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THE SEVENTH. |
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II.
There 's handsome Joe,
Whose constant flow Of merriment unfailing,
Upon the tramp,
Or in the camp, Will keep our hearts from ailing.
And B------and Chat.,
Wxho might have sat For Pythias and Damon,
Och ! whin they get
Their heavy wet, They get as high as Haman.
For we 're the boys
That hearts desthrovs, &c.
in.
Like Jove above,
We 're fond of love, But fonder still of victuals ;
Wid turtle-steaks
An' codfish cakes We always fills our kittles.
To dhrown aich dish,
We dhrinks like fish, And mum 's the word we utther; |
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