| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
368 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
||
|
|
||
|
When Methodist preachers come down,
A-preaching that drinking is sinful, I'll wager the rascals a crown,
They always preach best with a skinful. But when you come down with your pence
For a slice of their scurvy religion, I'll leave it to all men of sense,
But you, my good friend, are the pigeon. Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.
Then come, put the jorum about,
And let us be merry and clever, Our hearts and our liquors are stout,
Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons forever. Let some cry up woodcock or hare,
Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons; But of all the birds in the air,
Here's a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons. Toroddle, Toroddle, toroll. |
||
|
WOMAN
W
HEN lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy ? What art can wash her tears away ?
The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from ev'ry eye,
To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom is—to die. |
||
|
|
||