Some love to stroll where the wassail-bowl...

Some love to stroll where the wassail-bowl And the wine-cups circle free; None of that band shall win my hand: No! a sober spouse for me. Like cheerful streams when morning beams, With him my life would flow; Not down the crags, the drunkard drags His wife to want and wo! Oh! no, no, no!—oh! no, no, no!

At midnight dark, the drunkard mark— Oh, what a sight, good lack! As home draws near, to him appear Grim fiends who cross his track! His children's name he dooms to shame— His wife to want and wo; She is betrayed, for wine is made Her rival and her foe. Oh! no, no, no!—oh! no, no, no!