196 BACCHANALIAN SONGS, THE BROWN JUG. DEAlt Tom, this brown jug that now foams with mild ate, (in which I will drink to sweet Nan of the vala,} Was once Tob? Philpot, a thirsty old soul, As e'er drank a bottle or fathom'd a bowls In boozing about 'twas his praise to excel, And among jolly toi?. rs he bore off the bell. It chanoed as ? dog-days he sat at his ease, In his flower'woven arbor as gay as you please, With a friend and a pipe, pu?g sorrows away, And with honest old stingo was soakihg his clays His breath-doors of life on a sudden were shut, And he died full as big as a Dorchester butt. ; His body when long in the ground it had lain, And Time into clay had received it again, A Potter found out in its Covert so snug, nd with part o_f fat Toby he formed this brown jug, ow sacred to friendship, and mirth, and mild ale;- So here's to my lovely sweet Nan of the vale. THE GOBLET OF FRIENDSHIP. COME, pass round the glass, and let joy for a time With jollity reign, and enliven our souls; ' For pleasure's a treasure too rich and sublime To be exiled so soon from our sparkling bowls; Then raise high your voices, while merriment sings, For here we're assembled to taste delight; And though Time is preparing to take P) his wings, Let Wit well be sharpened to clip them .to-night. If you ask me to toast you, I'll fill to the brim, I'll ne'er prove a flincher while mirth is the cause, And he that hangs back, this nighCs lustre to dim, Is unworthy our free constitution, and laws;
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