The Book of Scottish Song/The Bumper

The Bumper.

[John Donald Carrick.]

Some rail against drinking, and say 'tis a sin
To tipple the juice of the vine;
But as 'tis allow'd that we all have our faults,
I wish no other fault may be mine.
But mark me, good fellows, I don't mean to say,
That always to tipple is right;
But 'tis wisdom to drown the dull cares of th' day,
In a bowl with old cronies at night.

See yon husbandman labours with care on the plain,
Yet his face is lit up with a smile,
For the whisp'rings of hope tell again and again,
That harvest rewards all his toil.
Just so 'tis with us, though we labour with pain,
Yet we hear with unmingled delight,
The whisp'rings of hope tell again and again,
Of a harvest of pleasure at night.

How soothing it is, when we bumper it up,
To a friend on a far distant shore,
Or how sweetly it tastes, when we flavour the cup,
With the name of the maid we adore!
Then here's to the maid, then, and here's to the friend,
May they always prove true to their plight,
May their days glide as smooth and as merrily round,
As the bumpers we pledge them to-night.

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