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| 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; | 5 |
| I scorn not the peasant, though 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; | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| 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 waddl’d upstairs, | |
| With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. | 20 |
| |
| “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, | 25 |
| And honours masonic prepare for to throw; | |
| May ev’ry true Brother of the Compass and Square | |
| Have a big-belly’d bottle when harass’d with care. | |
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