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And thrice he call'd on Marg'ret's name,
and thrice he wept full f r ,
Then laid his cheek to the cold earth,
and words spoke never more.
A DRINKING SONG.
WHAT argusies pride and ambition?
soon or late death must take us in tow,
Each bullet has got its commission
and when our time's come we must go:
CHORUS.
Then drink and sing, pang pain and sorrow,
the halter was made for the neck,
He that's now lively and lusty—tomorrow,
perhaps may be stretched on the deck.
There was little Tom Ernstock, of Dover,
got kill'd, and left Polly in pain,
Poll cry'd but her grief was soon over,
and then she got married again. Then, &c.
FINIS.
