Classic Poem

IN THE ODDITIES .

Of the ancients is't speaking my soul you'd be after,
That they never got how come you so?
Would you sariously make the good folks die with laughter?
To be sure their dogs tricks we don't know.

Wid your smalliliow nonsense, and all your queer bodderns,
Since whisky's a liquor divine,
To be sure the old ancients, as well as the moderns,
Did not love a fly sup of good wine.

II.

Apicius and Æsop, as authors assure us,
Would swig till as drunk as a beast,
Den what do you tink of that rogue Epicurus?
Was not he a tight hand at a feast!

Wid your smalliliow, &c.

III.

Alexander the Great, at his banquets who drank hard,
When he no more worlds could subdue,
Shed tears to be sure, but 'twas tears of the tankard,
To refresh him — and pray would not you?

Wid your smalliliow, &c.

IV

Den dat tother old fellow they call'd Aristotle,
Such a devil of a tipler was he,
That one night, having taken too much of his bottle,
The taef stagger'd into the sea.

Wid your smalliliow, &c.

V .

Den they made what they call of their wine a libation,
Which, as all autority quotes,
They threw on the ground, musha what boderation,
To be sure 'twas not thrown down their troats.

Wid your smalliliow, &c.