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.
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 lain
And 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.
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 lain
And 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.