1?)8 BACCHANALIAN SONGS. Our hearts are fast held by a cable, While round the decanter is shoved, The ladies all rise'to retire, We stand up and look very grave, A bumper, then draw round the fire, Determined like souls to behave. My servant he knows I'm a toper, Clean glasses, of wine a recruit, lie brings in a six gallon cooper And places it close at my foot; I gingerly take up a bottle, The saw-dust I putt from his coat, The cork out it sings in the throttle, But sweeter than Mars is his note. What gentleman coffee now choo?, The compliment comes from the fair, 1?o gentleman coffee refuses, But not a man stirs from his chair. Though Frenchmen may do so, I bear it, 'Tis brutish politeness I think; While Monsieur we pay for his claret, J-Ie never shall teach us to drink. (]? Piebe now shows in Apollo, struggler 'tw/xt claret and wit, For Bacchus insists he shoji swallow Six bumpers before he can sit; �o fair, why so ill should we treat you, To part ere the bottle is won, At supper Apollo will me?t you, And show you what B?tcchus hu donre. FRIEND OF MY SOUL. F?tI*-wx) of my so?21, this goblet sip, 'Twill chase the pensive tear;
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