The Bowl of Punch.
Upstanding, and brim every glass !1
Outside the wind is sobbing,2
Let it lament, so we can watch3
The golden lemon bobbing.4
Upon the steaming fragrant sea5
The precious fruit swims gaily,6
To Cupid let us Aves sing,7
And to old Care a Vale.8
The silver ladle that I wave,9
My sceptre shall be, mind ye !10
I stir the liquid that has spells,11
Black cares of life to bind ye.12
The vapour of this magic draught13
To kings will transform each one ;14
The floor beneath has turned to clouds;15
Ha ! look up there, I’ll reach one !16
Hark, how the fretful shrewish wind17
Is through the keyhole scolding,18
Joy listening from the ingle side,19
His lazy arms is folding.20
Mirth laughs to see within his glass21
The mellow spirit beading,22
While Wisdom squeezes sour drops,23
Of Sorrow little heeding.24
They talk of nectar dear to Jove,25
And praise its unknown flavour,26
The Greeks were fools ; no nectar yet27
Had ever such a savour28
As this sweet liquid that we’ve brewed29
In the great bowl before us :30
Upstanding all, join hand in hand,31
And comrades chant a chorus.32
“ Tis magic drink ! Enchanted, we33
Seem raised upon some steeple
34
Below us cities lie, like toys,35
With busy ants for people.36
Kings spread before us crowns and gems,37
And beauty smiles propitious ;38
Why, waggons brimming o’er with gold39
Would make Job avaricious !40
The spell dies out, the glamour fades,41
Enchantment is all over,42
You would not find so dull a lot43
From Berwick town to Dover.44
No longer kings, we pay the bill,45
Which really seems tremendous :46
Indeed, old Brown looks very blue,47
And swears it is stupendous.48
One golden curl of lemon peel49
Droops o’er the bowl regretful ;50
We’re no more wizards, Robinson,51
Come, Jones, man, don’t be fretful !52
To-morrow night another crew53
Will find new joy and pleasure,54
Deep hidden in this bowl of ours,55
Our landlord’s special treasure.56