Five Excellent New Songs (Stirling)/Toby Filpot
TOBY FILPOT.
Dear Tom, this brown jug, which now foams with mild ale,In which I will drink to sweet Nan of the vale,Was once Toby Filpot, a thirsty old soul,As e'er drank a bottle, or fathom'd a bowl.In boozing about 'twas his praise to excel,And 'mongst jolly topers he bore off the bell.
He bore off the bell.
It chanc'd, as in dog-days, he sat at his ease,In his flow'r-woven arbour, as gay as you please,With a friend and a pipe, puffing sorrow away, And with honest old stingo was soaking his clay,His breath-doors of life on a sudden were shut,And he died sull as big as Dorchester butt.His body, when long in the ground it had lainAnd time into clay had dissolv'd it again,A potter found out, in its covert so snug,And with part of fat Toby he formed this brown jug,Now sacred to friendship, to mirth, and mild ale;So here's to my lovely sweet Nan of the Vale.