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THE
PROGRESS OF DRINKING:
A NEW SONG.
I.
Before I came to London,
I us’d to ſip tea with my mother;
And I thought it a treat
If ſmall beer I could get
To drink with my elder brother.
Tol de rol, &c.
II.
But my father condemn’d this practice,
He hector’d and ſwore like mad—Sir:
Says he, “Give him ale,
“For that will never fail
“To make him as ſtout as his dad—Sir.”
III.
Soon after, our Ned the butler
Took me down to taſte ſome October;—
Cried he “Never fear
“To drink ſtrong beer
“But ſwallow it, drunk or ſober.”
IV.
But when I arrived in London,
Of porter I drank my pot—Sir:
A pipe did I funk,
And ſo oft got drunk,
That my ſiſter called me a ſot—Sir.
