with thinking,
I'd sell out heaven for something warm
To prop a horrible inward sinking.
Is there a way to forget to think?
At your age, Sir, home, fortune, friends,
A dear girl's love,--but I took to drink,--
The same old story; you know how it ends.
If you could have seen these classic features,--
You needn't laugh, Sir; they were not then
Such a burning libel on God's creatures:
I was one of your handsome men!
If you had seen _her_, so fair and young,
Whose head was happy on this breast!
If you could have heard the songs I sung
When the wine went round, you wouldn't have guessed
That ever I, Sir, should be straying
From door to door, with fiddle and dog,
Ragged and penniless, and playing
To you to-night for a glass of grog!
She's married since,--a parson's wife:
'Twas better for her that we should part,--
Better the soberest, prosiest life
Than a blasted home and a broken heart.
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