Xxiv--On Swearing Off Again

To Dan Carey

[Ill 0144]

Barleycorn, my jo John! They say that we must part! 'Twill mend my stomach, maybe, But, O! it breaks my heart! I hoped that we should grow old Cheek by jowl together, Boozing by the fireside Through the wintry weather;-- With white hair and red face, Full of dreams and liquor, Watching from an armchair The firelight flicker;--

But Barleycorn, my jo John, Fare ye well forever!-- The preachers have my soul, John, The doctors have my liver! And I shall have an old age Dry and dull as virtue-- But never think, my dear friend, I'm happy to desert you! Barleycorn, my jo John! To think that we should part--. They say 'twill save my eyesight, But, O; it breaks my heart!