The Turks, who arriv'd from the Port Sublime, They told us that drinking was held a great crime; Yet after their dinner, away they flunk,

And tippled their wine, 'till they got quite drunk. The Sultan and Crommet,

And even Mahomet,

They all take a sup in their turn.

The Quakers will bid you from drink abstain,'
By yea, and by nay, 'tis a fault in the vain;
Yet fome of the broadbrims will get to the stuff,
And tipple away till they've tippled enough.
For Stiff-rump and Steady,

And Solomon's Lady,

Would all take a fup in their turn.“

The Germans will fay they can drink the most,
The French and Italians will alfo boaft,
Hibernia's the country, for all their noife,
For generous drinking and hearty boys;.
There each jovial fellow,

Will drink till he's mellow,

And take off his glass in his turn.

IF THE TREASUR'D GOLD COULD GIVE.

IF the treafur'd gold could give,

Man a longer term to live,

I'd employ my utmost care,

Still to keep and ftill to spare,
And when death approach'd would fay,
Take thy fee and walk away.

But fince riches cannot fave,
Mortals from the gloomy grave,
Why fhould I myself deceive,
Vainly figh and vainly grieve?
Death will furely be my lot,
Whether I am rich or not.

Give me freely while I live,
Generous wines in plenty give,
Soothing joys my life to cheer,
Beauty kind and friends fincere;
Happy could I ever find,

Friends fincere and beauty kind.

THE PROPHETS.

IN the first book of Job, which I now mean to quote, At the fifth and fixth verfes you'll find it thus wrote: "So Mofes invited fome prophets to dine,

"And drink a few bottles of gooseberry wine." Derry down, down, down derry, down!

Then Mofes was plac'd in a chair in a trice,
And Aaron, his crony, deputed his vice,

When the glass moving quick, and the wine being strong,
Mofes fwore they fhou'dn't ftir till they'd each fung a fong.

Some look'd afkew, Sir, at first Mofes faw,

(But whate'er Moses said, why you know, Sir, was law:) Nay he frankly declar'd, that fhould any decline, He would fine them a bumper of goofeberry wine.

Little David, it seems, Sir, first was the choice,

For they very well knew he'd an excellent voice;
But he vow'd he cou'dn't fing, they fwore 'twas a thumper,
And poor little David was fin'd in a bumper,

Rear-Admiral Noah, who much has been faid of,

And his jaunt on the water, which we have all read of, Not liking thin gooseberry, call'd for a dram,

And then gave them the fong which he fung to young Ham

Noah's Song-Tune, Heaving of the Lead

And bearing up to gain the port,

Some well-known object had in view;

An abbey tow'r, or harbour fort,
Which o'er the flood old Noah knew:
While oft the lead the feaman flung.
And to the watchful pilot fung,
By the mark-Seven.

Ezekiel rofe next, Sir, a very great fmoaker,

But in lighting his pipe, burnt his nofe with the poker;
Being skilful in mufic, and proud of his voice,
With exquifite fancy this fong was his choice.

Ezekiel's Song-Tune, Knibb's Pound,

Why Mofes, why Aaron, my boys,
I am glad I have met with you here:
For Zeky, as all of you knows,

He is fond of a drop of good beer;
If you mean for to pass all the night.

Why say such are your purpose and ends. And d-n me but we'll have a good 'bout, For I love a good pot with my friends.

Then Solomon rofe, Sir, all in his glory,
And faid he had much rather tell them a story;

But the cry against that was a great deal too strong,

For they would have nothing but "Solomon's Song."

Solomon's Song.

I've kifs'd and I've prattl'd with fifty fair maids,
And chang'd them as oft do you fee;

But of all the fair damfels that dance on the green,
Dear Sheba's the queen for me.

Next Habakkuk rofe, for they took them in courfe,
But Habakkuk's cold had made Habakkuk hoarse;
He declar'd he couldn't fing, any more than the moon,
But if Mofes pleas'd he would whistle a tune.-Lillabullers

Jeremiah rofe next, Sir, at Mofes' defire,
Whom wit, Sir, nor wine, could ever infpire;
And in ftrains that would fuit the commemoration,
He fung them a verse of his own lamentation.

Jeremiab's Song- Tune, Queen Mary's Lamentation,
I figh and lament me in vain,

Thefe walls can but echo my moan:

Alas! it increases my pain,

When I think of the days that are gone.
Through the grates of my window I fee
The boys as at marbles they play;

I cry, and exclaim out, ah, me!

I once could play better than they.

Then up rofe little Jonah, who look'd like a jelly,
For he was just come, Sir, from the whale's belly;
For three days and three nights was he left to despair,
But he'd fing to Mofes what he fuffer'd there.

Jonah's Song

Ceafe rude Boreas, blustering railer; ·

Lift ye land men all to me;

Meffmates, hear a brother failor

Sing the dangers of the fea