THE BROWN JUG.

From the Opera of the "Poor Soldier," by J. O'KEEFFE. The song itself is attributed to the REV. FRANCIS FAWKES.

DEAR Tom, this brown jug that now foams with mild ale
(Out of which I now drink to sweet Nan of the vale),
Was once Toby Filpot, a thirsty old soul
As e'er crack'd a bottle, or fathom'd a bowl.
In boozing about 'twas his pride to excel,
And among jolly topers he bore off the bell.

It chanced, 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 full as big as a Dorchester butt.

His body, when long in the ground it had lain,
And Time into clay had resolved it again,

A potter found out in its covert so snug,

And with part of fat Toby he form'd this brown jug,
Now, sacred to friendship, to mirth and mild ale
So here's to my lovely sweet Nan of the vale.

THE WINDS WHISTLE COLD.

From the Opera of " Guy Mannering." DANIEL TERRY, born 1780, died 1828.

THE winds whistle cold,

And the stars glimmer red,

The flocks are in fold,

And the cattle in shed.

When the hoar frost was chill

Upon moorland and hill,

And was fringing the forest bough,

Our fathers would troul

The bonny brown bowl,

And so will we do now,

Jolly hearts!

And so will we do now.

H

Gaffer Winter may seize

Upon milk in the pail; "Twill be long ere he freeze

The bold brandy and ale;

For our fathers so bold,

They laugh'd at the cold,

When Boreas was bending his brow;

For they quaff'd mighty ale,

And they told a blythe tale,

And so will we do now,

Jolly hearts!

And so will we do now.

A GLASS IS GOOD.

From the Farce of the "Rival Soldiers."

A GLASS is good, and a lass is good,

And a pipe is good in cold weather;
The world is good, and the people are good,
And we're all good fellows together.

A bottle is a very good thing,

With a good deal of wine in it;

A song is good, when a body can sing,

And to finish, we must begin it.

For a glass is good, and a lass is good,

And a pipe is good in cold weather;
The world is good, and the people are good,
And we're all good fellows together.

A friend is good when you're out of good luck,
For that is the time to try him;

For a justice, good, the haunch of a buck,

With such a good present you'll buy him;
A fine old woman is good when she's dead;
A rogue very good, for good hanging;
A fool is good, by the nose to be led,
And my song deserves a good banging.
For a glass is good, and a lass is good,

And a pipe is good in cold weather;
The world is good, and the people are good,
And we're all good fellows together.

MAY WE NE'ER WANT A FRIEND, NOR A BOTTLE TO GIVE HIM.

THOMAS DIBDIN.

SINCE the first dawn of reason that beam'd on my mind
And taught me how favoured by fortune my lot,

To share that good fortune, I still was inclined,

And impart to who wanted, what I wanted not. 'Tis a maxim entitled to ev'ry one's praise,

When a man feels distress, like a man to relieve him, And my motto, tho' simple, means more than it says, "May we ne'er want a friend, or a bottle to give him.”

The heart by deceit or ingratitude rent,

Or by poverty bow'd, tho' of evils the least, The smiles of a friend may invite to content,

And we all know content is an excellent feast;

'Tis a maxim entitled to ev'ry one's praise,

When a man feels distress, like a man to relieve him, And my motto, tho' simple, means more than it says, "May we ne'er want a friend, nor a bottle to give him."

A BUMPER OF GOOD LIQUOR.

From the "Humming Bird." Canterbury, 1785.

A BUMPER of good liquor
Will end a contest quicker
Than justice, judge, or vicar:
So fill a cheerful glass,
And let good humour pass:
But if more deep the quarrel,
Why sooner drain the barrel,
Than be the hateful fellow
That's crabbed when he's mellow.
A bumper, &c

FILL THE GOBLET AGAIN.

LORD BYRON.

FILL the goblet again! for I never before

Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core;
Let us drink! who would not? since, through life's varied round,
In the goblet alone no deception is found.

I have tried in its turn all that life can supply,

I have basked in the beam of a dark rolling eye,

I have loved! who has not? but what heart can declare

That pleasure existed while passion was there?

In the days of my youth-when the heart's in its spring
And dreams that affection can never take wing-

I had friends! who has not? but what tongue will avow,
That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou?

The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange,

Friendship shifts with the sunbeam, thou never canst change; Thou grow'st old, who does not? but on earth what appears, Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years?

Yet, if blest to the utmost that love can bestow,
Should a rival bow down to our idol below,

We are jealous! who's not? thou hast no such alloy,
For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy.

When the season of youth and its vanities past,
For refuge we fly to the goblet at last;

There we find, do we not? in the flow of the soul,
That truth as of yore, is confined to the bowl.

When the box of Pandora was open'd on earth,
And Misery's triumph commenced over Mirth,
Hope was left, was she not? but the goblet we kiss,
And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss.

Long life to the grape! for when summer is flown,

The age of our nectar shall gladden our own,

We must die! who must not? May our sins be forgiven,
And Hebe shall never be idle in Heaven,

THE BEST OF ALL GOOD COMPANY.

BARRY CORNWALL.

SING! Who sings

To her who weareth a hundred rings?

Ah! who is this lady fine?

The Vine, boys, the Vine!

The mother of mighty Wine.
A roamer is she

O'er wall and tree,

And sometimes very good company.

Drink!-Who drinks

To her who blusheth and never thinks?
Ah! who is this maid of thine?

The Grape, boys, the Grape!

O, never let her escape

Until she be turned to Wine!

For better is she

Than Vine can be,

And very, very good company!

Dream!-Who dreams

Of the God that governs a thousand streams?
Ah! who is this Spirit fine?

'Tis Wine, boys, 'tis Wine!
God Bacchus, a friend of mine.

O, better is he

Than Grape or tree,

And the best of all good company.

A SONG AFTER A TOAST.

C. MACKAY.

From "Legends of the Isles," 1845.

IF he, to whom this toast we drink,
Has brought the needy to his door;
Or raised the wretch from ruin's brink
From the abundance of his store;
If he has sooth'd the mourner's woe,
Or help'd young merit into fame,
This night our cups shall overflow
In honour of his name.