Classic Poem

Since here we are set in array round the table,
Five hundred good fellows well met in a hall,
Come listen, brave boys, and I 'll sing as I 'm able,
How innocence triumphed and pride got a fall.
But push round the claret—
Come, stewards, don't spare it—
With rapture you 'll drink to the toast that I give;
Here, boys,
Off with it merrily—
Melville for ever, and long may he live!

What were the Whigs doing, when boldly pursuing,
Pitt banished Rebellion, gave Treason a string;
Why, they swore on their honor, for Arthur O'Connor,
And fought hard for Despard against country and king.
Well, then, we knew, boys,
Pitt and Melville were true boys,
And the tempest was raised by the friends of Reform.
Ah! woe!
Weep to his memory;
Low lies the pilot that weathered the storm!

And pray, don't you mind when the Blues first were raising,
And we scarcely could think the house safe o'er our heads?
When villains and coxcombs, French politics praising,
Drove peace from our tables and sleep from our beds?
Our hearts they grew bolder
When, musket on shoulder,
Stepped forth our old Statesmen example to give.
Come, boys, never fear,
Drink the Blue grenadier—
Here 's to old Harry, and long may he live!

They would turn us adrift, though rely, sir, upon it,
Our own faithful chronicles warrant us that
The free mountaineer and his bonny blue bonnet
Have oft gone as far as the regular's hat.
We laugh at their taunting,
For all we are wanting
Is license our life for our country to give.
Off with it merrily
Horse, foot, and artillery,
Each loyal Volunteer, long may he live!

'T is not us alone, boys—the Army and Navy
Have each got a slap 'mid their politic pranks;
Cornwallis cashiered, that watched winters to save ye,
And the Cape called a bauble unworthy of thanks.
But vain is their taunt,
No soldier shall want
The thanks that his country to valor can give:
Come, boys,
Drink it off merrily,—
Sir David and Popham, and long may they live!

And then our revenue—Lord knows how they viewed it,
While each petty statesman talked lofty and big;
But the beer-tax was weak, as if Whit-bread had brewed it,
And the pig-iron duty a shame to a pig.
In vain is their vaunting,
Too surely there 's wanting
What judgment, experience, and steadiness give:
Come, boys,
Drink about merrily,—
Health to sage Melville, and long may he live!

Our King, too—our Princess—I dare not say more, sir,—
May Providence watch them with mercy and might!
While there 's one Scottish hand that can wag a claymore, sir,
They shall ne'er want a friend to stand up for their right.
Be damned he that dare not,—
For my part, I 'll spare not
To beauty afflicted a tribute to give.
Fill it up steadily,
Drink it off readily—
Here 's to the Princess, and long may she live!

And since we must not set Auld Reekie in glory,
And make her brown visage as light as her heart;
Till each man illumine his own upper story,
Nor law-book nor lawyer shall force us to part.
In Grenville and Spencer,
And some few good men, sir,
High talents we honor, slight difference forgive;
But the Brewer we 'll hoax,
Tallyho to the Fox,
And drink Melville for ever, as long as we live!