THE SKY LARK, &c, Song

How bright are the joys of the table, I mean when the cloth is remov'd: Our hearts are fast held by a cable, While round the decanter is shov'd: The ladies all rise to retire, We stand up, and look very grave, A bumper: Then draw round the fire, Determined like souls to behave.

My servant, he knows I'm a toper, Clean glasses of wine a recruit, He brings in a six bottle cooper, And places it close to my foot: I gingerly take up a bottle, The saw dust I puff from his coat, The cork out, he sings in the throttle, But sweeter than Mara his note.

What gentlemen coffee now chuses, The compliment come from the fair. No gentlemen coffee refuses, But not a man stirs from his chair; Tho' Frenchmen may do so, I bar it, With British politeness I think, While Monsieur we thank for his claret, He never shall teach us to drink.

Gay Hebe now shows in Apollo, A struggle 'twixt claret and wit, For Bacchus insists he shall swallow Six bumpers before he may sit: Ye fair, why so ill should we treat you, Go part ere the bottle is won! At supper Apollo shall meet you, And show you what Bacchus has done.