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Now what do you say to these cans of wood ?
Oh no, in faith they cannot be good;
For if the bearer fall by the way,
Why on the ground his liquor doth lay:
But had it been in a leather bottel,
Although he had fallen all had been well.
So I wish in Heav'n his soul may dwell
That first found out the leather bottèl.

Then what do you say to these glasses fine?
Oh, they shall have no praise of mine ;
For if you chance to touch the brim,
Down falls the liquor and all therein ;
But had it been in a leather bottel,
And the stopple in, all had been well.
So I wish in Heav'n his soul may dwell
That first found out the leather bottel.

Then what do you say to these black-pots three?
If a man and his wife should not agree,
Why they'll tug and pull till their liquor doth spill :
In a leather bottèl they may tug their fill,
And pull away till their hearts do ache,
And yet their liquor no harm can take.
So I wish in Heav'n his soul may dwell,
That first found out the leather bottèl.

Then what do you say to these Alagons fine ?
Oh, they shall have no praise of mine ;
For when a lord is about to dine,
And sends them to be filled with wine,
The man with the flagon doth run away,
Because it is silver most gallant and gay.
So I wish in Heav'n his soul may dwell
That first found out the leather bottel.

A leather bottel we know is good
Far better than glasses or cans of wood,
For when a man's at work in the field,
Your glasses and pots no comfort will yield;
But a good leather bottel standing by,
Will raise his spirits, whenever he's dry.
So I wish in Heav'n his soul may dwell,
That first found out the leather bottel.

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At noon the haymakers sit them down,
To drink from their bottels of ale nut-brown;
In summer, too, when the weather is warm,
A good bottel full will do them no harm.
Then the lads and the lasses begin to tattle,
But what would they do without this bottel?
So I wish in heav'n bis soul may dwell,
That first found out the leather bottèl.

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There's never a Lord, an Earl, or Knight,
But in this bottel doth take delight;
For when he's hunting of the deer,
He oft doth wish for a bottel of beer.
Likewise the man that works in the wood,
A bottel of beer will oft do him good.
So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell,
That first found out the leather bottel.

And when the bottel at last grows old,
And will good liquor no longer hold,
Out of the side you may make a clout,
To mend your shoes when they're worn out;
Or take and hang it up on a pin,
'Twill serve to put hinges and odd things in.
So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell,
That first found out the leather bottel.

GONE

BEGONE, DULL CARE.
BEGONE, dull Care, I prythee begone from me,
Begone, dull Care, thou and I shall never agree;

Long time thou hast been tarrying here,

And fain thou wouldst me kill;
But i'faith, dull Care,

Thou never shalt have thy will.
Too much care will make a young man gray;
And too much care will turn an old man to clay.

My wife shall dance, and I will sing,

Se merrily pass the day;
For I hold it still the wisest thing

To drive dull Care away.
This popular ditty is as old as the year 1687, when it first appeared in“ “Playford's
Musical Companion."

DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN.

Temp. Queen Anne. Anonymous.
HERE's a health to the Queen, and a lasting peace,
To faction an end, to wealth increase;
Come, let's drink it while we have breath,
For there's no drinking after death.
And he that will this health deny,
Down among the dead men let him lie.
Let charming beauty's health go round,
In whom celestial joys are found,
And may confusion still pursue
The senseless woman-hating crew,

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And they that woman's health deny,
Down among the dead men let them lie.

In making Bacchus' joy, I'll roll,
Deny no pleasure to my soul;
Let Bacchus' health round briskly move,
For Bacchus is a friend to Love.
And he that will this health deny,
Down among the dead men let him lie.

May love and wine their rights maintain,
And their united pleasures reign,
While Bacchus' treasure crowns the board,
We'll sing the joys that both afford;
And they that wont with us comply,
Down among the dead men let them lie.

HOW STANDS THE GLASS AROUND ?
Anonymous. From a half sheet song, with the music, printed about the year 1710.

How stands the glass around?
For shame, ye take no care, my boys!

How stands the glass around ?
Let mirth and wine abound!

The trumpets sound:
The colours flying are, my boys,

To fight, kill, or wound:

May we still be found
Content with our hard fare, my boys,

On the cold ground.

Why, soldiers, why
Should we be melancholy, boys!

Why, soldiers, why?
Whose business 'tis to die?

What sighing? fie!
Shun fear, drink on, be jolly, boys !

'Tis he, you, or I.

Cold, hot, wet, or dry,
We're always bound to follow, boys,

And scorn to fly.

'Tis but in vain,
(I mean not to upbraid you, boys)

"Tis but in vain
For soldiers to complain;

Should next campaign
Send us to Him that made us, boys,

We're free from pain;

But should we remain,
A bottle and kind landlady

Cures all again. This is commonly called General Wolfe's song, and is said to have been sung by him on the night before the battle of Quebec.

COME NOW ALL YE SOCIAL POWERS.
Altered and enlarged from the Finale of BICKERSTAFFE's "School of Fathers.".

Come now all ye social powers,
Shed
your

influence o'er us;
Crown with joy the present hours,

Enliven those before us:
Bring the flask, the music bring,

Joy shall quickly find us;
Sport and dance, and laugh, and sing,

And cast dull care behind us.

Love, thy godhead I adore,

Source of generous passion;
Nor will we ever bow before
Those idols, Wealth and Fashion.

Bring the flask, &c.
Why the plague should we be sad,

Whilst on earth we moulder?
Rich or poor, or grave or mad,
We every day grow older.

Bring the flask, &c.
Friendship! oh, thy smile's divine !

Bright in all its features ;
What but friendship, love, and wine,
Can make us happy creatures.

Bring the flask, &c.

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