The big-bellied Bottle

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 there,

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 the 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 up stairs,

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.