the lady too.

A NEW SONG
TO AN OLD TUNE

Who starves his wife,
And denies her clothing?
Bright the Shaker,
The humbug Quaker!

_Merrily danced the Quaker's wife_,
_Merrily danced the Quaker_;
_But the wife of Bright is too starved to dance_,
_And he's too fat to caper_.

He grudges the wretch a morsel of food,
He grudges her even clothing;
Once, 'tis said, to the cupboard she stole,
But there to steal found nothing.

But Bright's as fat as a bacon hog,
The old outrageous sinner;
For he will stuff at any fool's cost,
Who'll ask him home to dinner.

_Merrily danced the Quaker's wife_,
_Merrily danced the Quaker_;
_But the wife of Bright is too starved to dance_,
_And he's too fat to caper_.

Who starves his wife,
And denies her clothing?
Bright the Shaker,
The humbug Quaker!

ODE
FROM ANACREON

The earth to drink does not disdain,
The trees drink of the earth full fain.

Of the light air the sea drinks free,
The red sun drinketh from the sea,

And the red sun, at pride of noon,
I've seen drunk up by the pale moon.

Then why, friend, with me prove in ire,
That I to drink too feel desire?

LINES
FROM THE ITALIAN

"Repent, O repent!" said a Friar one day
To a reprobate wretch, as expiring he lay;

"As I came up the stairs, I was frightened to see
The devil who's waiting to seize upon thee."

"You saw him then truly?" "Too truly, alas!"
"And under what shape?" "Under that of an ass."

"Well, well!" cried the sinner, "I am not afraid,
You've only been terrified by your own shade."

A DRINKING SONG

O how my breast is glowing
When I am drinking wine;
And how my verse is flowing
In honour of the nine.

How vanish grief and sorrow
When I am drinking wine;
Each thought about the morrow,
Each project and design.

Through roseate space I'm gliding
When I am drinking wine;
My spirit 'neath the guiding
Of Bacchus, the divine.

I crown my head with flowers
When I am drinking wine,
And say: "Almighty powers,
A quiet life be mine!"

The air with sweets perfuming,
When I am drinking wine,
I sit with damsel blooming
Beneath a spreading vine.

No thought am I concealing
When I am drinking wine;
My bosom's all revealing,
I sit beneath the vine.

My tongue I watch not over
When I am drinking wine;
My heart I all discover,
And naught within confine.